Page 5

Mirage

“Black code ready,” the expensively dressed man beside Matthew communicated through a high-tech watch on his left wrist.

“Blacks, you’re a go,” the voice on the radio responded.

Matthew watched as one of the hooded men in black placed a device outside the door of the compound and eased away, pinning his back to the wall.

Ten seconds later, a flash of fire illuminated the screen as a large plume of smoke billowed into the sky.

The two men in black ninja-like clothing rushed through the doors and darted in different directions, moving fast around the perimeter.

The militia guards, frozen in shock, were targeted first, easily taken down with single gunshots to their chests or foreheads.

The hooded men skirted the edges, moving in the shadows of the mud-caked walls, eliminating the militia group two at a time while they scrambled to ready their rifles.

The intruders had both arms raised, wielding nickel-plated handguns, as they fired and dropped bodies as if playing a video game.

Matthew stared transfixed at the masked men moving with inconceivable speed and agility, shooting and killing with barely a glance.

Before the remaining rebels were able to get a clear shot at the dark figures, they were already targeted and hit, their lifeless bodies falling face-first to the ground.

“If you want certainty that this was the group that killed your family, we have satellite confirmation of that as well.” The man’s voice was low now, sounding full of sympathy. “But I thought I’d spare you that video.”

Matthew became too overwhelmed to speak.

He jumped when grenades exploded in another area of the compound, sending it crumbling to the ground and the hostages racing toward what remained of the front gates.

While he’d been focused on the man with the stealth of a cheetah, concealed by a black hood that covered half his face, Matthew had lost track of the other one.

He reappeared, running, shooting, and fighting all at the same time.

The killers crossed paths with each other and swapped weapons with a swift, synchronized motion, never breaking stride.

Matthew couldn’t believe what he was seeing as one of the cheetahs threw a series of knives into one of the rebel’s backs so quickly that if he had blinked, he would’ve missed it.

One navigated through the labyrinth of passages, firing rounds in the last of the rooms before he hurried to the middle of the dust-filled compound to wave the last of the hostages outside.

Matthew cut his eyes to the right and saw the other running so fast he scaled a fifteen-foot wall in five steps before leaping and catching the ledge with one hand.

He propelled his lean body onto the top and ran full speed along the narrow edge, as if he’d trained for years on the balance beam, then tossed grenades over the side wall onto piled crates stamped USMC .

And as if that wasn’t odd enough, the man jumped down, rolled several feet, then skidded to a halt at his partner’s side, all before the explosions went off.

It was an action-packed performance Matthew had only seen in a Hollywood blockbuster.

Were these men mercenaries or black ops?

When the compound was mostly rubble, one of the hooded men disappeared behind a low wall made of stacked mud bricks.

He re-emerged from a section billowing with smoke, dragging a man by his hair before he threw him to the ground.

The hell?

The man was kicked in the back before he scrambled to his knees.

“This is Dembe Ngoimgo, leader of the Karabo Ani-Marekani. His radical group is against all US presence in his village in South Africa.”

“Holding for kill order,” the voice over the radio almost sounded computerized, but Matthew knew it belonged to a human.

The thudding of his heart felt like a jackhammer pounding against his rib cage.

“Your parents’ facility isn’t the only one Ani-Marekani targeted that day, Dr. Adams. And the man on his knees is the one who orchestrated the raids.”