Read Online Z by Bob Mayer - Free Book Online Page B

didn’t—”
    The first round caught the man in the stomach and Quinn casually raised his aim, stitching a pattern up the chest. The man flew backward into the river, arms splayed, blood swirling in the brown water. Quinn turned to Trent, who had finished with his share of the gear. “Get to work, Doctor.”
    Trent reached into his backpack and pulled out a small cardboard box of surgical gloves. He pulled a pair on and gestured for the first man. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” The man walked up and Trent checked his mouth, nostrils and ears, then down the body to his groin. “Turn. Bend.” The man grunted as Trent checked his anus, fingers probing.
    “Next.”
    When Trent was done, the men redonned their clothes and gear. “Make sure you drink upstream from that shit-pile,” Trent advised the men, pointing at the body of the Australian, which was slowly floating away downstream. “We’ll rest here for a few hours.”
    Quinn retired to the shade of a tree. He took the four diamonds and added them to the group in a leather pouch tied around his neck along with his old ID tags. Trent joined him there and handed him a sheet of paper. The message Andrews received last night.”
    Quinn looked at a long list of letters that made no sense. “They encoded it. Must be getting worried about the Americans listening in.”
    Trent didn’t reply. He took his knife out and began sharpening the already gleaming edge.
    Quinn retrieved a Ziploc bag from his breast pocket. Inside it was a small notepad. He turned to the eleventh page—equaling the day of the month they received the message—and began matching the letters of the message with the letters on the page. Then, using a tri-graph, a standard page that had three letter groups on it, he began deciphering the message. It was slow work, made more difficult by the need to figure where one word ended and the next one began. After twenty minutes, he had it done:
     
    TO QUINN FROM SKELETON
    LINK UP WITH PARTY—VICINITY CHILUAGE ACROSS BORDER IN ZAIRE—AT COORDINATES SEVEN TWO THREE SIX FOUR EIGHT—DATE TIME SIXTEEN JUNE ZERO NINE ZERO ZERO GREENWICH MEAN—FOLLOW ATT ORDERS OF PARTY TO BE MET—BONUS ASSURED—CONFIRM ORDERS RECEIVED END
     
    Quinn pulled out his map and looked at the coordinates. About eighty kilometers upstream and then slightly to the east across the border into Zaire. He handed the message to Trent.
    “Why the fuck don’t they just drop this party off at one of these dirt runways in country?” Trent asked.
    Quinn pulled a small Walkman radio out of his backpack. “You haven’t been listening to the news. I pick up SNN radio broadcasts out of Kinshasa on this. The Americans have moved an aircraft carrier to just off the coast. They’re going to start enforcing the UN’s no-fly rule.”
    “But Skeleton could still—’“
    “He’s got to cover his ass,” Quinn cut in, looking around to make sure none of the others were in earshot.
    “Why through Zaire?” Trent asked. “Skeleton’s in Namibia.”
    Quinn had already considered that. “Northern Namibia is hot right now with the SADF and the other Pan-African forces. Easier to send someone around through Zaire. Besides, it’s closer to us.”
    Trent looked at the map. “It’s still a long fucking walk.”
    “We’ve got three full days to make it.” He rubbed the stubble of his beard. “I wonder what the hell Skeleton wants us to do after we link up with this guy?”
    Trent was anything but stupid, and he had been thinking about the upcoming changes. “Probably Skeleton wants us to eyeball the mines. Get ready for when Van Wyks gets them under his control. After all, Skeleton is his chief of security.”
    “That will put us out of business,” Quinn said. “But I think we’ve played this one as long as we can. And he does promise a bonus. Exactly how much, though, I think we can negotiate over the radio the next few days, seeing as they apparently need us.”
    “We need