Three men step into our field of vision, dragging a fourth man with a rope around his neck. He stumbles, going to his knees in the dirt. One of his captors kicks him viciously in the ribs, his grunt of pain loud in the now silent clearing. Now lying on his side, the captor with the rope in his hands tightens his grip and simply drags the guy through the sand and gravel.
“Looks to be our guy,” I say.
“Headed back your way,” Scooter replies.
“Something’s brewing. I can feel it in my gut. Be ready for anything,” Knight adds.
“I’ve got a nice clear view of the area. I have the solution, if needed.”
“Stand by,” Knight instructs.
“Standing by,” Lucky confirms.
We watch as the men stop beside a second structure and proceed to hang the hostage up in the same fashion as the other man – a villager, I’m guessing. Once secured, one of them rips the man’s shirt away, leaving him bare-chested. Once all of this is done, the men stand before the frame and wait. We wait right along with them.
Thankfully, we don’t wait long before yet another man steps from behind the small group of villagers standing watching all the goings-on. He shouts what appears to be instructions, gesturing with his hands while striding over to the cluster of people in the middle.
Someone else, toting a video camera comes running up to him. They confer for a moment before the cameraman sets himself up in front of the kidnapped man. The one I assume is the leader goes to stand beside the frame and begins speaking rapidly into the camera. Unexpectedly, he strikes the hapless man across the chest, leaving a bleeding gash from shoulder across to the bottom of his ribs.
When he cries out, the man laughs and spits at him. The villager rouses at the sound of pain that echoes through the clearing. He mumbles something, and whatever it is incites the bandit leader, who rushes over, his knife hand raised.
The villager’s wife leaps to her feet, putting herself squarely between the man and his attacker. We watch in horror as knife plunges deep into her neck. Blood pumps from the wound, the little spurts indicating he’s hit an artery. She’s dead by the time she hits the ground.
Standing like a stone statue, the boy watches with huge, frightened eyes. My heart squeezes at the sight of him standing there, tiny and defenseless. I can well imagine the fear and shock that hold the poor child mute. I’ve been there.
“The fucker,” I hear Digit hiss in my ear, echoing my unspoken sentiment.
“We’re going in, stand by team. Lucky, solution?”
“I still have it, boss man,” he replies.
“On my mark. When the bastard goes down, the rest of you need to be ready to take the rest out. No collateral damage if we can help it.”
“Yes, sir,” we reply almost as one.
“Take it … now,” Knight says. At the pop of Lucky’s shot, we storm the clearing, taking the bandits out quickly. It’s over before it really began, and without further incident – rare but appreciated. Gator and Dutch head for our target while I go over to the villager.
I cut him down and lower him gently to the ground before turning to the little boy. I gesture for him to come, knowing he won’t understand me if I tell him. The man groans quietly behind me as I continue to coax the child closer.
His enormous eyes shift to the man.“Papá,”he cries, tears starting to fall. He runs past me, throwing himself to the ground beside his father.
With the threat neutralized, the villagers rush to the man’s aid. An old woman speaks, and four of the men pick the man up, a younger woman coming over to pick the little boy up. Before she can leave, he points at me, and she brings him over.
Solemnly, he touches a tiny hand to my cheek for the briefest moment. The softest touch that packs a huge wallop to my solar plexus. The old woman joins them. Eyes that have seen too much stare into mine, as if she’s looking into my soul.
“Matondi,”she murmurs. With that she shuffles off, taking the woman and child with her.
“Let’s wrap this up, gentlemen. We have what we came for, rendezvous in twenty. Let’s go,” Knight’s voice comes through my headset.
“What did she say to you?” Gator asks.
“I have no idea,” I reply. “It was in her language. But it sounded likematondi. No idea what it means though.”
“Based on the language of the area, being Lingala, my search tells me – if I’ve spelled the word correctly, that is – that she said thank you,” Digit tells us.
“Thank you, huh?” I’m grateful for my dark glasses hiding the tears that form in my eyes.
“Yeah. She must’ve liked you.” He grins at me.
