The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(85)

He grabbed the Kalashnikov, extra magazines, combat knife, and the radio attached to the soldier’s belt. He had a working knowledge of Swahili, so he might be able to intercept communications among the soldiers, figure out their plan. All indicators pointed to General Jemwa attempting a coup. Brilliant place to do it, as Prime Minister Kimweri had only his travel detail on duty, some of whom might be the general’s men. Victoria Falls was also relatively isolated, so assistance would be slow in coming.

He’d tried Thea’s cell and new satphone several times but couldn’t reach her. The best thing he could do to help was to eliminate Jemwa’s men quietly and work his way inside. The longer he remained undetected, the better.

He’d counted thirty football players.

One down, twenty-nine to go.

Navigating the building’s exterior, he detected the next sentry. He switched off the radio and stalked the man. This one would be tougher to surprise—he was more vigilant, alert.

Rif moved quickly toward the soldier, using the columns for cover. Knife in hand, he attacked. A quick swipe of the blade across the man’s neck, and the sentry’s spasming body fell to the ground, spouting blood and heaving wetly through the gash in his trachea.

A sound. He turned. Another of the general’s men appeared from the shadows, lifting his AK-47 to fire. Rif dove to the ground, rolled away, and raised his stolen rifle. He’d probably get shot, but he’d go down fighting.

But the soldier didn’t fire. Instead, the familiar crack of a high-velocity round being fired ripped through the air. The side of the man’s head exploded, and he staggered forward and collapsed.

A sniper had just saved Rif’s life.

There was another dog in this fight. Someone who didn’t want the coup to be successful. But who?





Chapter Sixty-Three



Gabrielle snuck a quick look from the shelter of the alcove near the stairway entrance as the elevator dinged again. She held her SIG Sauer and prepared to identify: friend or enemy. Please be Max.

The doors opened to reveal a soldier dressed in British DPM fatigues—the same design as the man who’d attempted the assassination of the prime minister. He held an AK-47 in his large hands.

Definitely enemy.

She aimed her SIG, her finger hovering over the trigger. But a flash of movement stopped her from firing. Nikos Paris stepped out of the elevator behind the soldier, Glock in hand. Shocked, she hesitated. What was going on? Was Nikos part of the coup?

The soldier loped down the hallway, his gait relaxed. Nikos was clearly with him, the two men speaking in Swahili. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, but she recognized the language. Nikos motioned down the hall. The soldier strode ahead of him.

Without warning, Nikos raised his Glock and fired point-blank into the back of the soldier’s head. Blood splattered the white walls, the gunshot echoing down the corridor. The soldier slumped to the floor.

What the fuck? Was Nikos pretending to be part of the coup but secretly working against it? She wondered if Thea was somehow involved.

She peered down the hall. Nikos kicked aside the soldier’s body, then rapped on the last door on the hallway. Seconds later, someone let him in. Gabrielle couldn’t see who it was, but she’d swear from the voice it was a woman. Too bad the parabolic microphone her CIA contact had given her wouldn’t work through walls. She decided to move closer. Considering what she’d just witnessed, she needed to know what the hell Nikos Paris was up to.





Chapter Sixty-Four



Rif ran across the courtyard and lay in wait for the next rebel patrolling the hotel’s perimeter. He didn’t know how long he’d go undetected, and he needed to take advantage while Jemwa’s men were unaware of him. He’d been up against ridiculous odds before; the secret was remaining hidden and taking on one enemy at a time. Stay in the moment; don’t do too much at once.

He turned the radio on low, hoping to intercept a communication. What was the general’s endgame? Did he want Prime Minister Kimweri to surrender, or was this an assassination?

A burst of Swahili came from the radio. He recognized the word for “fire.” Commotion on the east side of the hotel drew his attention. He scanned the immediate area. All clear. He sprinted toward the action, arriving at the southeast wall. He crouched low, catching his breath. Three soldiers smashed windows, tossing grenades and Molotov cocktails into the building. The stench of white phosphorus doused the air.

Flames erupted in the east wing. Explosions rippled across the hotel. Screw the cloak of silence. He needed to enter the hotel, make sure the prime minister, Thea, and any other innocents made it out alive.

He lifted the Kalashnikov to his shoulder, aimed, and canceled the first soldier, then a second and third. Six down, twenty-four left.

Time to get inside. He hoped the mysterious sniper would take care of any loose ends.





Chapter Sixty-Five



Smoke seeped into the boiler room, forcing Thea and Mamadou to leave their hideaway. They breathed through wet cloths while they prepared to leave. Most fire victims died from smoke inhalation rather than the actual flames. Lethargic, her blood sugar skyrocketing, Thea cursed herself for leaving the insulin upstairs.

“I hope you’re not claustrophobic.”

“The air vent?” the prime minister asked.