Monk sighed, knowing he was right, but he hated being sidelined.
“I’ll leave Kane with you,” Tucker offered. “He’ll draw too much attention in town. Plus, out here, he’ll give you plenty of warning if any patrols get too close. I’ll also be able to keep an eye on all of you through his camera.” Tucker searched through his pack and removed a compact digital pad and an earpiece. He passed them to Monk. “It’s my old gear. Before DARPA upgraded my hardware. It’ll allow you to use Kane’s eyes and ears, too. Likewise, I can use it to radio you. Keep you updated on our progress.”
Monk fitted the earpiece in place. “As long as we don’t get too far away from each other.”
“True.” Tucker rubbed his chin and looked back at the glow of the town. “Especially as the jamming could be stronger down there.”
With the matter settled, Tucker quickly showed them how to use Kane’s gear. Afterward, he and Frank took off through the jungle. Monk watched as they slid down the slope toward a deserted corner of the town.
Once they were gone, Monk turned back to the others. He held the pistol he had stolen from Ekon. Jameson leaned on the bole of a tree, his eyes half-closed as he clutched his splinted arm to his chest.
Next to him, Charlotte cradled the handheld digital transceiver tied to Kane’s radio and camera. “This is amazing,” she muttered.
The military dog had been sent out to patrol the immediate surroundings. Monk had worked with Kane in the past and trusted the dog to have their backs.
Still, Monk paced the area, listening for any telltale approach. He scanned the skies for the helicopter. He heard its engine rumbling out there, sometimes louder, sometimes fading, but the acoustics of the jungle made it hard to judge its exact location.
As he stared up, he heard a soft rustling through the branches and leaves. A fluttering of wings. He squinted, but he failed to spot the source. After a few breaths, it sounded as if the noisemakers had moved on.
A sharp whistle blew from the mining town, making him jump. Then another sounded, strident and urgent. Then more blasted out.
Charlotte stood and joined him. “What’s happening over there?”
Monk slowly shook his head, fearing the trespassers had been discovered. “I don’t—”
A siren suddenly erupted from the town, starting low, but quickly ratcheting up into a wailing alarm.
Charlotte and Monk shared a concerned look. Even Kane loped back into view, stiff-backed with his ears high. Then the jungle lit up brightly around them. They all ducked; the dog shifted into deeper shadows. The canopy rattled and shook—then the light and disturbance swept past them.
It was the helicopter from earlier.
Monk stared toward the town as the gunship dove for a quick landing.
“Something’s wrong,” Charlotte said.
Monk agreed.
But what?
10:14 P.M.
Frank hid with Tucker in the shadow of a large tractor. Both wore miners’ helmets and mud-encrusted coveralls, pilfered from an empty barracks near the edge of town.
All the better to look the part.
When the steam whistles had blown, they had immediately sought shelter, deciding it was best to lay low until they could figure out what was happening. Then the siren had blared a panicked klaxon, setting his heart to pounding.
What the hell’s going on?
Tucker grabbed his arm and pointed toward the sky. He turned to watch a helicopter sweep over the town and drop toward a nest of cinder block buildings at the edge of an open-pit mine.
The section of stouter buildings had been their destination all along. If the town had a communication nest, it would be found there.
The rest of the place looked disheveled and ramshackle, hastily built and spread haphazardly as the mine expanded. The workers’ structures were corrugated metal shacks, all rusted over, as if the air itself sought to dissolve the place away—which maybe it was.
The cloudy air was a thick miasma of coal smoke, raw sewage, and toxic gases. The source of it all was readily apparent. The illuminated pit of the surface mine was a dark scar cut far into the jungle. A few large dozers and haulers moved sluggishly across its shelves.
Closer at hand, mountains of tailings and hillocks of overburden lay exposed to the rain and air, likely for decades, leaching heavy metals into sickly green acid ponds around their bases.
Even the light here felt toxic. Maybe it was because Frank had spent so much time on the dark river or trekking under the jungle’s canopy, but the glare pained his eyes and seemed an affront to the environment.
“We should get closer,” Tucker warned as the helicopter dropped out of sight and vanished within the mine’s administration section.
Frank nodded.
Before they could move, the siren cut off abruptly.
“What do you think that was all about?” Frank asked.
“Only one way to find out.”
Tucker headed off, leading the way through the rows of heavy equipment parked in this dark corner of the township. The machinery towered all around them, offering plenty of shelter to help hide their path toward the mine’s center of operations. Unlike the rest of the town, the haulers and loaders, excavators and drill rigs, all looked pristine, in well-maintained condition. Then again, this machinery was likely the costliest expense in running this place.
Whereas workers were the cheapest—and the easiest to replace.
Frank scowled as they cleared the parking lot of heavy equipment. Ahead spread a swath of dilapidated shacks and shanties, all run through with open latrines.
It was easy to discern how De Coster had made his riches.
Off the backs and blood of the local people.
Then again, Frank knew that was the way of the world. Those in power too often abused the cheapest manpower at hand, usually those of a lower caste in society or those with a different hue of skin.
Tucker paused next to a dump truck. “Where is everyone?”
Frank shook himself back to the matter at hand. He had not paid attention to the lack of miners and workers, mostly because he and Tucker had entered through an abandoned corner of the town. But the section ahead appeared occupied. Campfires smoldered along the dark streets. Music echoed. But only a handful of figures scurried under lamps before vanishing into the dark or ducking into a shack.
Off in the distance, even the trundling dozers in the mine had stopped.
“The siren,” Frank said. “Maybe it was an order to lock down the town.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they suspect we might try to sneak in here and wanted everyone off the streets to make it easier to patrol.” Frank pointed toward the operation’s center, which was more brightly lit. “Look.”
A flurry of activity surrounded the cluster of cinder block buildings. Soldiers in black armor rushed about. Floodlights burst, spearing into the sky, sweeping all around, painting the underside of the low, dark clouds.
“Maybe you’re right,” Tucker said.
“How’re we going to get in there now?”
“Let’s get a closer look. We’ll figure something out. Not like we have much choice.”
Tucker set off into the murky shamble of the workers’ shacks. They kept their faces hidden under their miners’ helmets. Especially Tucker. Frank, at least, had the right complexion to blend in with locals. Tucker rested a palm on his Desert Eagle. Frank carried a semi-automatic at his hip. Charlotte had relieved the pistol—a Swiss-forged Sphinx S3000—from a dead gunman back on the island.
Tucker suddenly sidestepped, nearly leaping away from the corrugated wall of a barracks. A murmur of voices sounded from inside. Someone coughed. But it wasn’t the presence of men nearby that had startled Tucker.
A body lay sprawled, facedown, in the muddy street.
Frank hurried past with a glance back.
What the hell?