He peered down between his boots. Faces stared up at him, shining with terror. He didn’t know who they were, but Tucker was their best hope, making them high value enough for him.
He scaled the rest of the way down the ladder. His extra weight helped stabilize the thrashing length, but it was barely enough. His lean physique was more befitting a quarterback than a linebacker. At this moment, he would’ve welcomed an entire defensive line to help anchor this ladder.
Still, he reached the end.
He kept a double-fisted grip on his rung and dropped his boots toward the raft. The rotorwash had pushed the worst of the rain away and pounded the waters flat around him. His toes spun and scraped across the raft, which was just plyboard planks nailed to a couple of crossbeams. His legs danced across the backs of the three sprawled figures. He came close to kicking a boy in the face.
He heard Frank yell above, but the words were lost in the roaring.
Still, the ladder lowered enough for his boots to finally reach the raft and gain a bit of traction. A Congolese soldier in green camo grabbed Tucker’s ankle with one hand, then turned to his neighbor.
“Go!” he hollered.
The closest figure, a young man in sodden white coveralls, shifted to his hands and knees. Even this maneuver looked precarious on the teetering raft. Still, the man reached a shaking arm toward the ladder’s lowest rung. He grabbed it on his second attempt and hung for a moment to the lifeline.
“Keep climbing!” Tucker yelled with hard command. He knew the guy must be exhausted and terrified, but now was not the time for hesitation.
The man must’ve understood and lunged higher, nearly upending the raft. He scrambled up the far side of the ladder from Tucker, stepping on Tucker’s fingers as he passed.
The soldier, who still gripped Tucker’s ankle, turned his head to a boy of twelve or thirteen. “Faraji! Go!”
The kid scuttled over the soldier’s body to reach the ladder. He stood up—only to have the raft bobble under him. Thin arms swung wildly for balance. Tucker let go of one hand and grabbed the boy’s flailing wrist before he toppled backward off the raft.
As Tucker jerked him to a stop, a small shoulder pack flew down the boy’s other arm. It hit the planks and plopped into the water.
The boy cried out with anguish and yanked his wrist from Tucker’s grip. The kid dove after the pack as it floated away. His body splashed heavily into the swift current.
Christalmighty . . .
The Congolese soldier shoved to his hands and knees, looking ready to go after the boy, but he was clearly exhausted. Tucker grabbed the man by the collar and hauled him to the ladder.
“Up! Now!”
The soldier’s hands latched onto a rung, more in survival instinct than obeying his command. Once the man had a hold, Tucker let go.
“Climb!” he said, nose to nose with the fellow.
With that last order, Tucker turned and dove headlong off the raft, aiming for the bobbing figure of the boy who had retrieved his pack and was trying to swim against the current, an impossible effort.
Tucker hit the water and immediately pushed his head clear.
He fixed on the small form flogging the black water with his limbs. Beyond the boy, the helicopter’s lights illuminated a churning wall of mists. Despite the boy’s struggle, he was being dragged swiftly toward the cataracts.
Tucker kicked after him. With the water’s force propelling him, he reached the boy in only a few strokes. He nearly overshot him, such was the speed of the current. He snatched the boy’s shirt, balled a fist in it, and dragged the wiry lad to his side.
“Grab hold!”
Tucker didn’t know if the kid understood English, but small arms wrapped around Tucker’s neck, nearly strangling him.
He turned and fought the current, but it was far stronger than he had imagined. The abandoned raft sped past him on the right, vanishing into the roaring mists.
The helicopter swept toward them, dragging the ladder. One figure had nearly reached the top. The other remained near the bottom—only he hung upside down, dangling from the rungs by his legs. His arms stretched toward the river, clearly intent on trying to grab them.
Why didn’t I think of that?
Tucker swam hard, but he was unable to even hold his position. The helicopter pursued them, buffeted by winds. Lightning crackled behind it. If there was thunder, Tucker didn’t hear it. The roaring behind him filled the world.
Then the current dragged him into the mists. He lost sight of the helicopter and the ladder. He fought even harder, only it was futile. Then the spray brightened around him. A dark shadow swept low toward him.
Tucker reached an arm toward it.
The ladder appeared. And the dangling soldier. The man’s outthrust arms dragged through the water. Tucker gave up fighting the current and angled to put himself in the man’s path. They briefly locked gazes—then the two hit each other.
Tucker kicked enough to lunge up and latch his arms around the man’s torso. The soldier grabbed Tucker around the waist.
The river fell away under them, both as the helicopter lifted and as the course below plummeted in a frothing cascade over rocks and cliffs.
Tucker clung tightly, locked together with the soldier, who trembled from the exertion. Tucker hollered to the boy who still hung from his neck. “Climb, kid! Up my body!”
A rung lay just above Tucker’s head.
Toes dug into his back, gaining purchase on his belt. One arm loosened from his neck—then the boy scrambled nimbly upward. Once unburdened, Tucker freed an arm and quickly snatched the same rung.
In short order, he headed up after the boy. The soldier bent at the waist, and despite his exhaustion, he gripped the rungs, swung his legs around, and clambered up behind Tucker.
By now, they had risen above the mists. The ladder still swayed, buffeted by the winds, but they all made the ascent safely.
Tucker hauled himself inside, then helped the soldier. They all piled in and collapsed across the seats. The quarters were cramped. The Gazelle was normally a five-seater. With six aboard now—and a dog—they were pushing the helo’s design limits, but it was an infraction he could live with.
They all could.
Tucker stared over at the boy, who hugged his backpack to his chest.
“Guess you really wanted that,” he gasped out, brushing wet hair from his eyes. “What’s in there? Your homework?”
The boy ignored him, or maybe didn’t hear him due to the engine’s roaring. The kid stared warily at Kane. “He bite?”
Tucker sighed. “Only if I tell him to.”
His answer did not dim the fear in the lad’s eyes.
“Don’t worry.” He patted the kid’s knee. “He’s friendly.”
Until he’s not, Tucker added silently.
Frank leaned over enough to yell at Tucker. He pointed to the young man who had climbed the ladder ahead of everyone else. “You need to hear what he told me! About what happened at the camp!”
“Can it wait till we get to Kisangani?”
The engine noise made any communication difficult, especially when your ears were full of river water. Besides, they should be back at the airfield in twenty minutes. Plus, if there was anything important to share, there were others coming who were better suited to handle all of this.
Frank frowned at him. “No. You need to hear this now.”
Second
8
April 24, 6:05 A.M. CAT
Kisangani, Democratic Republic of the Congo
We’re already too late . . .
A sense of impending doom spurred Gray across the campus of the University of Kisangani. During his years in the army, he had learned to trust his gut. He sensed matters were growing swiftly out of control. He searched around him, as if trying to identify what had set his nerves to jangling.