“Stop!” Rapp shouted, watching the man somersault through the air and into the vines.
Claudia skidded to a halt, and he stepped out into a cloud of dust. A quick examination of the wrecked vehicle confirmed that the driver was dead and that fire danger was low.
The second man was a little more challenging to locate, having torn through various rows before landing. Rapp followed the damage, doubting the man’s survival more with each step.
An ornate cowboy boot became visible in some wire used to support the plants, providing a little hope. That hope faded when Rapp discovered that while the boot still contained a foot and lower leg, the rest of its owner was still MIA.
He retrieved his phone, disconnecting the still-open line to Claudia before dialing another number. Scott Coleman answered just as Rapp arrived back at the road and began running toward the idling SUV.
“Hey. How’s the good life?”
“Not what I was hoping for. I need an extraction for three people.”
“Shit… Where are you?”
“About a quarter mile from my front gate in Claudia’s SUV.”
“Injuries?”
“None.”
“Got it. Get lost for about fifteen minutes and I’ll call you back with a time and location.”
CHAPTER 12
OVER SOUTHWESTERN UGANDA
THE emerald carpet rolling hundreds of feet beneath Rapp’s feet was comfortingly familiar, as was the rotor wash lashing him through the chopper’s open door. Less familiar was the little girl sitting next to him. He’d fashioned a harness for her out of webbing and connected it to the fuselage. Despite sitting in the doorway with her feet dangling in space, there was no fear visible through the hair whipping across her face. Only anger and sorrow.
Helicopter rides like these always helped him think. Time with nothing to do but watch the world pass by and ponder the inevitability of it. Whether Anna would have the same reaction remained to be seen. She’d undoubtedly witnessed at least some of what he’d done from her position in the safe room and it was clear that she knew her dogs were gone. How would she deal with it?
The sun hit the horizon, splashing orange across the undulating landscape and causing the temperature to drop. He wrapped an arm around the shoulders of the girl next to him but she didn’t seem to notice. Rapp followed her gaze toward the deepening colors, trying to focus his mind on the question of what the hell had just happened.
It was clear that the men who had attacked Claudia’s house weren’t members of an elite American team or even professional mercs. Based on the tattoos, the Spanish, and the way they handled themselves, he’d guess Latin American cartel enforcers.
At first blush, it seemed like a strange group for the Cooks to recruit, but the more he thought about it, the more it made sense. One of their disciples was now running the DEA, giving them access to cartel leadership. How hard would it be to offer a few favors in return for help with a little problem they had in Cape Town? Maybe the quiet release of some people from prison. Or the promise to look the other way on certain large shipments. Then, once Rapp was dead, they could use an unsanctioned operation he’d carried out against the Esparza Cartel to make it look like he’d involved himself in the drug trade. Very tidy. The Cooks continued to live up to their reputation. But not for much longer if he had anything to do with it.
By the time they began their descent, Anna was asleep with her head on her mother’s lap. The landscape below had been a nearly uniform black for the last half an hour, but now something that looked like a single point of light was visible to the north. Nicholas Ward had constructed a mountaintop compound in that remote area of Uganda and, despite being the wealthiest man in history, spent a lot of time there. His excuse was that he had a pet research project nearby, but it was more than that. Like Claudia’s house in South Africa, it had the benefit of feeling cut off from the real world. A world that, against all reason, was becoming more dangerous and unpredictable as humanity progressed. The enlightened age that technology and democracy were supposed to usher in seemed to have been canceled.
Their pilot homed in on the light and a few minutes later they touched down on a concrete pad tastefully executed to look like flagstone. Rapp disconnected himself from his safety line and retrieved Anna. She was dead to the world—the impenetrable sleep of a seven-year-old who had a lot to escape.
They climbed out of the aircraft and headed for a shadowy figure at the edge of the ring of light.
“We’ve got you set up in your normal bungalow,” Scott Coleman said. “Is everybody okay?”