15: Objectives

In truth, the only way George was still alive by the time the lunch break arrived was because Michael constantly encouraged him, as well as occasionally shovelling particularly large, heavy lumps of rock for him. Both of George's legs were dead and his hands shook as he took his allotted can, this one containing something wet and slimy he couldn't identify.

"Looks like noodle surprise," Michael said, peering at it with his headlamp. "Wanna swap? I've got sweetcorn."

They swapped tins and George managed to tip a few of the familiar-tasting sweetcorn into his mouth, but even chewing was an effort.

"Hey, boss, I'm just gonna take George up the tunnel a bit and help him get his breath back," Michael said to their team leader, pointing with his thumb. "We'll be back in a bit."

George shook his head, he didn't have the energy to move, but Michael grabbed him around the waist, hooking his fingers into his waistband, and lifted his feet off the ground, carrying him up the dark tunnel until they turned a corner, out of earshot.

"Now, you needed to talk to me," Michael said, switching to English and, after removing his helmet, tipping half of the noodle surprise into his mouth.

The last four hours had been so hellish for George that he hadn't even spared a thought for the whole situation with the mission. His ears were ringing so much that he was finding it hard to hear Michael, but didn't want to shout in case someone could hear them.

"Yeah, um," he started, chewing on a few more sweetcorn and trying to collect his thoughts. "It's about earlier - I got pulled into some guy called Descamps' office."

Michael nodded. "Yeah, he's the site supervisor. I think he's the most senior guy that's here every day."

"Well, he basically just told me they'd found the books in my locker, which is no big deal, but it was the way he was acting."

Michael cracked a grin. "Looks like this is your punishment, then. I can't think of anything worse."

George shook his head sadly. "You're telling me."

Michael was back to business. "How was he behaving? Trying to put on the pressure?"

"Definitely. He had a theory that I had been planted by journalists as a way to get the media interested in what's going on here."

Michael mulled this over for a bit. "I mean, it's actually a good theory. If you knew about this place, and didn't have the secret service on your speed dial, it'd be a good way of exposing it."

George shrugged. "I didn't give him an inch, and he tried to trick me into speaking English at the end, which I didn't fall for. But it unnerved me, you know?"

Michael nodded. "I get it. It's always unpleasant when people start asking questions. Do you think he knows more than he's letting on?"

"No," George replied, stopping for more sweetcorn. "He seemed like he didn't have anything else, just his theory."

"Well, then, I suppose there's nothing to worry about," Michael said. "But, I know how you feel, it's awkward when you have those kinds of encounters."

"The thing is," George continued, "the fact that it's come just as we're looking to get out of here, seems like too much of a coincidence."

"He's just paranoid since Bheki is supposed to be coming soon," Michael replied. "He's worried Bheki'll pull him up on something and wants everything to be absolutely perfect."

"Speaking of which," George said, his face creasing into a smile for the first time, despite his body aching all over. "When I left, I saw an armoured Merc in the car park, and one of the guards who chased me away from it let slip that it's Bheki's."

"So he's already here," Michael said, his face hardening. "That changes things. We need to think fast."

George nodded. "I assume he arrived sometime today, the car wasn't covered in that layer of dust that settles on everything after a while."

Michael blew out his cheeks, then tipped the rest of his noodles into his mouth and chewed quietly for a minute. "George, man, I reckon we've got, what, three days maximum that guarantees he'll be here?"

"Maybe. Moses said he'd be here a week."

"He might've been rounding up. It's already day two of his visit, and I wouldn't like to risk him being here any more than day four," Michael said firmly. "We've got tomorrow night and the night after, then that's it."

George felt a thrill of excitement. Two more days and they'd be gone. "That makes sense."

Michael stared at a patch of rock, thinking furiously. "Okay, bear with me. We still need an option for grabbing information, then an escape plan."

"What about the car? A bulletproof four-by-four is practically ideal for a getaway," George said, enthusiastically.

Michael nodded slowly. "It would be ideal, but I would guess people locally know it's Bheki's car, and we might put ourselves in additional danger by using it. I'd feel safer in something that blended in, a total no-fuss departure where they don't even notice until payday."

George felt slightly deflated that Michael had rejected his plan, and Michael noticed, giving him another grin. "I'd love to drive that car as much as you, but let's be realistic."

George nodded. "Okay, just a thought."

"A car is a good idea. We absolutely have to get across the border into Zambia, which is about four hundred kilometres by road," Michael explained. "If we can find a safe place there, contacting campus and getting extracted is easy. It's a former British colony and someone will be able to pull the diplomatic strings necessary."

"What if we can't get a car? We can't walk that far," George asked, slowly working his way through the tin.

"We'll steal one in Kolwezi. Petrol might be an issue, but we can either rob someone or we might be able to get by," Michael said. He formed his hand into a fist and rapped it gently against the rocky wall. "This is definitely one of the most difficult situations I've encountered."

If even Michael was finding it difficult, George had no idea what he could offer.

"If you're happy to drive as well as me, we can hit the border in maybe seven hours, then we just need to somehow get across without passports or any ID," Michael said, sounding more hopeful. "We've got to get a phone, alert campus and get someone to meet us there."

"Do you think they'll chase us?" George asked, now scraping the last few sweetcorn out of the corners.

"If they know we've got documents or something, then, yes. If not, then we might be lucky enough to get a long head start before they realise it was us."

There was the sound of machinery starting up and voices, which George took to mean work was starting again.

"Better go. Listen, we'll meet in the library again later and make a proper plan," Michael said, hurriedly. "You with me?"

"Hundred percent," George said confidently, but when he tried to get up, he found that every muscle had seized up and he could barely move. Michael gave him a hand, but he was still shuffling along like a pensioner when he got back to the rock face.

The second water break was sweet relief for George, and since Michael had managed to get ahead of their quotas, the final quarter of the shift was the easiest. George wasn't sure he'd ever recover from the exertion, and felt terrible that Michael had needed to cover for him, as well as helping with his job of shovelling just to make it across the line. He couldn't ever remember being happier than the moment he saw headlamps coming down the tunnel towards them as the relief shift arrived.

"What's this midget doing here?" a burly member of the relief shift said, grinning as he pointed at George. "Get lost, did you?"

"Punishment shift," Michael said, shrugging. "Hopefully he'll be back to normal tomorrow or he'll be toast."

George didn't appreciate this, but the elation of being finished gave his legs a final burst of energy, enough to get back to the lift and, from there, back to the surface. The sun was already up and it was looking like another warm day, humid and sultry as the water in the ground evaporated. George wanted to throw himself straight down on his bed and sleep for a week, but when he got a good look at himself in the light, he was every bit as filthy as the others and badly needed a shower.

"I have no idea how you do this every day," George said, rinsing himself under a jet of warm water and watching it run off into the drain, red from all the dust.

"Massive muscles, that's the secret," Michael replied, washing the dust out of his hair. "Just the pure physical strength of a champion."

George barely had the energy to laugh. It seemed that no matter how much he washed, he couldn't get all the dust off.

"It'll itch if you don't do all your nooks and crannies," Michael advised, switching off his shower and grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

He wasn't wrong, and George's sleep was interrupted by scratching his armpits, behind his knees and between his thighs, where his sweat accumulated and irritated the dirt. He eventually woke up in the afternoon, desperate for another shower and some food to replenish energy, but his muscles were even more sore and stiff than they had been before he slept, and he struggled to walk.

"Just stretch everything in turn," Michael said, supporting him as they made their way to the library, now stuffed full of food. "It may feel sore now, but if you don't keep it moving, you'll pay for it later."

Michael managed to locate a map of central Africa in the library, which was originally supposed to show ore deposits, but he managed to draw a rough road network on it to explain where they were going. George, in turn, used the blank pages at the back of a book to draw an outline plan of the office building, and where Descamps' office had been. They decided to try raiding there first, since it seemed most likely he'd keep important documents close by, before exploring and trying to work out if there were any other rooms that seemed worth checking. George reckoned that, after allowing an hour for the start of the shift, then another half an hour for the distraction, they could be free at half one in the morning. They'd have about four hours before it started getting light, which was the latest they wanted to be leaving, and that time should be enough to grab everything they wanted. From there, Michael thought they could be at the border by midday.

"Our big risk is actually getting away," Michael said, pointing to the location of the compound on his rough map. "Once we're in a vehicle and on the road, everything else we can manage. But I'm most worried about getting stopped before we can get out of here." He took a breath. "A bunch of armed guards in the dark is usually a recipe for absolute chaos."

"Should we try and get guns?" George asked. "The guards aren't trained, we could definitely surprise them."

Michael shook his head. "It's not a priority. I want to focus on a quiet getaway, guns are a last resort. Gunfire will alert absolutely everyone to what we're doing, and might even make a border crossing more difficult, if the news has travelled."

George felt out of his depth. He'd been on some difficult missions, and during his last one he'd been in a very dangerous situation, fighting off terrorists and rescuing a hostage, but this felt different. He was thirteen years old, planning a desperate escape bid across Africa without alerting armed guards who'd shoot him without hesitation. He knew that, when the plan was in action, adrenaline and training would take over, but the anticipation was killing him.

"We'll make it," Michael said, smiling. "Cherubs have achieved even more impossible feats than this. We just need to keep calm, focus on our objectives, and not make any mistakes."

"Easier said than done," George said, feeling another rush of nerves.