Holmes, who had heard several stories of Ndjai’s unwavering toughness in Nkambé, Cameroon, where Ndjai had been an overseer on a cacao plantation. Like most workers from his country, he had labored in unbearable conditions for virtually nothing—his average income was only $150 per year—so when Holmes offered him a job in America, Ndjai wept for joy for the first time in his life.
But that was several months ago, and Ndjai was back to his old ways.
In a cold growl, Ndjai reinforced the instructions that Jackson and Holmes had given during their cross-burning party, but he did it with his own special touch. “I am the overseer of this Plantation, and out of respect for my job, you shall refer to me as sir . Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the naked group shouted.
“Each of you has been brought here for a reason, and that reason will eventually be revealed. Until that time, you will become a part of the Plantation’s working staff, performing the duties that will be assigned to you.” Ndjai signaled one of the guards, who ran forward, carrying a silver belt that shone in the sun. “While you are working, you will be positioned on various parts of our land, and at some point, you might be tempted to run for freedom.”
He smiled under his dark cloak. “It is something I do not recommend.”
Ndjai grabbed the metal belt and wrapped it around a cement slab that rested near the bloodstained chopping block. After clicking the belt in place, he handed the cement to a nearby guard, who immediately carried it fifty yards from the crowd.
“When you are given your uniforms, you will have one of these belts locked to your ankle. It cannot be removed by anyone but me, and I will not remove it for any reason during your stay on this island.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a tiny remote control. He held the gadget in the air so everyone could see it. “This is what you Americans call a deterrent.”
With a push of a button, the cement block erupted into a shower of rubble, sending shards of rock in every direction and smoke high into the air.
“Did I get your attention?” he asked. “Now imagine what would have happened if your personal anklet were to be detonated. I doubt much of you would be found.”
A couple of the guards snickered, but Ndjai silenced them with a sharp stare. He would not tolerate disrespect from anybody.
“I know some of you will try to figure out how your anklets work, and some of you will try to disarm them. Well, I will tell you now: Your efforts will fail! We have buried a small number of transmitters throughout the Plantation. If at any time your anklet crosses the perimeter, your personal bomb will explode, killing you instantly. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, one more thing. If your device is detonated, it will send a signal to the anklets that are being worn by several other prisoners, and they will be killed as well. Do you understand?”
They certainly did, and the mere thought of it made them shudder.
CHAPTER 13
JONES returned to his scenic office and locked himself in his massive technology lab. The room cost a staggering amount of money and was filled with high-tech equipment that many police departments would love to have. The most important piece of hardware was the computer, but it was the instrument that cost Jones the least. Built by Payne Industries, the computer was a scaled-down version of the system used at FBI headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and had been given to Jones as an office-warming gift.
Placing the surveillance disc into the unit, Jones quickly broke the footage into manageable data files. He was then able to select a precise frame from the video and put it on his screen in microscopic clarity.
“What should I look at first?” he mumbled to himself.
Then it dawned on him. He wanted to examine the assailant’s right wrist to see if
But that was several months ago, and Ndjai was back to his old ways.
In a cold growl, Ndjai reinforced the instructions that Jackson and Holmes had given during their cross-burning party, but he did it with his own special touch. “I am the overseer of this Plantation, and out of respect for my job, you shall refer to me as sir . Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the naked group shouted.
“Each of you has been brought here for a reason, and that reason will eventually be revealed. Until that time, you will become a part of the Plantation’s working staff, performing the duties that will be assigned to you.” Ndjai signaled one of the guards, who ran forward, carrying a silver belt that shone in the sun. “While you are working, you will be positioned on various parts of our land, and at some point, you might be tempted to run for freedom.”
He smiled under his dark cloak. “It is something I do not recommend.”
Ndjai grabbed the metal belt and wrapped it around a cement slab that rested near the bloodstained chopping block. After clicking the belt in place, he handed the cement to a nearby guard, who immediately carried it fifty yards from the crowd.
“When you are given your uniforms, you will have one of these belts locked to your ankle. It cannot be removed by anyone but me, and I will not remove it for any reason during your stay on this island.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and pulled out a tiny remote control. He held the gadget in the air so everyone could see it. “This is what you Americans call a deterrent.”
With a push of a button, the cement block erupted into a shower of rubble, sending shards of rock in every direction and smoke high into the air.
“Did I get your attention?” he asked. “Now imagine what would have happened if your personal anklet were to be detonated. I doubt much of you would be found.”
A couple of the guards snickered, but Ndjai silenced them with a sharp stare. He would not tolerate disrespect from anybody.
“I know some of you will try to figure out how your anklets work, and some of you will try to disarm them. Well, I will tell you now: Your efforts will fail! We have buried a small number of transmitters throughout the Plantation. If at any time your anklet crosses the perimeter, your personal bomb will explode, killing you instantly. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Oh, one more thing. If your device is detonated, it will send a signal to the anklets that are being worn by several other prisoners, and they will be killed as well. Do you understand?”
They certainly did, and the mere thought of it made them shudder.
CHAPTER 13
JONES returned to his scenic office and locked himself in his massive technology lab. The room cost a staggering amount of money and was filled with high-tech equipment that many police departments would love to have. The most important piece of hardware was the computer, but it was the instrument that cost Jones the least. Built by Payne Industries, the computer was a scaled-down version of the system used at FBI headquarters in Langley, Virginia, and had been given to Jones as an office-warming gift.
Placing the surveillance disc into the unit, Jones quickly broke the footage into manageable data files. He was then able to select a precise frame from the video and put it on his screen in microscopic clarity.
“What should I look at first?” he mumbled to himself.
Then it dawned on him. He wanted to examine the assailant’s right wrist to see if
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