Thea had to realize for herself that her brother was damaged and dangerous. She trusted Nikos too much and was overly protective of him. Rif hoped she wouldn’t pay for her caring nature.
She was staring through a small opening in the bush showcasing the striking Victoria Falls Bridge when Papa’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She read the text. Alea iacta est.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“More damn Latin.” She scanned her phone. “Alea iacta est—the die is cast. The kidnapper’s latest text. Attributed to Caesar as he led his troops across the Rubicon, past the point of no return.” She looked up. “Roll the dice, win or die. What’s the kidnapper talking about?”
“The Rubicon was named for its color, from the red mud deposits.”
“Zimbabwe has red mud and a giant river.” She gestured to the Zambezi, then suddenly became animated. “Victoria Falls Bridge, the crossing over the kidnapper’s Rubicon. Whatever was supposed to happen with the oil rights is irrelevant now. The kidnapper never asked for money or concessions. It was all about this moment, arranging a showdown.” She turned in the direction of the bridge. “Let’s go.” She started an awkward jog, her footing uncertain.
He ran after her. Given the kidnapper’s strange texts, her reasoning made a twisted kind of sense. Clearly General Jemwa wasn’t the kidnapper. And given what had happened to the old soldier, he wondered if the kidnapper might be Nikos after all.
Chapter Seventy-Four
Thea and Rif hurried toward the legendary Victoria Falls Bridge, which linked Zimbabwe to Zambia via car, foot, and train. The steel girders arched proudly over the river’s second gorge, the steady roar of the falls an ominous reminder of nature’s power. Heavy canopied vegetation shrouded the area in shadows, and rain poured from the sky.
Though Thea still felt a little dizzy and weak, the thought of finding her father spurred her on.
“Can you head down into the valley, check the bridge from below?” she asked Rif.
“I’d prefer to stay together.” Rain trickled down his face.
“If I get into trouble, I need you to be free to help.”
He hesitated for a moment. “Okay, but no crazy moves. Let’s keep in touch via our cells.”
She stuck a bud into her left ear and called him. “Testing.”
He adjusted his own earpiece. “Got it. See you soon.”
Dark clouds commingled, gathering force. Wind gusted, blasting grit and sheeting rain into her face. Her sodden clothes clung to her body.
The sound of rotor wash caught her attention. A helicopter flew low overhead, headed toward Zambia. Who would be out in these conditions?
She made her way onto the main road. Rif skirted the footpath and headed for the underside of the bridge for a different vantage point.
She rushed to the outpost. Three border guards were slumped on the ground, eyes staring blankly at the darkening sky. Bullet holes leaked blood onto their neatly pressed uniforms.
Two figures stood in the middle of the deserted bridge, where the bungee-jumping platform was positioned. She recognized her father’s unmistakable profile.
Alive!
Her spirits took a sudden nosedive, however: someone stood beside her father, gun in hand.
She hurried onto the pedestrian footpath on the bridge, closing the distance to her father, who teetered on the bungee platform. Seconds later, she recognized Maximillian Heros. The gun in his hand told her everything.
The Greek police inspector was Papa’s kidnapper.
She flashed on her father’s hand signals in the photo. Five and zero: 5-0. The police. Max Heros. She got it now. But why?
Max nudged Papa closer to the platform’s edge. A gentle push, and Christos would plunge almost four hundred feet into the Zambezi River. If the fall didn’t kill him, the rapids, rocks, or crocs would finish him off. An Australian woman in her twenties had once miraculously survived the fall when her bungee cord snapped, but she’d been young, healthy, and very, very lucky.
Thea moved closer to the center of the bridge, taking in her father’s bedraggled appearance. Even so, his shoulders were squared. He hadn’t given up—not even close.
“The bridge is rigged with explosives.” Max’s voice wavered, his left hand holding his cell in the air. “Stop where you are, or I’ll blow us all to pieces.”
A strong gust of wind rattled rain against the girders. She froze, noting the detonation cord stretched a few inches above the pavement. Another step, and she could’ve blown them all up.
A quick survey confirmed the inspector’s words. The entrance from the Zambian side had been blocked by an eighteen-wheeler, so no one could access the bridge from the west, and he’d rigged explosives on the Zimbabwean side.
It was unbearable. Papa was so close, yet she couldn’t reach him.
Rif’s voice buzzed in her earpiece. “Keep him talking. I’ll approach the bridge from below, try to find the bomb.”
She looked at Max. “I won’t come any closer. Please step away from the edge so we can talk.” She remained still, but her mind kicked into gear. She had to remain detached, work it like any other case.