Chapter 37: "Climbing accident, Zuma Rock."
Zuma Rock, Nigeria, January, 2015
Reese checked his watch - coming up on 4 a.m. now, here at Zuma Rock. So 11 p.m. back home. He put a call in to Finch on the sat-phone. It rang just once before Finch picked up.
"Mr. Reese, I was starting to worry something had happened," he said, with relief in his voice. In his whisper-voice, Reese responded.
"I found the cave where he sent his message, Finch, but all the equipment is gone now." He looked south in the direction of the camp. "Soldiers took it to a camp south of here. I got a good look from up there in the cave." Reese waited for Finch's reaction to the news.
"Excellent work, Mr. Reese," he said. "And that military helicopter with the flag on its side? From Cameroon, the neighboring country just east of you. Once we knew that, we were able to back-trace communications between Cameroon, a contact in England, then back to one of Greer's agents in Senegal," Finch explained. "She was able to scramble a tactical team from a base just over the border in Cameroon and send it to Zuma Rock. It looks like a helicopter and troops sent there in trucks, Mr. Reese."
"That's what I saw from the cave. They're camped off the highway between the capital and here," Reese said. "They probably have the Nigerian there, too. I'm heading over to look for him. If he's there, Finch, we're gonna need to move fast."
"Understood, Mr. Reese. But how do you plan to get him out of the country?"
"I found papers hidden in the cave up there - sending you pictures of what I found. He had a passport rolled up with his papers inside the leg of his bed. And I found a book with some kind of writing on the inside of the cover. Sending that, too. Maybe you can make out what it says. And the last thing is a set of CDs marked as backups, Finch – I'm guessing for the computer system he had."
"So you think that box you saw lifted out by the helicopter – "
"Had his computer inside."
"We'll need to destroy it, Mr. Reese. We don't know the capabilities this man might have had. If his computer falls into Greer's hands, we don't know what the outcome might be. I believe we know who he is, but we don't know his connections back to Nigeria." Finch paused, and then continued. "It's as though someone's erased him from his past there."
Like a certain woman from Finch's past, Reese thought. He recalled how Finch had erased any trace of her – Grace, the woman he'd loved and wanted to protect. If Finch could do that for her, then the same thing could have been done for the Nigerian. It was a mystery they'd have to unravel at a later time. Right now, he had to focus on finding him first.
"Finch, I'm heading for the camp. If I find him, we'll need to leave, fast."
"I'll make it so, Mr. Reese. They'll be waiting for you at the airport." Finch heard the acknowledgment on the other end, and the click as Mr. Reese ended the call. He wasted no time in placing his next call to assemble the flight team, and then another to the airport north of Abuja to ready the jet. He thought of the perils Mr. Reese might face, finding the Nigerian in the camp, alone.
Clouds had drifted from hiding the moon over the last hour, and in the moonlight Reese assembled what he'd need inside his black bag. The rest, he packed in the duffel bag. It was a few hundred yards to his car, hidden in a thick stand of trees where it wouldn't be seen. He'd fashioned a crutch to lean on, from a Y-shaped limb he'd pulled down from an old dead tree nearby. Using that to support him, Reese made his way to the car.
The duffel bag he placed on the passenger seat next to him, and the black bag an easy reach on the floor in front. Then he lowered himself to the driver's seat, already pushed back as far as it could go. Driving with a bad right knee meant he'd be using both feet – one on the gas and one on the brake. Then he wouldn't have to bend his knee to brake. Best he could do for now. He'd swallowed a couple of pain pills from his duffel bag, and Reese could already feel them kicking in. He smiled to himself, remembering Shaw tossing the bottle to him as he was heading out the door in New York.
"Might come in handy, knowing you," she'd said, her dark eyes steady. He checked the label and then nodded a quick nod to her. On the way to the airport, he'd looked inside the bottle. A dozen pain pills if he got himself in trouble. She'd already put him back together more than a few times in the past – and she knew how this mission was likely to go. He'd dropped the bottle into his duffel bag, and hoped he wouldn't need it.
In the darkness under the trees, Reese backed his car out and headed along the rocky trail to the highway. In a little while, he was heading south, no one in sight on the road in either direction. There were no streetlights here this far from the city, so as long as the moonlight was there, he'd use it to drive, and leave his headlights off. When twenty minutes had passed on his watch, Reese saw an opening for a road on his right.
There was no way to know if this was the way in, but the timing seemed about right. He pulled in to the opening and drove for a bit on smooth gravel road, but then it started to get rough. The red dirt road had obviously been flooded at times, and there were deep gouges from traffic driving through in the mud. Now, in the dry season, the gouges had turned to hardpan, like cement. The rough surface jounced his car up and down in the gouges. He headed for the wrong side of the road, and up onto the narrow shoulder there. At least two of his wheels were on level ground, and the road under the others hadn't been tracked over as much. Reese drove on in the darkness, lights off.
It took another twenty minutes of close driving, and then he could see some light through the trees on his left. It flickered – bright, then dull – more like firelight, he thought. A little further along, he found a spot to pull into the trees, and he stopped there, engine off. From the black bag, he grabbed binoculars, and from the back seat, he pulled the crutch. Reese made his way into the trees, guided by the flickering light.
When he stopped to take a look, it turned out that he'd come out of the woods on the side of the camp closest to the highway. The camp was situated on his right. In the foreground, the helicopter, with the remains of a bonfire beyond that, dying down now as the night did, too. He swept the area of tents with his binoculars, then farther along where the trucks were parked. Just three of them sitting there, and a black sedan next to them in the grass. Reese headed back to his car. He'd hike into the camp from where he'd parked, but now that he'd seen the camp close-up, there were a few things he'd bring along to help.
With the black bag on his shoulders, Reese hiked back through the trees, then to the right, skirting the trees toward the trucks. When he reached them, he dropped the crutch and approached down low on the passenger side of the sedan. Inside, he could see the car was empty. Reese moved up to the front tire, bending down onto his left knee to reach it. He twisted the cap off the tire's filler tube, tossing it into the trees. With his jacket, he muffled the sound of air escaping from the tube. Once he'd let enough air out of the tire to keep it from popping and drawing the soldiers' attention, he slashed through the sidewall with his knife. Then he backtracked to the rear tire and did the same.
Reese found his crutch in the grass where he'd left it, and hobbled to the first of the three trucks. He pulled the cover back to look inside the transport, and there, lashed to the walls inside, was the box he'd seen them hoisting from the cave. All ready for transport somewhere. They must be heading out soon.
He heard a sound. Footsteps coming his way. Reese let go of the cover, and ducked around to the far side of the truck. He could hear the footsteps coming nearer; one set - along the side of the truck, moving toward where he'd just been standing. They slowed and softened, as though a soldier had reached the end of the truck and was checking around the back. Reese held his breath, listening, and raised the crutch by the Y at the top to strike.
One step forward, then two. On the third, Reese heard him stop and lift the cover to look inside. He swung the crutch like a bat, shoulder-high, at the soldier's head. Soundlessly, the soldier dropped to the ground. Reese stood over him, checking for any keys, and he lifted a radio and a rifle off him. The wire from the radio had an earpiece on the end, and Reese slipped it into his own ear. The radio he pushed under the belt at his waist.
As for the soldier, he'd need some aspirin for his headache, but otherwise Reese left him unharmed. A quick look around and no one there, so he moved along on the passenger side of the other two trucks, releasing enough pressure from each of the tires, then stabbing through the sidewalls with his knife. At least the soldiers wouldn't be able to follow them in their trucks if he found the Nigerian. He'd left that first truck drivable, the one with the box in the back – one way out in case they needed it.
Reese looked around him again. He wasn't hearing any chatter on the radio looking for that first soldier. He stopped and sighted over the front of the first truck with his binoculars, off toward the tents. Still dark outside, and the fire had burned itself to embers, glowing. In a space set off from the rest of them, Reese saw what looked like a guard posted near the front of a tent. That looked promising.
He set off in that direction, watching for any movements, listening for any sound of soldiers coming his way. Reese could hear low talking as he approached, the guard speaking French to someone inside. He watched the soldier, and he seemed to be laughing at something, softly, so the sound didn't carry. Then more laughter from inside the tent, and snickering from the guard outside.
He doubted it was the Nigerian yucking-it-up with the guard outside. Two guards, then. One outside and one inside, with their prisoner. Reese noticed the light from the fire; low now. Best if he were coming from the rear when he went for the guard, so the fire wouldn't show his silhouette inside. He rested the crutch on the ground and approached from the rear, slipping an arm around the soldier's neck in a chokehold, and bending him back off his feet. In seconds, the guard went limp, from dropping his heartrate too low. Reese lowered him down to the ground. He reached for his crutch and lifted it at the side of the tent.
A moment later, he heard the soldier inside, speaking low in French. Reese honed in on the sound. Silence for a moment, then the soldier must have looked up, calling softly for the guard outside. Reese swung his crutch into the side of the tent, straight into the face of the soldier. He heard the crack, then the sound of a struggle, a thud, then silence. He waited for what would happen next. A whisper:
"Harold Finch? Is that you?"
Reese leaned down next to the tent. "He sent me to find you. Time to go."
Moving quickly to the front, he pulled back the flap a bit, peering inside. There was a shadow, the guard, lying on his side and a smaller man sitting on a blanket on the ground. When he saw Reese, he smiled and rose up from the bed. There were zip-ties on his wrists and ankles. Reese limped inside toward the prisoner, reaching for his knife. The man looked alarmed, but Reese held his hand up to silence him.
"I'm cutting you loose so we can get out of here. Do you have any shoes?"
The prisoner held his hands out for Reese to cut the tie, and shook his head, no. Then Reese bent down to cut the one around his ankles. Before they left, he pulled the rifle from the soldier and the two of them headed for the tent flap. The prisoner stopped there, and Reese held up his hand. He'd go first.
The crutch was there on the ground in front of the tent, and Reese reached to get it. He limped through the tent opening out into the moonlight while the prisoner stepped through behind him. They checked around them for soldiers, then Reese led the way past the downed guard outside, and away from the fading glow of the bonfire. On the way past the guard, he stopped to grab his rifle, and hung this one over the other shoulder.
They made their way silently through the grass around to the trucks. Reese pointed to the third one in and they headed to the front of that one. Reese could see the passenger door opening, and the prisoner climbed up into the cab. Reese headed for the back of the truck, though, to pull the first soldier out of the way. As he got to the end, he slowed and leaned forward to find him. Hairs prickled on the back of his neck. Not there. The same instant, he whirled around. The soldier, swinging something.
Wood hit wood. His crutch slammed against him and cracked in two. Reese stumbled back, and grabbed for a rifle off his shoulder. As the soldier raised his weapon, Reese swung the butt of the rifle like a bat at his jaw. The crack flung him backward into the side of the next truck. There was a thud and the soldier slipped to the ground. Reese rolled him out of the way, and limped back to the cab on the driver's side.
"Make yourself useful," he said and passed the three rifles to the Nigerian in the front. When he'd lifted himself up into the cab, Reese reached under the dash and pulled down a nest of wiring. He studied it for a moment and then used his knife to cut two, strip the covering off the ends of the wires, and touch two together. His passenger jumped as the truck engine roared to life.
Reese pulled the shifter down and the truck started to back up, out of the space. From the corner of his eye, he could see movement from the tents on his left. He hit the gas and the truck lurched backward, until he'd cleared the rear of the other trucks.
"Get down, down there!" Reese shouted – over the sound of the groaning engine. The prisoner slid from his seat, down below the dashboard. For a little while, that side of the truck would be exposed to the soldiers. Reese gunned the engine; now there was plenty of movement among the tents.
They were coming.
He swung the wheel and headed straight at them. With his right hand, he reached for a rifle on the seat. The truck rumbled forward, then he veered left, and aimed through the passenger window. People started scrambling for cover, and Reese pulled the trigger. Glass shattered; he was shooting in the air over their heads. Reese kept pulling to the left; the fire pit from the bonfire was right there. They skirted most of it, but the front of the truck and the right front tire drove over some of the flaming embers.
Reese headed for the chopper next, as shots rang out over the truck. With their prisoner and the box of his computer parts in the truck, he didn't think they'd be aiming too close. His job, then: get them out of there, head back for Harold's jet and fly to freedom.
"Stay down!" Reese warned. As they came alongside, Reese strafed the length of the chopper with his rifle. And then he aimed for the box below the rotor. With a pull of his finger, he emptied the rest of the clip. Pieces flew and as he drove away he saw fluids pouring from punctures on its side. Reese tossed the empty rifle through the window.
Smoke rose from the front corner of the truck. Driving through the fire must have started something burning. Reese wheeled to his left, to the road leading around to the highway. He could probably just make it back to his car. He bounced along, as fast as he could push it. Soldiers were running behind him, first to the trucks, and then when they realized the tires were flat, on foot.
"Come on back up here," Reese called, over the sound of the engine straining. The prisoner jockeyed himself to the seat, then, and stared at smoke rising from the front. It was black, acrid-smelling smoke now. The tire must be burning, Reese thought. He pushed the truck along - a little further and they could jump and leave it behind.
"Your computer is in the back. We have to destroy it!" Reese shouted over the engine roar.
"Already done. I ran a program to wipe it clean," he shouted back. Reese nodded to him. If that was true, this guy just scored some points for himself. But Reese wasn't the kind of man to take someone's word. He needed to be sure. They trundled ahead, tipping and swaying on the rough road, smoke billowing, and flames starting to shoot from the front.
Time to leave.
Reese looked in the mirrors toward the rear. No one behind them, yet. He would slow the truck and let the prisoner jump, then he would follow.
"When I stop, you jump out and head down the road that way." Reese pointed to the main highway, and tapped the brakes – but nothing happened. He pushed harder. Nothing. Brake line must have leaked in the fire.
"Brakes are out. Hold on a minute."
Reese came off the pedals and weaved the truck from side to side, slowing their speed that way. When he was ready, he signaled for the prisoner to open his door and jump. Reese watched him land and head for the side of the road. He aimed the truck to the left then, away from the prisoner, toward the trees on the far side of the road. He gathered the two rifles left on the seat, and held the wheel steady, heading straight for the trees.
When he got to the shoulder at the side of the road, the truck started down the other side, gaining speed toward the trees. He opened his door, and stepped down to the running board. At the last moment he picked a landing spot and jumped. Seconds later, the truck crashed in the trees. Fire leaped from the front, engulfing the engine, and Reese limped up away from the flames. At the top of the shoulder, he found the prisoner, walking on the far side of the road toward the highway. When he saw Reese, he doubled back to help. The two crossed over with Reese leaning on his shoulder.
Back down the road the way they'd come, there were soldiers in the distance, running.
"Let's go," he said. The two picked up their speed, and Reese kept watch behind them. Ahead on the right in the woods, he caught sight of the spot where he'd left the car.
"Over there."
They broke into a sprint and a few minutes later they were there at the car. Reese jumped in, started it, and jammed into reverse. It slipped on the grass for a second, then caught and dug into soil, spewing red dirt in the air. They bounced over rough road, until Reese had room to straighten. Then he yanked the lever into Drive, and aimed high for the shoulder where they could make better time.
The soldiers in the rear view mirror dropped further and further behind. From the car they watched the truck burn, fully engulfed in flames now. The computer in the back wouldn't survive the flames.
As they finally reached the highway, the sky was just lightening. The two of them breathed a deeper breath as they turned north.
"Where are we going?"
Reese took a closer look at him in the light. Slender, average height, young, with intelligent, dark eyes.
"I'll tell you when we get there." He didn't seem to have a reaction. They headed north, past the turnoff he'd taken to Zuma Rock. Even in this dim morning light, the massive structure filled their windshield until the road turned more toward the west. They drove until the signs pointed the way to the airport. Reese turned onto the highway headed there, then a few minutes later, he pulled over and stopped on the side of the road.
"We need to get you some shoes and a shirt," he said. "In the bag, there. Some heavy socks and boots. There's a tee shirt, too." He watched as the prisoner pawed through the climbing gear in his duffel bag, and found the bags of food and water. He pulled out the remnants of the loaf of bread.
"Do you mind?"
Reese nodded for him to help himself. He tore off some of the bread for himself and offered the rest to Reese. The two sat there eating bread and some of the meat stick, too. They were hungry, and they washed it down with water from one of the liter bottles inside.
The prisoner looked over to Reese, then. "How did you find me?"
Reese turned to him. "Had a great view," he said, and his dark eyes smiled back. Then he reached into the duffel bag for the socks and boots. They'd be a little big, but they'd work. And he slipped out of the shirt that Greer had torn. Reese could see the bruising over his ribs from Greer's beating. He pulled a blue tee shirt over him, hiding the bruises, and then zipped the duffel bag closed.
"We'll have to get rid of these." Reese said, and lifted the rifles out of the back seat. He pulled the clips and checked the chambers. Then he got out of the car and laid the rifles on the ground in front of the tires. They drove forward and backward over them, and heard the cracking sounds of parts giving way under the weight.
Reese flung the guns off the side of the highway, down to the rocks far below; he pulled the earpiece from his ear and wrapped the radio he'd taken from the soldier with the wire. They'd long since stopped speaking French in his earpiece. The radio he flung out to the rocks after the rifles. The two rifle clips he'd toss further along before they got to the airport.
"What happened to your leg? You're limping."
"Climbing injury, Zuma Rock," Reese said in his whisper-voice. They drove ahead on the way to the airport then, and Reese could see a question forming.
"What shall I call you?" the prisoner asked.
"Reese. John Reese. And you? What do you go by?"
"I am Olawale."
Reese frowned. "Not according to your passport."
"Ah, mah compliments for finding it. Let's say, things are complicated. For now, we'll just use the name on mah passport."
Reese nodded. Another ten minutes further along, he slowed and handed one of the rifle clips to Olawale, who flung it out the window into the rocks below them. Further along, the other. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the front of the Departures area. Olawale held up his hand to Reese, hopped out on his side, and said something to one of the porters sitting inside, half-asleep, near the entrance. It wasn't as though the airport was busy at this time of the day. The porter disappeared for a bit, while Reese and Olawale pulled the bags from the car to the sidewalk. Then the porter re-appeared with a wheelchair, and Olawale gestured for Reese to have a seat. He turned back to the porter. In his best try at a British accent:
"Our first day out at Zuma Rock, and this happened. Tore the bloody thing in a smash-up," Olawale said. Reese smiled to himself. Pretty good at this.
"Keys? And a tip?" Reese handed the keys to the car to Olawale, and a twenty dollar bill for the porter. Olawale passed both to the porter and asked him to return their car to the rental booth for them while they headed into the airport lobby. A man in a uniform inside directed them to the gate for private departures and sent another porter for their bags.
Olawale pushed Reese along in the wheelchair until they arrived at the private departure gate, and Reese handed their passports to Security. He flipped through the pages, looking over at the two of them.
"What happened there?" he said, pointing down to Reese's leg.
"Climbing accident, Zuma Rock," he said, and the agent looked a little closer. Reese pulled the pant leg higher for the Security agent to get a better look; the agent, Olawale and the new porter all took a look at his swollen knee.
"That's going to hurt," Olawale said, and the rest grimaced at the sight.
"Too bad. Ruined your holiday," the porter chimed in. Reese nodded and lowered the pant leg, while the agent stamped their passports. Afterward, he sent them on through the body scanners and out to the waiting jet. One of their crew waited for the bags to be scanned and rolled them out to the tarmac. The access steps to the entryway were a challenge for Reese, but he made his way after all the others. Once they were all onboard, Hope came forward to check on him.
"What happened, Mr. Reese? The crew said you're injured."
"Climbing accident, Zuma Rock," Reese and Olawale said together. Reese smiled, and introduced Olawale, by his passport name, to Hope. They shook hands, gently, and Hope asked for a beverage order.
"Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Reese? We have a first aid kit in the back."
He shook his head, no. When she left, their bags were stowed, and they took their seats for take-off. Reese kept watch for any signs of military traffic approaching on the airport highway. Nothing, anywhere he could see. Bells rang overhead, and a few moments later, the jet taxied to position.
Reese looked through the oval windows on both sides. And then the engines started to whir smoothly, louder and louder, until the brakes released and they shot forward on the runway, pressing them into their seats as they climbed.
Off on the left side, through the large oval window, they watched sunrise over the top of Zuma Rock.
