Uncoiling the Coil Read online

  “Jesus. So, it’s real then? I always thought Eric was lying when he once said Shaka plans to buy himself a kingdom!”

  “More players are involved than just Shaka.”

  “So, is this you helping me, or sticking a frog down my throat?”

  “Pick one?”

  “I would hope the previous?”

  “Lee, you’ve always gotten the way I operate without passing judgments. Maybe because you see that I’m a selfish twat and it benefits me to be the burden but not bare any roots! So many of them liars dress as angels. I’m the devil, and don’t hide from that.”

  “I wouldn’t give myself such a high-rise title.”

  “What would suit me better?”

  “A worm, who sure knows how to find the right apple.”

  “Haha. Shaka is a rotten apple that I’ve been after for far too long. And I still haven’t been able to take a bite.”

  “Security issues?”

  “More like he’s keeping his name in an unregistered black sedan. And being chauffeured around like the king he imitates.”

  “So, is he here? Even though Henny says he’s elsewhere.”

  “Shaka is here. And Henny is a liar.”

  “No. I refuse to believe that –”

  “There’d be no N.O. if Henny didn’t say y ... e ... s. What do you think N.O. is? Not just an organization funded by the rich and law enforcement. But a plan to illustrate world affairs without being targeted directly, because the name that runs the finances happens to be their own mole who they plugged out into the storm they started.”

  “Shaka is that mole?”

  “Has been since the very beginning. Torbelli is off the map. Not on the grid. Needs management. And it’s a bloody mess. They want to encourage investment to make it into a modern-day metropolis.”

  “Who are you working for really, Bennie? You’re sounding more like a man who got a pay grade.”

  “Not the FBI. They wouldn’t have me with my record. More on the verge of redeeming my past sins. And when I heard you were coming out here, I knew I had to join. We make a good team.”

  “Are you here to find Camila?”

  “I’m here to bring Shaka into custody. And nobody will suspect me because I’m under Henny’s printing press. What he types, I reveal.”

  “Nice and snug?”

  “Not snug at all. A sane man wouldn’t step foot in this country.”

  “Or woman. So, I scratch your back, huh?”

  “You know how it goes?”

  “Alright. What’s down there?”

  “What Camila was never allowed to write up. The beginning of N.O., and the very first machinery to get the currency rolling. I can’t deliver that to the papers. But Mark can. And if they get a snippet of that, then we get one red marker towards them catching onto what is going on out here. Also, I think it was Mark who corresponded with the fact that Camila was missing. I just don’t know who the contact is.”

  Bennie hands Lee a cheap but better-than-nothing camera, “You take a few pictures. Find Mark and get him to send those back to the contact in the states. He might also be aware of the last whereabouts of Camila. Then you report back to me. This number is untraceable.” Lee adds it to her phone. “Only call me once. Don’t leave a text because that wouldn’t be wise.”

  “Will I encounter any surveillance?”

  “Who knows? Here’s a gun just in case. Never travel light, you should know better than to trust a man in a black sedan and flashy suit. Good luck.”

  Chapter 6

  Darren’s legs are jaded as he and the homeless inhabitants pursue a trek that is more of a mount climbing than walking the straight line. Mentally, none of these men or women are equipped to walk more than the few miles asked of them.

  Many complain of hunger, and the officers only have dried bread and some crackers that make the thirst worst. It’s been an hour, and still no sign of any let up. And the way is marred with so many rocky uphill paths, instead of the flat and minimal that come along for them to catch a breather. They reach flatter plains, and many are overwhelmed with thankfulness for that.

  They only speak in their language: bearing encouragement that the camp is soon to come. Mark is quiet and observant. While Darren takes to marking what-is-where out here. It’s obvious.

  And it’s always a journey of - look behind you! Then they’d drop to the floor after the false scare -with the officers standing and protecting them with blind shots to see if the way ahead is clear; as they pass through tall grass resembling corn stalks that tickle them every step of the way.

  The grass was high, and the nerves were drying in the sun. One of the officers started to slash with a knife at the grass, to conserve the energy of having to swipe every few seconds and stamp it down. Darren and Mark still swipe from left-to-right at plenty of grass that easily moves but takes up time.

  Darren gives Mark a tap on the shoulder, as the officers seem to be picking up the pace and force everybody to do the same; in a huff-and-move-your-ass-manner. A little further, the officers must sense that something is wrong because when they reach a shallow brook they huddle closely together and debate something.

  Darren hears moving tires in the distance, but he’s not the only one. A few of the homeless who own shoes take them off and spare no instructions to walk on the shallow water that’s running. The wheels are nearing, and the officers are trying to calm down the bubbling panic that’s beginning to spread. “What’s going on!?” Darren and Mark join the hullabaloo, because the officers are reloading and positioning themselves into a line of six, while heading back from the high-grass they just left.

  “Noth-noth-noth.” One of the homeless men with a bloody red eye speaks enough English for Mark and Darren to get it.

  Mark responds slowly, “we ... go ... north?” The man nods briskly and makes his way across. Darren and Mark are now the last ones left, and powerwalk instead of pacing it like everybody else. Not caring to get wet by the ankles. But soon the gunfire starts again, and the shouts sound an alarm in the air that all is not well. Because the gunfire is erratic and spontaneous like they’re firing blindly with no targets!

  But Darren and Mark spare no wasted moments, and soon become head of the pack as everybody makes a dash for the north. It’s an easy run, but many need help, and Darren supports a few ladies who get their feet stuck in the mud underneath the water.

  Mark sprints off! Not once checking to see if anybody needs assistance. He changes his direction from north to east when the wide brook is complete, and Darren gives him chase to not be left behind. But it’s soon evident that most of the officers have been killed when the seaweed-green jeeps with no roof or windows, roll to the start of the brook with men in dull-green uniforms meaning business. And they start brandishing their machine guns and speaking English when they jump out and immediately pursue!

  “Stop! Or we will shoot you!” A clak-a-te-clat with their guns and they’re already off to hunt the inhabitants. Darren and Mark rethink heading towards the east and follow everybody else, because a few jeeps are going the long way around and it would mean bumping into them.

  Mark’s not much of a runner and witnesses many dropping to the ground and surrendering with their hands placed onto the back of their craniums whilst slowly bowing into prayer. Some give it their all and end up being nudged with the stock of the gun that leave groans of oooooooarghhh, in the most uncomfortable exclamation imaginable. Darren, as he runs at the fastest speed he can, checks behind him to see many being roughly heaved-up and directed back to the jeeps.

  The screams from all over are what chills Darren empathetically. He feels this whilst dodging a few shots that are meant to cripple his sprint. Darren grabs Mark’s arms as threats come. “We’ll shoot you both! Stop now! Give up!” But he drags Mark, who’s keeling over and trying not to lose his breath as they cover more ground.

  Both Darren and Mark must jump over a few bodies and keeled over backs that can’t take it anymore.
It becomes an Olympic sport. They smell blood. Fear. Anguish. And painful groans that equals, I’ve been hit! And the bullets keep firing and deafening them, but they keep at it, coming to an uphill plunge that will be a true horror on the soles of their shoes. Just a little more to go...

  But figures appear from the top of that hill, not visible as they are far away. But they open fire with an accustomed vibration from the trigger, at the soldiers who now roll, duck, drop instantly and dive for cover, before shooting upwards and causing Mark and Darren to drop to the ground, susceptible to being shot. But they get up ... and soon see grenades flying over their heads and landing at spots were the soldiers run away from.

  They stay at the top, with a few coming down to assist those who made it; only two, including Darren and Mark. And they’re the youngest of the bunch who were mainly all over fifty. They come down, and the four climb-climb until the men pass them all guns.

  “We need you to shoot! Shoot at the enemy.” Then a quick demonstration is shown on how to use the guns before they’re yanked away from shots that narrowly miss them. One of the younger ones gets hit in the right lung and they carry him away with covering the fire been given.

  Darren gets to grips with the Uzi and sprays them all to hell with his brat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat-tat. And spares none of the soldiers who move slowly or miss calculates where’s he aiming. Although they’re padded, Darren hits some of them in the face. Their guns pop out of their hands and they fall to the ground in excruciating pain at being hit in the cheek or nose.

  There are many grenades being thrown and body parts like having an explosive -fiesta as it ends up like thrown chicken feed. Boom! Ka-boooooooom! The grenades leave splattering guts that surely cannot be amended. Some of the soldiers begin to crawl back to their jeeps with one leg, arm, no eye, face bloody - and some die from wounds that turn out to be fatalities.

  The remaining soldiers under heavy pressure, fire from behind some of the trees and flee from potholes in the earth caused by past bombs. Some of the officers now descend from the hill to give chase to try and rescue the homeless that have been taken captive.

  They force the ones who are surrendering onto the ground by yanking them up by the collars and directing them up the hill. More than ten go after the jeeps. And Darren and Mark are ushered up with the guns snatched out their hands with a hasty push to get moving.

  Mark killed none. But Darren has five dead men to his name. He thinks of Lee, as they head up, and his belly pains for some food. In times like this, love is all a man needs. And he loves Lee. At least it comes to him now. The last thing Darren would want to say to Lee before dying is, I love you. And that’s the beautiful face he saw. Not knowing if hug or kiss would be adequate after his confession.

  And it brings his face to a grin, which Mark catches and whispers, “this is no time to smile. I have no idea who these people are?”

  Darren whispers back, “rebels, and I think on the good side of the pond.”

  There are distant shouts and machine-gun-fires that are faintly seen and head. The jeeps that had wanted to go the long way around are heading back. Darren and Mark get no time to see the outcome, but many of the homeless want to be saved and call for help as the men divide and go in, disappearing but not once silent.

  Darren and Mark see posts more than two-hundred yards away, marked with white paint. Mark seems to perk up from this, “I’ve heard of this spot. I think we’re being taken to Ringo.”

  A few of the officers, mercenaries, whatever you want to call them, hear the name. They stop the march and turn to Mark, “you know of Ringo, white man?” There’s no threat in his voice. No surprise. Just plainly spoken to merit his suspicion.

  “I do. I was meant to meet with him.”

  “You were meant to meet with Ringo?”

  Mark nods childishly, “Yes. Not too long ago. I had information for him. And vice-versa.”

  They say no more and start the march off again. As if he hadn’t spoken a word of English. Both Darren and Mark keep quiet, it’s best to see what will happen next instead of talking amongst each other.

  ...

  It’s more than four-hundred yards now, and the gunfire, although faint, is still persistent. It’s going to be a bloody mess out there for both parties. They see the posts, reach them and then see glimpses of quickly made barracks and a few rebel officers heading north-west.

  “Wait here.” The three officers go into the first barrack that is the largest for sure. Only one remains with them and gets them all to relax and sit upon the concrete. But Darren is overwhelmed at who walks out, springs up with the name, “Ringo. It’s you.” He’s not excited to see him. More wanting to ride that stream train over him. Choooooooo-chooooooo, is his steaming mood blowing off the pan –

  Daren is held back by a sweaty palm on the centre of his t-shirt. And Mark gets up, not sure if this is the man he was meant to meet. But he still gazes at him with a keen interest. He passes as a homely Indian fisherman, with a wife and ten kids.

  It’s the one-piece soldierly uniform, customized with four pockets attached to the front on both sides of the chest and closer to the hips, that look like pouches and the hardcore boots that reincarnate him into a leading frontline fighter.

  “You cannot be Diego?” Darren feels it can’t be the same man. He’s transformed into a militant personality. Even his voice sounds authoritatively tinged.

  “We left on bad terms, Darren, but seeing you again at this time is a perfect chance for us to reconcile,” Diego says this seriously. But when he turns from Darren, his whole being lights up at seeing Mark, “and you ... are you really the Mark I’ve been hearing of?”

  “Yes. You go by Ringo?” -

  “No. My real name is Diego.” They shake hands with mutual respect. Diego then turns to his men with orders to escort the homeless towards the camps. A few more, who previously had left, now jog past Mark and Darren, toad out as reinforcements for the jeeps. “Make sure you round up all the captives. Hopefully, they’re still alive.”

  A collective, “I, I, Diego.” And they’re off.

  “We have food inside the barracks, you must both be hungry?”

  “I am hungry,” Mark waits for Darren to admit the same.

  He soon does. “Yes. Some food would be nice.”

  Diego says to Mark, “please go inside and help yourself.” And Mark does, leaving Ringo with Darren whose about to join but get stops for a brief word. “I’d like to make peace before we go inside. I know we left on faulty terms.”

  Darren can’t believe it. “You’re a completely different man, Diego? Not the Ringo we met on the plane”

  “Split personality disorder.” Diego grins to himself. “Obviously, that’s nonsense. But I’ve been able to play characters quite well. And I speak perfect English too.”

  “I guess, the first thing that needs to be cleared up is the switching of planes. And you being the culprit that brought us here.”

  “I’ll answer that straight away. The original plane that you were meant to get on, was heading towards the middle of nowhere, much like here, but nothing to do with either Shaka or Camila. I think you were being sent as a distraction or goodwill gesture when the time came for this to blow up in the governments faces.”

  “What would’ve been there?”

  “Land, and a few mines that are undug. Some characters would pop up here and there, but it’s relatively small and untouched. They haven’t been hit like Torbelli has, although it would be the next ... should we go inside? You look tired from hunger.”

  Darren welcomes this, there is a hot pieces of lamb fresh being served, and skewed off the turning stick from the self-made fire - with plenty of vegetables and water that has been filtered.

  Once Darren and Mark have eaten, they sit with Diego on the stools and chat. Diego informs Darren about Lee with no hesitation, “she was taken!” Darren’s up, and ready to march out of the barracks to rescue her, but Diego stops him.

  “Le
e is with a man that could be neutral. I was in the States, and had heard about an ambiguous character who’s from another fraction, secretly tracking Shaka and the disappearance of Camila out here. They’re building up evidence. And with Lee busting Eric, who was then murdered, it seems that this mystery man oversees the N.O., a fine result. I can’t hundred-percent confirm it, but if he is on our side, then that’s a big addition to the case they’re building.”

  Darren still hangs by the entrance, “Do you have a phone I could use? Mine is not working properly out here.”

  “If that will give you some peace of mind. Does Lee have a phone on her?”

  “I’ll have to try.” Darren collects the three-three-ten Nokia phone from Diego and scans the skies for a signal to call Lee.

  “And you, Mark, many people have been searching for you. It’s amazing that you hid for so long?”

  “I had help from Sandra. I told her to tell nobody after Camila got kidnapped.”

  “So, she definitely was kidnapped?”

  “Yes. By men that I’ve not seen from around here. Not rebels. Not part of Shaka’s people, either. Outsiders.”

  “Americans?”

  “Not sure. But I know they injured her so she’d be compliant. Whether she’s alive or not remains to be seen.”

  “Where did she get kidnapped?”

  “Near one of the facilities that she discovered. It could be either one. She did say there was one located near to a man called Ringo’s base, and another was closer to Shanti town.”

  “She was spot on. Smart girl.”

  “Camila was always one step ahead with her work. How can I be of help with regard to Camila?”

  “Did she leave her notebook? I know it has some names in there.”

  “She had a few. But if it was in the last place she stayed at, then I don’t know. The only other option is to search at every motel in West Shanti. How many are there?”

  “So far... six. And each worse than living in a squalor. Shanti town still needs plenty of work before it can attract any sort of tourists.”