Their preparations complete, Mitchell, Sam, and Yuri boarded the helicopter while Nate, Cardinal, and Fahimah drove off in Sam’s jeep towards Romanov’s oil refinery.
Right away, Mitchell could see that Yuri had managed to get his hands on a bargain-basement helicopter. The seats were held together with duct tape, and the battered-looking instrument panel had grease pencil instructions written all over it in Cyrillic for Yuri to read.
Mitchell had changed into a uniform similar to the one the mercenaries at the dig-site had been wearing. It was not an exact copy, but in the dark, it would have to do. His uniform, along with several days of growth on his face, should fool the workers at the refinery into thinking that he was one of Romanov’s thugs. That was, unless someone took a good look at him.
“Yuri, I told you to not be cheap. Where did you get this death trap?” asked Mitchell into his headset as the helicopter seemed to fight taking off from the ground, as if it somehow knew better.
“I look for Eurocopter,” replied Yuri into his headset, “but I only find this old French Army piece of crap.”
Mitchell looked over his shoulder at Sam sitting behind him, her face a mix of horror and anticipation as red hydraulic fluid leaked from the roof of the cabin onto the seat beside her, coating the empty gold spray paint cans piled up on the chair.
If the helicopter made a return trip, it would be a miracle, thought Mitchell. Yuri banked the helicopter over and then made for the bright lights of the refinery, shining like beacons, illuminating the desert sky.
29
Alexandra stood beside a couple of idling jeeps surrounded by a half dozen soldiers. With a proud smile on her face, she watched as her father’s helicopter quickly descended from the night sky, covered by two circling Mauritanian Army gunships.
The instant the helicopter’s wheels touched down, Romanov jumped out, followed closely by two of his personal bodyguards carrying between them the crown jewels in a secure box. Walking over, he warmly embraced his daughter and together they climbed into the closest jeep, while a second helicopter circled the refinery and came in to land.
Nika, Jen and Mrs. March were helped out of the second helicopter by some of Chang’s men just as Romanov’s jeep pulled away, leaving them alone on the helipad. The poisonous look in Nika’s eyes towards her sister departing with their father was not lost on Jen, who reached over and pulled her mother closer to her, keeping her safe by her side. Nika swore up a storm at her sister and then ordered Jen and her mother to get into the last jeep. Jen looked up into the night sky and saw another helicopter come out of the dark, bank around and then start to descend towards the helipad. Seeing that it was in the golden color of the Romanov Corporation, Jen paid it no heed. Holding her mother’s hand tightly, Jen said a silent prayer that this would be their last night as hostages of Dmitry Romanov.
“There! Down there!” Mitchell yelled into his headset, pointing towards the ground. “Get us down as fast as you can. It’s Jen and her mother, damn it, and they’re leaving in that bloody jeep,” said Mitchell as the jeep began to speed up and then drove away from the helipad. Angrily flinging off his headset, he knew that they were mere seconds too late to help them. If he could have, Mitchell would have jumped from the helicopter. He had to follow the jeep quickly, before he lost sight of it somewhere inside the maze of roads and buildings of the city-sized refinery.
Yuri quickly brought the helicopter down beside the other one on the helipad and then switched off the engines. In a flash, Mitchell leapt from the chopper and hunched over as he ran out from under the rotor blades, his eyes scanning for Jen’s jeep. Spotting an idling truck sitting unguarded alongside a nearby shed, he sprinted over and jumped in the driver’s seat. Then, with a squeal from the tires, he sped off after Jen as she disappeared from view around a massive storage building. As per the plan, Yuri and Sam would stay with the chopper until needed.
A warm wind buffeted Cardinal as he climbed the outside of a hundred-meter-tall metal communications tower. Below him, Nate and Fahimah stood alongside their jeep, keeping a wary eye out into the desert. After a couple of minutes, Cardinal crawled out onto a wide metal platform and slid the Russian-made Dragunov SVD sniper rifle off his back. Quickly making the necessary adjustments for distance and wind to his scope, he crawled forward until he had a commanding view of the massive refinery. Sweeping his telescopic sight back and forth, Cardinal soon acquired the helipad and saw a truck leaving in a hurry. Seeing Mitchell behind the wheel, he followed the vehicle. Cardinal knew his job for now was to watch, report, and if required to keep the opposition away from Mitchell.
Pulling up outside the hanger where they had been two days earlier, Jen was surprised to see people running about, busily preparing something. Several soldiers were busy clearing the way for a large yellow Caterpillar truck crawling along with a sea container cradled in its powerful metal arms. A thin man in coveralls walked slowly beside the container; a smoldering cigarette hung loosely from his lips. When the vehicle was one hundred meters from the hangar entrance the man turned and waved for the container to be carefully placed onto the ground.
Nika Romanov, still fuming, jumped from her jeep, and yelled at the closest mercenaries to come over and escort Jen and Mrs. March inside the building. She made it explicitly clear that they were to be placed inside a locked and guarded room until she came for them.
The women warily climbed out of the jeep. Under guard, they walked inside the brightly lit hangar. Quietly they followed their guards to a conference room at the far end of the hangar. The instant they were inside, the door was closed and locked from the outside.
Mrs. March grabbed Jen’s hand tightly. She was shaking.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” said Jen, wrapping her arms around her mother to calm her.
Mrs. March seemed to be unable to find the words. She just stood there staring at the locked door as if expecting the angel of death to walk in at any second.
“Don’t worry. It’s all going to turn out all right,” said Jen soothingly, as she led Mrs. March over to a couch, where they sat down together.
“Jen, I’m scared. I heard that awful woman talking with some of the guards earlier. They have what they want. We’re now expendable to them,” said Mrs. March as tears filled her tired eyes.
“Mom, it’s not hopeless. Trust me,” said Jen, taking hold of her mother’s hand.
“How can you say that?” asked Mrs. March.
“Mom, I’ve kept something from you,” said Jen. “We’re not alone. Ryan is here.”
At that, her mother sat straight up. Hope flooded into her eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, he’s coming for us. We just need to keep calm and stay alive, as long as we can,” Jen said resolutely, wondering where Mitchell could be.
Speeding around the corner of the hangar, Mitchell slammed on the brakes. His truck came to a screeching halt. In front of him was at least a company of Mauritanian soldiers milling about watching an old-looking sea container. Instantly throwing the truck into reverse, Mitchell backed out of sight. Whatever’s inside the container is important enough to guard, thought Mitchell. He was curious, but tonight only one goal mattered to him. All else would have to wait.