“What do you have there, Joseph?” Laurel said to one of his students.
“Professor, I found this,” said the student proudly as he held up a pair of rusty-looking military identification discs.
Laurel took them in his large hand and reverently examined the discs, his mind taking in every minute detail. “Where exactly did you find these, Joseph?” asked Laurel, his voice sober and serious.
“Right here, sir,” said Joseph, pointing to a patch recently dug in the dark earth.
Laurel bent over, his large frame blocking the dig from view. Brushing more dirt aside, Laurel found a pair of broken glasses embedded in the dirt. Picking them up, Laurel rubbed the dirt off them and stared down at the distorted shape.
“My God, do you think we have found one of our missing soldiers?” asked Jen, peering down at the objects in Laurel’s meaty hand.
Laurel stood and looked around at the anxious crowd of students peering down into the dig. “These items belonged to one Sergeant Thomas Henry. He is one of the crewmen listed as missing on the flight manifest, so we have the first evidence of remains from the crash,” said Laurel, looking into the inquisitive faces of the grad students. “Now the real work begins,” announced Laurel.
A murmur raced through the crowd of onlookers.
“What are you all doing standing around and gawking?” said Laurel with a huff as he helped himself out of the hole. “Come on, everyone, there’s still plenty of work to be done before the sun goes down tonight.”
With that, the crowd broke up and went back to work, excitedly chatting away about the find.
Laurel reverently handed Jen the dirt-covered items and headed off to supervise another part of the dig.
Jen stood there staring down at the mangled pieces of metal in her hand and wondered who Sergeant Henry was, and if he still had any living relatives back in the States. She was about to return to her tent to catalogue the find, when the sound of automatic gunfire tore through the air. Jen instinctively flinched at the noise and turned to look in the direction of the shots.
Already, there were people screaming and struggling to get away from the gunfire. A young man, his hand held to a bloody wound on his head, staggered past Jen. Fear filled his eyes.
More gunfire suddenly erupted from another direction.
Jen froze in her tracks. She did not know which way to turn. People were panicking all around her, running, screaming and crying as they were forced towards the center of the camp.
A man wearing an ill-fitting camouflage uniform emerged from behind a tent, fired a burst into the air, and with a crooked smile, walked towards Jen, a rusted AK47 clenched tightly in his hands.
“You, that way,” yelled the man at Jen, as he pointed towards the camp’s mess tent.
Jen stood there wide-eyed staring down the barrel of the still-smoking AK.
“Now,” said the man forcefully, raising the assault rifle until it was aimed at Jen’s head.
Jen instantly snapped out of her stupor and darted towards the mess tent, almost stumbling over the body of one of their local workers, a ragged bloody hole in his back. Her mind screamed in horror at the sight, but Jen fought to stifle the scream as she joined the mass of sobbing and terrified students corralled in the mess tent.
A minute after it began it was all over. An uneasy silence filled the camp.
Jen sat at a crowded table like everyone else; her hands were locked together on top of her head. It was truly an uncomfortable position, but Jen dared not move. The last student who did got a rifle butt to the head for his troubles. Jen saw that the men guarding them were mainly dressed in rags and old uniforms and wondered if they were anti-government rebels. She was confused; she had been told the area was safe. Looking around, Jen could not see Professor Laurel anywhere. She closed her eyes and silently prayed that somehow he had managed to get away to warn the authorities. A moment later, her hopes were instantly crushed as a dead body was dragged across the red dirt path between the rows of tents, a hole blasted in its skull. Jen’s heart skipped a beat when she saw that it was Laurel. A couple of girls screamed and broke out crying at the sight of the professor’s bloodstained body.
Jen bit her lip. She had to do something, but what? She was at a loss; she had never been so scared in her entire life, but she knew that somehow she had to fight the fear and stay calm. With this many American and Filipino students in one place together, someone surely would be coming to help them — she hoped.
The tent doors opened. A man in immaculately pressed camouflaged fatigues entered the tent. He stood a solid six feet tall, with wide powerful shoulders, short blond hair, and unforgiving dark blue eyes. A cold-blooded killer’s eyes, thought Jen. This was a man to be feared. He was unlike the others; they were Filipino, while he was white and looked decidedly European to Jen. Nonchalantly, the man stopped in front of the frightened group, dug out his cell phone from his pocket, and made a quick call. Once done, he put the phone away and fished out a piece of paper.
“Good day, my name is David Teplov, and you are all now under my protection. There has been some trouble in the local area, and I have been dispatched to bring you all to a safe location,” said the man in Russian-accented English.
“But you murdered Professor Laurel,” defiantly protested one of the local workers.
“If you speak another word, I will make sure that you join him,” Teplov replied with a cold lizard-like smile, as he looked out over the crowd of terrified faces.
The once-defiant worker turned his head away and tried hiding behind a student.
“Now, let’s all be civil about this. I want to see Miss Jennifer March,” said Teplov.
Fear gripped Jen’s stomach. Why did they want her and not someone else?
For a moment, no one moved.
Teplov looked over the crowd and shook his head. With lightning-like reflexes, he drew a Russian made MP-446 9-mm semi-automatic pistol, walked towards Alanis Kim, and jammed the gun into the petrified girl’s face. “Stand up now, or I will blow this girl’s brains all over the ground,” snarled Teplov.
Kim whimpered in fear and tried to pull her face away from the cold pistol jammed against her glistening forehead.
Teplov tightened his grip. Kim screamed.
Jen stood, hatefully staring towards the killer. “I’m Jennifer March. Please don’t hurt her. I’m begging you. You have me. Now please, put your pistol away.”
Teplov smiled as he slowly pulled his pistol away from Kim’s terrified face, placed it back in its holster, and looked over towards Jen. “There now, that’s better.”
“What could you possibly want with me?” said Jen, looking around at the worried faces of the students and locals alike.
“That is not important right now. I have a jeep waiting at the edge of the camp for you,” said Teplov with a wave of his hand. “As for the others, they will be joining you shortly once a couple more of my trucks arrive.”
Jen stood there not believing a word. The look in the killer’s cold eyes told her that he could not be trusted. She could not just leave the students there; they were all looking to her for leadership now that Professor Laurel was dead. She tried playing for time, hoping that by some miracle, someone would come and help them. “I have your word that my people will be unharmed if we come with you?” Jen asked as she locked eyes with Teplov.