“Kevin?” Melanie whispered. “Are you okay?”

“As good as can be expected,” Kevin said.

“Thank God,” Melanie said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Kevin said. “I’d thought I’d made it. I was right at the cave’s entrance.”

“Are you hurt?” Candace asked.

“A little,” Kevin admitted. “But no broken bones. At least, I don’t think so.”

“We couldn’t see what happened,” Melanie said.

“My double scolded me,” Kevin said. “At least that’s what I think he was doing. Then he threw me back in here. I’m glad I didn’t land on either of you.”

“I’m so sorry I encouraged you to go,” Melanie said. “I guess you were right.”

“It’s good of you to say,” Kevin said. “Well, it almost worked. I was so close.”

Candace switched on the flashlight with her hand shielding the front lens. She held it near Kevin’s arm to check his elbow.

“I guess we’re going to have to count on Bertram Edwards,” Melanie said. She shuddered and then sighed. “It’s hard to believe: we’re prisoners of our own creations.”

CHAPTER 20

March 8, 1997

4:40 P.M.

Bata, Equatorial Guinea

Jack realized he’d been clenching his teeth. He was also holding Laurie’s hand much harder than was reasonable. Consciously, he tried to relax. The problem had been the flight from Douala, Cameroon, to Bata. The airline was a fly-by-night outfit that used small, old commuter planes, just the kind of aircraft that plagued Jack’s nightmares about his late family.

The flight had not been easy. The plane constantly dodged thunderstorms whose towering clouds varied in color from whipped-cream white to deep purple. Lightning had flashed constantly, and the turbulence was fierce.

The previous part of the trip had been a dream. The flight from New York to Paris had been smooth and blissfully uneventful. Everyone had slept at least a few hours.

Arrival in Paris had been ten minutes early, so they’d had ample time to make their connection with Cameroon Airlines. Everyone slept even more on the flight south to Douala. But that final leg to Bata was a hair-raiser.

“We’re landing,” Laurie said to Jack.

“I hope it is a controlled landing,” Jack quipped.

He looked out the dirty window. As he’d expected, the landscape was a carpet of uninterrupted green. As the tops of the trees came closer and closer, he hoped there was a runway ahead.

Eventually, they touched down onto tarmac, and Jack and Warren breathed simultaneous sighs of relief.

As the weary travelers climbed out of the small, aged plane, Jack looked across the ill-maintained runway and saw a strange sight. It was a resplendent white jet sitting all by itself against the dark green of the jungle. At four points surrounding the plane were soldiers in camouflage fatigues and red berets. Although ostensibly standing upright, they’d all assumed varying postures of repose. Automatic rifles were casually slung over their shoulders.

“Whose plane?” Jack asked Esteban. With no markings it was apparent it was a private jet.

“I can’t imagine,” Esteban said.