Open Pit Read Online Free Page B

goes first, stepping into what can’t even be called a clearing — no tents, no latrines. She unloads her pack with a thud to signal the others to let theirs down too. Her back is immediately cold as chilly air flows over copious sweat.
    â€œStand there,” the man says, pointing away from the bags.
    Robotically, Danielle obeys. These clipped instructions have got to end sooner or later, like the walking. As the rest of the group comes to huddle around her, the taller masked man steps away, disappearing through the trees. The shorter one remains. Antoine, on Danielle’s right, is using his sleeve to wipe a runny nose. He has an honest face, and Danielle exchanges a glance with him that gives her a tiny burst of comfort. But Tina gasps, making Danielle look back. The tall one is returning, and he’s not alone. Two people follow, cracking branches as they emerge from the trees. Both are masked, both women. Tina starts to cry. Danielle is too tired for an emotional response. She can only do the math. That’s four altogether. Four bad guys against five weaklings.
    The women come directly towards the group, gun straps pressed across their chests, their arms full of green plastic. “They’re Rita and Delmi,” says the short one as the first, Rita, steps up to Danielle and throws plastic at her feet like it’s a bag of garbage, another chunk of it at Antoine. The other woman, Delmi, who’s plump, spilling out of a tight t-shirt, more sheepishly deposits three bundles in front of the others, then backs away with a slight giggle.
    â€œThat’s Cristóbal,” the short man continues, nodding towards his tall accomplice, Mr. Hat Store Dummy. “And I’m Pepe.” He pauses, giving the group time to take in these names. “Now you’ll sleep,” he adds.
    The women accomplices eagerly pull up their guns, guarding closely as each member of the group unfolds a tarp. Danielle smoothes out the new-smelling plastic, creating a thin barrier between herself and the raw earth. Then she gets down and closes her eyelids tightly, blocking out the morning.

    11 AM . Mil Sueños mine, Municipality of Los Pampanos
    The photo caption in tomorrow’s paper will read: “NorthOre owner Mitchell Wall, recently targeted by terrorist threats, preparing to tour Mil Sueños with probable Democratic Alliance Party candidate Carlos Mendoza Reyes.” Mitch is banking on it. He and Carlos played around with the wording for some time. Now they tuck away their helmets, smile and shake on it. The camera snaps multiple frames.
    â€œOkay,” says the photographer, capping his lens, and Carlos walks over to run through the shots with him. Mitch stays put, trusting him to cherry-pick the very best, the one in which he looks his most cool, calm and collected.
    Sobero, who has come outside to join them, signals modestly from the edge of the tarmac. Mitch waves him closer.
    â€œ Jefe . I’ve chosen two good men to begin making inquiries into where the foreigners might have gone. These individuals are very skilled. They will not fail.”
    â€œThat’s fantastic,” says Mitch, though Carlos has brought news from his own contacts that suggests the hostages could be just about anywhere. It’s been twenty-four hours and there are no witnesses besides their bus driver, who says he knows nothing. “Let’s also see what the police can sniff out.”
    â€œI have more freedom than the police.”
    Mitch looks Sobero over. The top button of his white work shirt reaches nearly his chin. His too-round eyes blink quickly. “I don’t want anything dangerous, Manuel,” says Mitch, feeling, as he has before, a bit sorry for Sobero and his reduced position. He was “somebody” in El Salvador before the war. After it ended, Sobero had to start from scratch.
    â€œNothing dangerous. Just what is necessary,” says Sobero, running his hand, not