Diamond Mine Page 6

  Hannah stood with her mouth open. It was like a bad movie. There was nowhere to hide. All she could do was wait.

  Maybe they would forget about her, and she could run for help. First, she would call Tonya and inform Mike. Hadn’t he worked at a couple of foreign embassies? Rubbing her forehead, Hannah wished she could remember.

  While she fantasized about escape, she discovered her own fate. Hannah wasn’t to be left out. The man who had thrown her to the dirt grabbed her hands. He wound rope around her wrists and tied it in a knot. A smile graced the captor’s face as he dragged her to the back of the truck, picked her up, and bodily flung her inside. She landed on her side on the splintered floor, holding in the groan that threatened to escape.

  None of the uniformed men rode with them. The truck lurched into motion, and Melanie reached forward with her bound hands and helped Hannah into a sitting position.

  Benches lined both sides of the ancient truck. The top was covered with a canvas flap, like an old-timey covered wagon. If Hannah hadn’t been so afraid, she was sure she could have made a decent romance story out of her circumstances. As it stood, she focused on the ropes cutting into her wrists and the fact that there was no knight in shining armor waiting in the wings to come and remove them.

  Melanie’s whispered voice interrupted her thoughts. “What were you thinking?”

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you! If you would’ve remained silent, maybe they wouldn’t have noticed you.”

  The angry whisper only fueled Hannah’s fury. “Oh yes, I’m sure if I’d kept my mouth shut, my lily-white skin wouldn’t have been noticed in the sea of darkness!”

  Melanie dropped her chin to her chest, her expression downcast. “I’m sorry, Hannah. Korzan and I moved the orphanage here because of the violence in Sudan and…”

  The words lodged in her throat and she stopped. Hannah placed a hand on Melanie’s arm. “Is Korzan really dead?”

  Melanie’s bright eyes dimmed as she relayed their story. “When we arrived here with the children, we were ecstatic. The church provided farmland and a home. Everything was going so well. Then a few weeks later, one of our wards went missing. The girl, Eshe, I’m ashamed to say, had run away a few times before, so we thought little of it. But then when Bunmi, who had been with us since he was a toddler, disappeared, we became worried.

  “Korzan drove into town and informed the authorities. They laughed at him, and said Eshe had probably just left to find a man. And Bunmi wasn’t worth searching for because he was already a man. Can you imagine? A man at thirteen. He was just a child.”

  Melanie sighed. “Korzan came home in a rage. If the authorities wouldn’t help us we didn’t know what to do.

  “Several days passed and men with guns arrived. They told Korzan if he went with them peacefully, they would leave me and the children unharmed.”

  Melanie studied her nails, a wave of fresh tears trailed down her face. Hannah’s heart felt like a giant fist squeezed it. She waited on the rest of the story until it felt as if she would burst. When she could stand it no longer, she asked, “And?”

  “And he went. That was almost a year ago.”

  “Melanie! Why didn’t you contact us? Tonya and I would have done something. Marched on Washington, stormed the embassy, written letters. We would have thought of something to get him back.”

  Melanie shrugged. “After the men left with Korzan, we didn’t hear anything for awhile. I knew we were being watched. I could feel it. But I had a plan, and I decided it was worth the risk.

  “I went to see a local priest at the monastery. I assumed that would be safe enough. They are secluded on the outskirts of town and rarely receive local visitors. But I was discovered, and I received a visitor of my own. Tapiwa, the rebel leader, came to my home. My home. Fortunately, the children were away gathering supplies.” She laid her head against the canvas wall and closed her eyes. “He told me if I tried to contact anyone else, he would know and I would regret it. I guess he wasn’t lying.”

  “What? I don’t understand.”

  Melanie sat straighter, turned her head, and gazed at Hannah. “He hasn’t been around for months, but miraculously the day you arrive, his men show up.”

  Hannah hung her head. All this time she’d been concerned about publishing another novel, about being remembered for doing something of little actual importance in the world, while Melanie had been alone, waiting for a miracle, waiting for a husband, who she thought was dead.

  “You said Korzan sent you a ticket?” asked Melanie.

  “Yes. It was postmarked from South Africa almost two years ago.”

  “That was right after the bab—”

  Hannah grabbed Melanie’s fingers and squeezed. Tears streamed down her dust-streaked cheeks.

  The meaning of all this was elusive. Korzan gone, maybe dead. Melanie, the kids, and herself being carted off to who knows where or for what purpose.

  Mimicking Melanie’s pose, she closed her eyes and prayed. Only one thing was certain, God always has a plan. Hannah just hoped she hadn’t messed it up.

  Chapter Twelve

  Today the hot sun beat against Rory’s back. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and pooled across his chest. He swiped his hand across his forehead. Luckily, he tanned; otherwise, the South African sun would have burnt him to a crisp.

  Placing the shovel on the ground, he leaned on it. Today his leg hurt more than usual. But it was okay. It was a sign he’d worked off his guilt, made up for his sins. Atonement was meant to be painful.

  Forearms steady, Rory watched a newcomer enter the outside gates of the monastery. A boy, around twelve years of age with tattered clothing, his hair standing up, and eyes opened as wide as they could go, ran in circles and waved his arms in a frantic manner.

  “Help me! Please someone help me! I must speak with the priest!” he yelled.

  Father Thomas emerged from a nearby building and walked to the boy’s side, whisking him to the chapel.

  The child’s dilemma piqued his curiosity. No bloodstains dotted his clothing. All the child’s limbs appeared in place and in working order. Obviously there were no problems with his lungs. What else could cause such urgency?

  Shaking his head, Rory continued digging. The hole around the tree widened with each passing day. Eventually the roots would be exposed and the tree could be moved to its new home.

  Whistling under his breath, he continued his assignment. A shadow fell across him and Rory lifted his head.

  “Mr. Chance, I must speak with you in private. It is of the utmost importance.”

  Rory glanced at the father. The man fidgeted with his robe.

  Using his good leg, Rory hoisted himself out of the hole and followed the priest to his office.

  Pain radiated from his knee to his thigh. The doctor had checked it the day before and said it was healing nicely. Questions about phantom pain and longing for the lost limb came to him, but he kept his mouth shut. What good would it do? The pain would always be there. Whether it was at the end of his stump or in his heart didn’t really matter.

  Focusing ahead, he followed Father Thomas’ hastening gait. Inside the church, they walked through the aisle of pews and ended at the office in the back of the chapel. Open windows offered little respite from the heat.

  The young child sat in a chair, swinging his skinny legs back and forth. The door clicked closed, and he jumped up and rushed forward. Brittle arms wrapped around Rory’s leg as the boy lifted his gaze to meet his face. Words rushed from his mouth, and Rory missed the translation. Lifting his brow, he looked to the priest.

  Speaking in the child’s native tongue, Father Thomas soothed the boy. Reluctantly, he released Rory and sat back in the chair. The words volleyed and Rory waited.

  Father Thomas said, “This child came from Grace Children’s Home. He claims Melanie Sekibo, the leader of the orphanage, and all the children living there, were taken.”

  “All right,” Rory said, shifting in his seat
, missing the significance.

  “They were taken by a faction of traders working for Biashara Githinji. The man runs a notorious criminal empire. Most notably, he trades in illegal diamonds, but it seems he has stretched his reach.”

  Rory nodded, a feeling of unease settled in his stomach.

  Father Thomas continued, “This is not all. The child says a white woman, an American, arrived earlier today. A friend from the United States who came to visit with Melanie. She was taken as well.”

  Rory’s heart skipped a beat. Instantly he thought, I’m not here to rescue people. I’m here to hide from the press and repent of my sins.

  He gulped and twisted his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Father Thomas frowned. “Rory, you do not understand. If you did, you would be more upset. They, the women and children, have been taken to Tapiwa’s camp.”

  “Who?” asked Rory, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

  Father Thomas’ sigh of anguish filled the room. “Rory, the women and children have been taken by human traffickers. Tapiwa is the leader of Biashara’s workers. As I said, Biashara has stretched his reach. These ladies will be sold into slavery and lost forever.”

  Rory sat up straighter. “What? No, that’s impossible.”

  “I am afraid not. South Africa has laws against such actions, but they aren’t always enforced. Often it is the foreigners, or visitors, to the country who are in the most danger.”

  These weren’t the answers Rory wanted or needed. He asked, “Why was the orphanage targeted?”

  The question was asked of the child, and Father Thomas translated. “The boy doesn’t know. He says he was new to the orphanage. Until today, he’d not seen the traffickers.”

  Rory’s instincts kicked in. “How did this one escape while all the others were taken? You can’t trust him, Father. It may be a trick.”

  “Ah, it is no trick. The child was taking care of, um, personal matters when the men arrived.”

  “You mean he was in the loo?”

  “Yes. He claimed he played with the others when a very white lady with long brown hair visited with Melanie. She is the mother of the children, if you will.

  “Anyway, he left and went to the outhouse right before the jeeps pulled up. He peeked through cracks in the boards and saw Tapiwa’s men. Apparently, Melanie attempted to hide the woman or keep her quiet, I’m not exactly sure on that part of the story. He seems to think the woman had an infirmity of the mind because of her slow actions. Of course, that is not important.”

  Father Thomas waved his hands through the air and continued. “Once they left with the inhabitants, the boy ran here as fast as he could. He says before he went to the orphanage, he’d heard on the streets that a white hero stayed here. That is why he came. Because he thought the hero could help.”

  The child’s head bobbed up and down. On the verge of denying the boy, the father, and the whole orphanage, he remembered something the priest said. Long brown hair. What were the odds? There were millions, maybe billions of people with that hair color. No way was it her.

  “Father, ask the boy if he knows the woman’s name.”

  His gut twisted as the child struggled to remember.

  As if a light bulb came on, the boy’s face morphed into a wide grin, and he answered, “Hannah.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Melanie warned the children not to speak out of turn, and the rest of the trip occurred in silence. Hannah disagreed. They should peek through the slats on the truck, and when they passed through a town, scream until their lungs threatened to burst. But she couldn’t go against Melanie’s wishes. If she had listened to her in the beginning, perhaps they wouldn’t be in this mess.

  She couldn’t ignore the fact that Melanie knew more about this place, these people, and this culture. Maybe if they were quiet and complacent, then all the bad people would just leave them alone.

  One thing Melanie did that Hannah thought was a good idea was pray. Even though she made no audible sound, she closed her eyes and moved her lips. Hannah followed suit. And for a second time, the situation was handed over to God, trusting He would rescue them.

  Time flew by. The truck lurched to a halt. Soldiers moved outside. Earlier, Melanie had hinted someone named Tapiwa was responsible for their current situation. Fear kept her from asking who he was and what he wanted from them.

  Why would someone take Korzan and then threaten to take Melanie? It made no sense.

  Now she wished she had asked. At least she would have known her enemy. Comic books and kids cartoons were fond of saying Knowledge is power, and she believed them. To know your enemy and their weaknesses was the only way to defeat them.

  A man dressed like a soldier jerked the back gate open. They pulled the children from the truck and threw them to the dusty ground.

  Melanie huddled in the corner; fear lit her eyes. Surprised, Hannah stared at her. Looking between Melanie and the children, she gathered her courage, struggled to her feet, stumbled to the edge, sat on the end, and lowered herself down. Wrists still bound, she worked to pick up the children. She whispered words of encouragement, attempting to communicate that everything would be okay. With some of the children, the language barrier kept her from knowing if she’d gotten her point across. However, brief smiles gave her hope that maybe her feeble attempts had worked.

  As she bent to sweep the dust off the knees of one spindly-legged child, a look of horror crossed the little one’s face. She was too late to move out of the way before a fist, the size of a bear paw, slapped the side of her head and she fell.

  Instinctively, she returned to her feet. She got in one good kick before the stranger threw her to the ground and booted her in the ribs.

  Instead of jumping up so she could be knocked down again, she placed herself in the fetal position and waited. The patience was rewarded and the abuse stopped. She chanced to look up. She was surrounded by several guards, who stared at her like a pack of hungry wolves.

  One guard reached forward and grabbed her shirt. Her sleeve ripped off in his hand, and he held it up like a prize.

  Angry, Hannah grasped the cuff and pulled. The guard stared at her, his face twisted in a maniacal grin.

  Fear gnawed at her gut, and she looked for assistance. Melanie was nowhere to be found. She was alone in her fight.

  The ropes chafed but she didn’t let go of the shirt. Her efforts were rewarded with a punch to her head. The sight of the camp blurred, then nothing but darkness.

  ****

  Hannah awoke alone in an enclosed cell, happy to discover she still wore her ragged, torn clothing, and that only her shoes and socks were missing.

  Laid out on a wooden shelf about five feet in length and around two feet from the ground, she’d curled into a ball. Her lids fluttered, and she focused her blurred vision. The room wasn’t much larger than a child’s bedroom. The only opening a bar-covered square at the top of a rudely constructed door.

  Hannah pushed to a seated position and pulled her knees into her chest. Fear and cold caused her to shiver.

  She lost track of time. Was it day or night? Without outside access, there was no way to tell.

  Where were Melanie and the children?

  This was not the reunion she’d planned.

  Head back against the wall, Hannah wished she’d had time to go through her luggage. Then she could have retrieved her Bible. She needed the words right now more than ever.

  Stories of Paul or Christ’s other followers would bring peace. They prayed, sang, and talked to Jesus, counting themselves worthy to be in prison for the Savior.

  Hannah didn’t know why she was being held, but she knew the words of the Bible would bring her comfort in any situation. The twenty-third Psalm came to mind.

  “And though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For thou art with me.”

  Then other words came. “I go to prepare a place for you, if it were not so,
I would have told you.”

  Verses cycled over and over in her head as the sound of shuffling feet and jumbled voices filtered in from outside. She wanted to jump from the bed, race to the door, and call out, but why give her captors the satisfaction. Instead she listened.

  The door opened and a guard walked in, carrying a tray of food. He smiled, revealing a row of blackened teeth. Hannah forced her gaze downward.

  “Here you go. Enjoy the weevils,” he said, turning away from her and laughing.

  She broke. Standing on the platform, she jumped onto his back. She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck.

  “Let me go!” he yelled, turning in circles and shoving her against the wall.

  Tighter and tighter, she squeezed his neck. The guard’s movements became erratic, and he grew limp and fell to the ground.

  At the sound of the door slapping the wall, Hannah released him. She grabbed the tray from the bed and threw it at the newcomers. Dodging, they grabbed the guard and pulled him out.

  Like a wild animal, Hannah hunched in the corner of the bed. Let them think she was crazy. Let them believe she was a madwoman. That was her only hope of keeping them at bay.

  Days passed. Food became scarce as fewer and fewer guards were willing to risk her fits. Thoughts of why she was here kept her going. New story plots with ways to punish her tormentors kept her sane.

  “Tapiwa, I tell you she is not ready,” said a voice from outside.

  “It does not matter. We have a buyer. You will get her ready. Clean her up if you have to strip her and spray her with a hose.”

  Hannah cringed. The keys rattled in the door and she moved farther into the corner. The lone bulb in the room shone brightly, giving her nowhere to hide. Now, if she could just absorb into the wall.

  “Come on, little one. I don’t want to hurt you.”