Shadow Search

“Any political leanings?”

Jomo shook his head. “He wasn’t the committed type. If you are asking if he was with the rebels I’d say no. Most likely he was hired to kill you because he was on the spot.”

“Pretty much what I heard.”

Jomo bent over the man and searched his pockets. He stood up again, waving a thick roll of banknotes. “Check Benjo. He’ll be carrying the same. He was a brother criminal.”

Bolan found a similar roll of bills. He threw it to Jomo.

“Plain and simple, Belasko. They were paid to make you disappear.”

AS THEY DROVE BACK to the hotel in Jomo’s battered Land Rover, Bolan told the sergeant about Karima’s kids. He knew he could trust Jomo, and he needed someone with Jomo’s knowledge on his side. The light was starting to fail by the time they reached the hotel. The hard heat of the day had begun to fade as Jomo parked in a dark corner of the parking lot. Bolan went in and up to his room. Nothing had been touched. His captors had even closed the door when they had left, taking him with them. They must have used the fire escape to avoid being seen. He took the shoulder bag from the wardrobe. Bolan stripped and pulled on his blacksuit and boots. He spent a few minutes in the bathroom doctoring his head wound. He packed his weapons and gear into the backpack, then filled the canteen with water from the fridge. Slipping his cell phone into one of his zippered pockets he left the room and made his way back downstairs, using the fire escape. He walked around the side of the building and rejoined Jomo.

The policeman took a look at the blacksuit. “Now you dress for business?”

“Something like that,” Bolan replied.

4

Jomo drove first to the area where Karima’s house was situated. He kept up a steady speed so as not to alert the security men stationed around the property.

“We should go that way,” he stated, pointing along the street. “Out of the city. If I had Karima’s kids that’s the way I’d go. Up country, into the bush. And I’d keep going until I was in rebel country.”

He kept driving, passing other houses, each with its own large grounds.

“They would go this way,” Jomo said. “To the places they know and where they can hide. And they will have friends out there. Their followers.”

Bolan studied the far-reaching spread of the empty plain. It was mostly flat land in the region, though there were mountains to the north and some hills in between. Between the plains and the mountain range, according to Jomo, there were great swathes of deep forest country.

“Give it your best shot, Jomo.”

The African nodded and set the Land Rover along the road. They traveled for a couple of miles until the last of the houses were well behind them. Then he slowed the SUV, stopping a couple of times to climb out and check the edge of the road. The third time he did it he beckoned for Bolan to join him. There was a full moon. It cast a pale light across the land, allowing them to see reasonably well.

“A four-wheel drive vehicle left the road here,” he said, indicating faint marks in the dust. He squatted on his heels, staring down at the tracks. “Since the kidnapping the weather’s been pretty calm. Not a lot of wind so these tracks haven’t been filled yet. I say they are two days old. No more.”

Bolan studied the tire marks. There was no doubt they had been made only a couple of days ago. Jomo’s evaluation rang true. If the tread marks had been any older they would have been obliterated by now. The edges were dry and starting to crumble, some of the upper rims starting to fall in.

“One good gust of wind and these are gone,” Jomo said.

“Heading straight north,” Bolan said. “How far to the cover of the forest?”

“Three days’ steady travel before they reach the hard growth. They would have to leave the vehicle then. Go on foot. The forest is too dense to drive through. That’s if they go that far. They might have a rendezvous point closer. Somewhere out in the bush.”

Jomo pushed to his feet and followed Bolan back to the Land Rover. They climbed in and Jomo started the motor, swinging the vehicle around and driving off the road. The tires sank into the dusty ground. Jomo pushed down on the gas pedal and the SUV surged forward. They drove for a while before Jomo spoke.

“I don’t think they’ll use the forest. More likely to stay on the plain and use the villages to the north. The tribes who back the rebels occupy that region.”

“You know them?”

Jomo laughed. “Know them? I’m from the Tempai tribe. Karima’s people. The rebels are Kirandi. The two tribes have been at each other’s throats for decades. Things don’t change as fast once you leave the big cities.”

As full darkness fell and the moon vanished behind clouds, Jomo switched on the headlights. The powerful beams cut through the gloom. Even in the dark Jomo seemed to know where he was going. The ride was bumpy. Land Rovers were not designed for smooth riding and every jolt and bounce was transmitted to Bolan’s spine. They drove at a steady speed for the next three hours. Bolan was silently grateful when Jomo rolled to a stop and cut the motor.

The night was alive with the chatter of insects and the deeper sounds of animals. There was little chance of concealing the vehicle out on the flat, featureless plain so they didn’t bother.

“It’s safer to sleep inside the vehicle,” Jomo said. “You want the front or the rear?”

“I don’t care,” Bolan answered.

From the equipment in the rear of the SUV Jomo produced blankets. He tossed one to Bolan. He also produced an SA-80 carbine, a short version of the British SA-80 battle rifle, chambered for the 5.56 mm round. This second version of the carbine was capable of taking 30-round magazines from the M-16. It was a sturdy, hard-wearing weapon, and though it had failed to excite the British military as had its predecessor, the SA-80 carbine had found its own market by being sold abroad. There were a bunch of long, beautifully marked feathers fixed to the stock, held in place by tight rawhide thongs. Jomo noticed Bolan studying the feathers.

“From an eagle. Took them myself when I was younger. I kept them all these years, part of Tempai tradition.” The African laughed. “You see, Belasko, we are all still held by our beliefs.”

“Eagle feathers beat murdering children any day,” Bolan said.

The soldier took time to remove his 9 mm Uzi from his bag before he pulled his blanket round him and settled in the passenger seat.

“I’ll take first watch,” Bolan said. “Wake you in a few hours.”

Jomo sighed. “I knew you were going to say that,” he grumbled before he settled himself down to catch some sleep.

Bolan cradled the Uzi across his thighs. He gave himself time to adjust to the African night, his eyes gradually focussing on distant shapes and the deeper shadows that enveloped them. He could distinguish between solid objects and the false shapes formed from light and dark. It was easy to become fooled by imaginary shapes, believing them to exist until close examination identified them as nothing more than illusions. He changed his line of vision often, not allowing himself to concentrate on one spot for too long. When the eyes became fixed on one spot it was not unknown for the mind to start seeing things moving. Inanimate objects took on a phantom life, seeming to shift from spot to spot. The mind, the night, and the boredom that could set in during long sentry spells combined to distract the man on duty. It was all too easy to fall under the spell.

Bolan thought about Karima’s children. What would be going through those young minds? Snatched from their normal existence to be dragged off into the wilds, surrounded by strangers who, on their own admission, were opposed to everything their father stood for. It would be a far from pleasant episode. The other side of the coin might ease the burden for them. Children were resilient beings, often showing a surprising tenacity when placed in dangerous situations. Bolan hoped that Karima’s son and daughter would be able to exhibit those characteristics.

Thinking about the children brought his attention back to the bomb incident. He hadn’t voiced his real feelings about it to Karima. That the terrorists had set off the bomb because they might no longer have the children as bargaining chips. The unexpected turn of events, coming in the middle of the kidnap process didn’t gel as far as Bolan was concerned. Why make such a dramatic gesture when they already had their lever? He accepted that trying to fathom the terrorists was difficult. They were by definition unstable and liable to unexpected changes in their procedures. But he still felt the bombing had come out of left field.

The soldier didn’t dwell on the matter for too long. Speculation only led to confusion. If there was a logical reason behind the bombing it would reveal itself in time. It wouldn’t be hurried no matter how long Bolan deliberated over it.

As the night closed in, the heat of the day slipped away, replaced by a noticeable chill. Cold air coming in from the west, drifting in from the coast. Bolan pulled his blanket tight over his shoulders. Behind him he could hear Jomo’s heavy breathing. The African was taking full advantage of his time out.

An hour passed. Bolan had just checked his watch when he heard the gentle, insistent sound of his cell phone. He took it from his pocket and accepted the call.

“Did I wake you?” Aaron Kurtzman asked, without a trace of regret.

“No,” Bolan said. “I felt guilty keeping you awake so I decided to sit up all night.”

“It’s called teamwork,” the computer expert replied. “Okay, we ran more checks on your people out there. Can’t find a damn thing out of place as far as the vice-president is concerned. If he’s off the rails he’s keeping it well hidden.”

“Okay.”

“Simon Chakra on the other hand,” Kurtzman went on, then paused. “You still awake?”

“What do you think?”

Kurtzman chuckled.

“Native Kirandi. He’s been in the army since he was big enough to hold a rifle without falling over. He came up through the ranks, then went to the U.K. to complete his officer training, as a lot of African officers seem to do. I got into some reports written about him by the officer school. It seems our boy always had a thing about Tempala’s national identity. Back then he talked a streak but didn’t show any radical tendencies. It was written down as a sort of home-boy zeal. He went back to Tempala and worked his ass off in the army. Good combat record during some internal strife over ten years back. Good officer. So much so that when Karima was made top man he promoted Chakra to military commander. Chakra has never been shy at declaring his full support for Karima and his policies.”