Page 56 of Soul on Fire
He looked to Ikolo. If anyone would know, it would be him.
“Kisangani,” Ikolo said. “It’s the only city in the forest within a day. The city also has an airstrip. His contacts may be flying in. From Kinshasa, or—”
“How quickly can you get to Kisangani?” Haig interrupted
Again, he turned to Ikolo. “Kisangani is still two hundred kilometers away. At best, we can make it in seven hours if we drive through the night and we push it.”
“That puts you in at zero four hundred local time,” Kline said, taking over from Haig. “CIA would like you to link up with the station in Kisangani when you arrive. Ideally, you’ll get to Kisangani before Majambu does. You will join the station there and track him down as soon as he arrives and before he has a chance to make his next move.”
“And when we find him?” He licked his lips and tasted the sweat beading off his upper lip, and Ikolo. He’d pressed his face to Ikolo’s neck for hours. “Are we talking recovery, or—”
“We need him to talk. If there’s a WMD out on the market for terrorist groups to buy, we’ve got to know exactly who is offering that up. We’ve got to take him alive.”
He knew where this was going. He’d had terrible missions in the past, shit sandwiches he’d been forced to swallow, but this stood out. “Does the station have protective gear? If he’s infected, getting close enough to him to take him down is a suicide mission.” Maybe that was Majambu’s insurance, his fail-safe. He’d die on his mission, or he’d take whoever took him down with him.
“They have equipment,” Haig said. He didn’t elaborate.
Elliot didn’t trust the silence from Kline.
“Get going to Kisangani, Lieutenant. Every minute we spend talking is a delay we can’t afford. Make contact once you connect with the station. Good luck.”
* * *
Nightin the forest seemed endless, their bike’s flickering headlight bringing to life a world of haunted tree trunks shadowing in and out of the darkness, strangled with creeping vines and glittering spider webs harvesting dew from the night’s cooler air. Moss dangled from above and reached for them like witches’ hands. The track ran ragged, carved by floods and soaking rains that turned the path into canyons and rocky expanses. They nearly toppled over a half dozen times.
Nighthawks swooped down to the track, a flurry of movement and screeching feathers as they swerved too close to the motorbike. Scuttling in the brush sounded nearby, so close Elliot thought the creature was leaping onto his shoulders. Movement above, something leaping through the canopy. A scream, not human, but somehow more terrifying in the wail that scraped his eardrums and set his teeth on edge. Humidity puckered on his skin, the illusion of a thousand insects crawling on his arms, tiny legs tickling their way up his spine and into his hair.
Ikolo stopped after three hours, pulling off the road and stretching. He seemed dizzy and stumbled as he walked. Elliot caught his elbow.
“I’m alright.”
“Let me drive the rest of the way?”
“Do you know how?”
“I can ride a bike.” Elliot grinned.
“In America, maybe. But in the Congo?”
“I won’t kill us.”
“That’s encouraging.” Ikolo shook his head and grinned, drinking water and passing it to Elliot. “How are you feeling?” His smile faded, and he peered at Elliot, his eyes catching a dark sheen in the dim headlight’s glow.
“Exhausted.” It had been forty-eight hours since he and Ikolo had set out from the camp at Sake, but his body thought he’d thrown himself back through Hell Week. The blistering heat, the soaking humidity, the brutal track, and the punishing pace they were keeping drained him faster than all his deployments combined.
His soul, too, was at its limits.
He wanted to drop, fall into Ikolo’s arms and explore Ikolo in the light like he hadn’t been able to in the dark.
“You feeling okay?” He reached for Ikolo and wrapped his hands around his elbows. They had a moment to spare, and he pulled Ikolo in and held him close. His skin was warm, damp with sweat and beaded with humidity, but so was the night. The forest bled wet heat, made them suck oxygen from the watery air.
“I’m okay.” Ikolo pulled away. “We should get going.”
* * *
Ikolo was right.Driving in the Congo was much harder. He couldn’t negotiate the track as well as Ikolo could, couldn’t anticipate the twists and turns over the ruts and breaks. They spun out and Ikolo clung to his waist like Elliot was about to drive them off the edge of the world. Flying face-first into the dark, he just might.
Finally, half an hour late, they arrived at Kisangani.
