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“So what’s the deal with this mine anyway? I don’t recall Thero having any mining expertise.”
“He has others,” Masinga explained. “It’s an uneasy relationship between him and the overseers. He keeps them on a short leash, yanking their chains from time to time, but for the most part he leaves them alone. They work us and sell the diamonds. Thero lets them keep a cut, or so I’ve heard.”
“Slave labor,” Kurt noted. “That’s one way to bump up the profit margin.”
“As we die off, they bring in more,” Masinga added. “Kidnapping and luring in people who have little else in the way of opportunity.”
Kurt understood. It was a whole new reason to put Thero out of business, but it ran a distant second to saving Australia. “Any new arrivals in the last few hours?”
“Are you looking for someone specific?” Devlin replied.
“I started out with some friends,” Kurt said. “Thero’s men attacked us. We got separated. I think they were probably captured.”
“That’s no good,” Masinga said. “Thero will torture them, until they give in or die.”
Kurt studied Masinga’s face. His nose had obviously been broken at some point, and a jagged scar next to his ear looked like the result of some violent blunt-force trauma. “I’m guessing you know where that would take place.”
“I do,” Masinga said.
“I need you to show me.”
“That’s back into the middle of this maze,” the third member of the trio said. “You’ll never get past Thero’s men.”
“Maybe I won’t,” Kurt corrected. “But we are going to try. You’re all coming with me.”
“Fine by me,” Devlin said. “I’ve got a bone to pick with one of them.”
“I do also,” Masinga said.
“Just tie me to the machine,” the third man said. “I’ll wait for you to come back.”
Kurt glared at him.
“What’s the difference? Three against thirty or four against thirty? Same odds, really. You don’t need me.”
In a roundabout way, the man was right. Kurt had another idea. “How many other prisoners down here?”
“Sixty or seventy,” Masinga replied.
“And how many of them might like a shot at revenge?”
“At least sixty or seventy,” the South African repeated, smiling.
“That makes the living quarters our first stop.”
* * *
Joe and Gregorovich remained in the interrogation room, sweating in what had to be hundred-degree heat. As the perspiration trickled down his face and dripped off his nose, Joe could barely believe the irony. “An hour ago, I thought I’d freeze to death.”
“Now they’re broiling us,” Gregorovich replied.
The small room had begun to feel stifling. Joe figured it was time to take drastic measures. He writhed around until he could rub the side of his wet face against the back of his hand. When the perspiration from his face and hair had coated his hand, he changed positions.
Squeezing his fingers together as tightly as he could, Joe eased his hand into the cuff. He felt like a contortionist, pulling and twisting.
“You’ll never get free like that,” Gregorovich said.
“I have large wrists and average hands,” Joe said. “And these old shackles have a lot of play in them.”
