Chp 14 – Taken
-- Industrial District, Metropolis – June 2009 --
Lois stopped jogging once she reached the pier. Placing two fingers against her throat, she pretended to time her pulse as she scanned the dock. A source had given her a tip about a series of shipments taking off from the docks when she was at work earlier that day.
Seeing that she hadn't drawn any unwanted attention, Lois set off at a leisurely pace towards a large ship matching the description the source had given her. As she got closer, she noticed a few large men walking back and forth on the ship's upper deck. A barge carrying a crane was situated near the ship's hull.
Security, she thought with a grin. She loved a challenge.
Lois knelt to tie her shoe and rolled under the lower railing of the boardwalk in a quick motion. Hanging from the side of the walkway, she inched toward the ship, breaching the distance hand-over-hand like a child on monkey bars. Her wager that the lookouts weren't watching the water paid off as she reached the side of the ship.
Grasping onto some of the cabling that held one of the lifeboats in place, she was able to climb onto the lower deck unnoticed.
Having anticipated the need to travel light, Lois hadn't bought her purse or bag of tools with her, but a couple of handy bobby pins proved to be all that she needed to gain access to the cargo hatch. Getting into the crates that were stacked in there was going to be a bit trickier.
As Lois searched the area for a crowbar, she thought she heard the sound of vehicles on the dock outside the ship.
Lois found a sufficient prying tool next to a large crate that hadn't yet been fully closed. Peering inside, her jaw dropped as she came face to face with a variety of automatic weapons that would have made her father stand to attention.
Hearing voices approaching the room, Lois climbed into the crate and pulled the straw bedding over herself as well as she could. For good measure, she pulled the cover halfway over the opening and pushed a few of the guns to the top of the pile.
The owners of the voices entered the room with heavy footsteps.
"We're pushing a tight time schedule here. Why haven't you finished sealing the crates?" the deeper voice demanded with irritation.
"I would have if your guy hadn't insisted that we do everything ourselves. I only had two crates left to do before you called me up. Hell, we could've had these done weeks ago if I could have hired some guys to do it. You gotta admit the guy's pretty paranoid," voice number two replied.
The footsteps moved toward the crate Lois was hiding in and she held her breath as they stopped inches away.
"If the boss is paranoid, he has reason to be. Come on; let's get this done. This one of them?" number one asked.
"Yeah," number two answered, sliding the top fully onto the crate.
Lois grimaced with each blow of the hammer. She was being sealed inside a case of what was likely to be contraband weaponry. This would be a really good time to make an SOS call… if she hadn't left her cell phone in the car.
Great, she sighed. She had promised Cat that she wouldn't be gone for more than an hour.
"The trucks are here," number two announced when his two-way beeped. "You go open the bay, I'll finish that other crate."
Lois remembered the crane she'd seen earlier. She now realized that the shipments weren't being transported by boat. They were being moved; and it seemed that she was going along for the ride.
As she was trying to decide if she could explain her presence and get back to her car before this thing got out of hand, she felt the crate go airborne. She was roughly jostled as it swung.
"Hey, be careful with that!" a distant voice shouted.
As the crate was deposited onto a solid surface, the back of Lois's head cracked against the stack of guns underneath her. Black spots encroached upon her vision and she realized that the spot was the same as the tender area of her first concussion.
She didn't have enough time to finish the thought as she lost consciousness.
Lois fought to clear the cobwebs from her head. She had the distinct feeling that she was flying. Her ears felt clogged, she was freezing, and the air quality felt a little unnatural. The screaming sound of rushing air was definitely louder than it would be if she were on the ground.
She longed to release her body from the cramped compartment. Reaching for the prying tool she had found earlier, she worked through the straw to get access to the cover. After a few awkward maneuvers, she was able to slide it to the side.
Groaning as she pulled herself up, Lois tried to ignore the tingling protests coming from legs that had fallen asleep. She must have been knocked out for hours.
At least my crate wasn't at the bottom of the pile, she thought, trying to find the silver lining to her predicament.
Climbing out of the crate, she realized that she was in the cargo hold of a plane. Light streamed into the hatch through a small window in the rear door. Peering through the thick glass, Lois could only see blue and white for as far as the vantage allowed.
"I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."
-- Lac Tumba, Democratic Republic of the Congo – June 2009 --
Lois crouched behind the large oil drums and tried to figure out what to do next. By the time the plane had landed, she had mentally catalogued every piece of artillery in the case she'd stowed in, and counted the number of crates being transported.
She was in Africa. Where in Africa, she didn't know. She couldn't believe it, but the language and nationality of the men who met the plane after its bumpy landing in the dirt left little room for mistake.
She was still feeling a little dizzy from the blow to the head she had sustained. After waking up mid-flight, she had fallen asleep once again, suffering from the early signs of an impending migraine. Tucked into a corner behind the crates, Lois had woken up when plane hit the ground.
Not long after taxing into a crudely built hanger, the rear door had been opened and she had listened as the pilots discussed the unloading procedures with the men who had been waiting for the flight to arrive. When they had reached an understanding, they'd walked out of the hanger to get others to come and help.
With their backs turned, they weren't looking at the rear of the plane when Lois jumped from the hatch and ducked behind the drums that were lined up against the airline hanger's walls. She watched the unloading process as she assessed her situation.
She had stumbled into the middle of something huge. The two pilots of the plane were American, she was pretty sure of that. Looking at the group of rebel soldiers that were milling around the area, she was also pretty sure that these weapons were being smuggled into the country.
Lois began sweating from more than just the heat. The only opening to the hanger was at the front, and there were a large number of men standing outside armed with guns. She had taken one of the smaller guns from the crate, but hadn't been able to locate any ammunition. At first, she had taken it so she could have something to use to trace the creator. She knew that every gun manufacturer used specialized equipment. If she could find out who made the gun, she could get to the bottom of the crime.
In her current situation, though, she didn't see how that gun would be of any help in getting her out of the hangar alive. Sure, she could use it as a bluff, but short of throwing it at someone, it wasn't going to provide her much protection if things got ugly. And she had a feeling that things were about to get ugly.
Lois dug a shallow hole in the packed dirt at her feet and buried the weapon. Her best bet would be to ditch it.
After a while, the men stopped their labor to return to camp for lunch. Lois waited until it had been quiet for half an hour before she crawled to the hangar's entrance. Sucking in a quick breath, she leaped to her feet and sprinted, heading for the trees as fast as she could run.
"Arretez!" a man's voice called after her as she ran.
When a rifle-bearing man stepped from behind one of the trees in front of her, she had no choice but to comply.
French. La langue de l'amour. The language of love. Lois wished she had paid more attention in class. She had always been better at understanding it than speaking it.
Sitting inside a tent, Lois was bound at the wrists and ankles. From the patches of French she was starting to remember, her captors were trying to figure out where she had come from. So far, they hadn't come to the conclusion that she'd been on the plane. It seemed that they thought she had somehow snuck in on them from the jungle. She had no problem letting them continue to think that way.
The two American pilots that she had seen earlier had decided to cut their stay short once she'd been found. They seemed to have been deliberately keeping their distance from her, not wanting her to see their faces. When the plane had been unloaded and refueled, they had taken off.
Lois remembered something about rebels not being fond of killing missionaries. Perhaps she could convince them that she was a missionary who just got lost in the woods. She tried to think of the French word for missionary. Maybe she could get by with the phrase: I work for God.
The guy sitting outside of the tent had been watching her for hours. Lois wondered if he had drawn the short stick, because he hadn't been relived from babysitting like her earlier guard had been. He entered the tent and dragged her outside, untying her hands so he could bind them in front of her body. When he finished, he tossed her a hard bread-like substance, and nodded.
"Thank you," Lois said, realizing that she was starving. It had been at least 24 hours since she had last eaten. "Merci," she added when it appeared that he didn't understand English.
As she ate, Lois watched her guard out of the corner of her eye. He seemed young, around 16 or so. She wondered how young he had been when he had gottendrawn into the wars that had torn apart Western and Central Africa.
The young man was eyeing her curiously and had lowered his weapon so it was now merely pointing in her direction as opposed to her head. Lois had no idea what they were planning to do with her, and neither, it seemed, did they.
She decided she would ask for help. "Aidez-moi?"
The young man laughed and shook his head, raising the gun again. "Ne peut pas."
Maneuvering her hands against the restraints, Lois managed to unlatch her watch. "C'est platinum," she whispered. She figured that her guard was merely a pawn in the group, and rarely able to get anything for himself. She wasn't above bartering for her freedom.
His eyes narrowed as he became aware that she was trying to deal. Taking a cautious glance around, he indicated that she throw it to him. Lois knew that if the watch was out of her hands, she would lose the advantage, but she had no choice. She tossed it in his direction.
After peering at the watch closely for a few seconds, he tested it by weighing it in his hands and biting on it. Satisfied, he nodded and looked back up at her. "Et?"
Sighing, Lois pulled the neckline of her shirt down to access her necklace. On a silver rope chain, a pretty teardrop shaped pendant held a single diamond. Lois knew that the wars ravaging the western coasts of Africa were essentially about control over the continent's natural resources: some of them being mines filled with diamonds, silver, and gold. Perhaps she could reach her freedom by offering that which they sought.
As she held it up from her neck, Lois tried not to think about its sentimental value. She had bought it as a gift for herself to celebrate the birth of her baby.
As light glinted off the diamond, the young man moved closer, seeming to be afraid that someone else would see it and claim his prize. He shot her a sick sneer as he moved next to her, pressing the gun into her abdomen and placing a hand between her breasts.
Lois's eyes fluttered shut as she fought back the bile that threatened to rise in the back of her throat. She knew enough about the practices of these rebel armies to know how they treated women. She wondered if she had it in her to give her body in exchangefor her freedom.
The young man snickered, happy to have established his control over her, and yanked the chain from her neck.
Lois winced and reached up with bound hands to rub the cut on her neck that the action caused.
He shoved the jewelry into his breast pocket and motioned with the gun that she needed to go back into the tent. Lois swallowed, unsure of what to expect. She was relieved that he didn't follow her inside.
Hours later, the young man reached inside the tent, untied her legs, and pulled her out into the open. Lois noticed that most of the camp seemed to be sleeping. She had no idea what was in store for her. With the cover of darkness, this could be the time where he decided to help her, turn her over to someone else, or have his way with her. The only thing she knew was that she had never been so scared in her life.
They approached the edge of the camp quietly, deliberately avoiding contact, so Lois knew she could rule out the option that he was turning her over to someone else. It was obvious that he didn't want to be noticed. He reached and untied her hands as they reached the trees.
Hearing someone approaching, he pushed her down into the high grass and stepped a few feet away, unzipping his pants to relieve himself. Another man stepped up next to him and reached to do the same. Lois heard the sound of them talking softly, but could not make out the words.
After a few minutes, the second man grew distressed, pointing back toward the camp and where her guard should have been… watching her. The second man placed a hand on her guard's chest, and Lois realized with a start that he was touching the breast pocket that held her stuff.
Lois watched as they began to struggle. A shot rang out and her young guard fell to the ground with a soft thud. The second man reached down and removed the jewelry, sliding it into his pocket as he began shouting for help.
When he turned back to the camp, Lois began sliding toward the body. As she got closer, she could see that the young man was dead. The shot had been to the head. Lois looked away and took a deep breath. She needed to get his weapon.
Before she could get close enough, though, she heard the yelling get louder in the camp, and footsteps began approaching.
Rising to a crouching position, Lois turned and ran into the jungle, trying to be careful not to make too much noise as she stumbled through the night draped forest.
It wouldn't be long before they started searching for her.
tbc
