Out of the night came one of Chang’s helicopters. It smoothly pivoted around in the air and landed with its rear doors already open. Two men waited inside the Hip ready to receive its deadly cargo. A minute later, the first bomb was dragged out of the house by a dozen of Chang’s men who quickly loaded it onto the waiting MI-8. Chang watched with satisfaction as the helicopter lifted off into the darkness and headed towards their rendezvous, a ship docked in an isolated cove on the coast of Southern Mozambique. Turning his head, Chang saw a man run over to him and excitedly point into the distance. He saw red flashing lights of two police cars racing down the dirt road towards the destroyed farmhouse.
“Damn, I was hoping we would have avoided the authorities,” muttered Chang, as he reached for a radio. Swiftly passing on orders, he turned to see his second empty Hip helicopter start to descend into the open field.
Soon, the police cars were within two hundred meters of the farm when a pair of wire-guided anti-tank rockets raced out of the pitch-black night sky and slammed into both cars, tearing them apart. Brilliant red fireballs shot into the sky, marking where they had been demolished. Chang’s support Hind helicopter flew out of the night, straight over the top of the wreckage, and opened up with its cannons to ensure that no one survived.
Kolikov walked over beside Chang. “Sir, the last bomb is on its way up.”
“Good news,” Chang replied, patting his subordinate’s arm. “Hurry, let’s get it loaded and get out of this godforsaken country.”
Five minutes later, with the second bomb secure, Chang stepped onto the last helicopter. He took one final look around at the death and devastation that he and his men had wrought tonight and smiled to himself. After all, it was not every day that you made fifty million dollars for thirty minutes’ work.
8
Mitchell got out of the polished jet-black stretch limo, checked himself over one more time in the car’s passenger-side mirror and, with a bouquet of flowers in hand, he headed up the short flight of stairs to the front door of a two-story brick building that dated back to the turn of the last century. Mitchell rang the doorbell and waited. It’s cool and damp outside, but not too uncomfortable for a late December evening, thought Mitchell, as he waited patiently for someone to answer the door.
Tammy Spencer had outdone herself. From arranging his flights, to finding him a tux, to hiring him a limo, Mitchell had only to meet the timings laid down by Spencer and the date would go perfectly. She finished by reminding him that this was how it should be done and if a woman wanted it done right, then she had to do it herself. He made himself a mental note to buy her a dozen roses when he got back to New York.
On the other side of the glass door, a light switched on. A small dog started yelping and digging furiously at the door. Mitchell heard a female voice shoo away the dog. A moment later, the door slowly opened.
A thin black woman in her late fifties, dressed in a stylish blue pantsuit, stood there looking Mitchell over.
With survival instincts honed on the battlefield, Mitchell instantly smiled and handed over the flowers to the surprised woman.
“These are for you Mrs. March,” said Mitchell, hoping that she would fall for the ruse.
Mrs. March smiled at the flowers and looked past Mitchell at the waiting limo. “Please, do come in, Mister Mitchell. My name is Corrine. Jennifer will be down shortly,” she said as she took the gift and inhaled the fragrance of the freshly cut flowers. “Thank you very much, Mister Mitchell. It’s been an awfully long time since anyone has bought me such lovely flowers.”
“I’m glad you like them, ma’am,” said Mitchell, as he stepped inside the warm hallway. The corridor was adorned with several generations of family photos and the usual memorabilia from the many family trips taken across the States over the years.
“Mister Mitchell, I understand that you work for a private security company and that you had a hand in saving my daughter last month in the Philippines.”
“I did my part, ma’am.”
“Oh please, do stop with all of this ma’am nonsense. You’re making me feel old. Please call me Corrine,” said Mrs. March, as she delicately extended her hand to Mitchell.
“Sorry, a strict upbringing from my mother followed by ten years in the army will make anyone overly polite,” replied Mitchell, as he gently shook Corrine’s warm hand.
“Jen, your date is here,” yelled Mrs. March down the hallway.
“Coming Mom, I’ll be down in a minute,” said a distant voice.
“I wouldn’t call it a date,” said Mitchell, skirting around the issue. “It’s more like I’m accompanying your daughter to a charity auction.”
“Mister Mitchell, you brought me flowers, you look extremely handsome in that stylish, form fitting tuxedo of yours, and you have rented a limousine. In my day that would be some special date,” said Mrs. March with a mischievous wink.
Mitchell’s face flushed. For the first time in a long time, he was tongue-tied and genuinely embarrassed.
“Coming,” an approaching voice said lyrically.
“Mister Mitchell, I believe you already know my daughter, Jennifer,” said Mrs. March with pride.
Mitchell turned, instantly captivated at the sight of the woman standing there. Jennifer March hardly looked like the disheveled and grime-covered woman he had last seen a month ago in the Philippines. She stood there wearing a pair of open toe high-heeled shoes with a long black sleeveless dress that hugged her lithe physique. Mitchell noticed that her face was well proportioned, with deep brown eyes that seemed to glow in the light. She wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings that accented her warm brown skin. Her hair was a radiant caramel color cut stylishly short around the ears.
“Good evening, Ryan, long time no see,” said Jennifer playfully, as she extended her hand in greeting.
Mitchell stood there for a moment before he realized that he was still staring. “Oh yes, of course, good evening Jen,” stammered Mitchell as he took her hand.
Jennifer lightly took his hand, feeling a reassuring warmth radiate from his touch.
“Is it cold out?” asked Jen, as she dug inside her purse for her lipstick that she lightly applied to her full lips.
“You should be ok tonight, dear. Mister Mitchell has a limo waiting to take you on your date,” said Mrs. March teasingly, clearly enjoying the moment.
“It’s not a real date, Mother,” said Jen, before Mitchell had the chance to. “We have to get going, so don’t stay up too late. The auction should end around one, so I should be home by two, or three at the latest,” said Jen, as she gave her mother a quick kiss on the cheek.
Mitchell opened the front door for Jen. The driver, seeing them coming, got out and opened the side door of the waiting limo. Once Jen and Mitchell were comfortable, the limo driver edged out into traffic then and headed for the Charter House in Downtown Charlotte.
“This is quite nice. Not what I had been expecting at all,” said Jen, as she looked around the limo. “After seeing you in the Philippines, I half-expected you to pull up in a rusty old jeep wearing blue jeans and a down-filled jacket.”
“Funny you should say that, but I received a bit of a surprise holiday bonus this year, so I could afford this limo,” said Mitchell.
“A jeep would have been fine with me as well.”
“Well, when you come up to New York, I’ll have to take you for a ride with the top off. Now Jen, would you like a drink?” asked Mitchell, as he eyed the well-stocked mini-bar.
“Yes, a gin and tonic would be fine.”