Chapter 1056 Olduvai Gorge (Patreon)

On the video call, Rossi’s aged face also showed a hint of weariness. "I can try to negotiate with the Tanzanian leadership and do my best to buy us some more time. But given the positions of both sides, it's best not to hold out too much hope."

Jubal glanced at the clock—it was already 10 p.m. local time—and his brows had long since furrowed deeply without him realizing it. "So, in the worst-case scenario, we have less than twelve hours left?"

Rossi nodded. The two older men stared silently at the screen for a long while before simultaneously sighing. Jubal gave a helpless "goodbye" and closed his laptop.

They were currently in an office at the local police station. Only he and Jack remained in the room; the others were gathered in the interrogation room next door, watching Detective Polino question Tumor Makani.

Aubrey had a theory: since Elijah had pulled a "reverse takeover" locally by poaching this "pastor's" followers, could he have used a similar tactic to establish his "Eden" near a village or camp where Tumor Makani had been preaching, making it easier to transport supplies?

Thus, everyone was now crowded into the interrogation room, hoping to get the most likely answer from Makani and his two subordinates.

Though there were mosquito coils burning in the office, unidentified flying insects, drawn by the light, kept crashing into the incandescent bulb with sharp, crisp pops, quickly littering the floor with their tiny corpses.

Jubal stared blankly at the tireless little bugs. Perhaps something crossed his mind, for after a long while, he let out another sigh.

"Enough sighing. We'll figure something out," Jack offered casually.

In truth, he was irritated too. Back home, he was used to things going smoothly when handling cases. While in LAPD, he hadn't really come across any major cases, and after joining the FBI’s BAU team, he had rarely been hindered by anything outside the investigation itself.

Clearly, "world police" was just a hollow boast. When dealing with people who didn’t buy into the "shining beacon" narrative, it meant nothing.

Aubrey suddenly burst through the door with excitement, the gust he created blowing insect corpses all over the floor. "Found it."

"Where?" Jubal snapped the pencil he was holding with a loud crack.

"In the Olduvai Gorge. A third of Tumor Makani’s defected followers come from that area, just east of Lake Victoria," Aubrey explained, circling the spot on a map spread across the table. "In the African origin theory of human evolution, the Olduvai Gorge is considered the cradle of humanity. Elijah likely wants to rebuild his 'Eden' there."

Old Mutto followed close behind him, thumping his chest vigorously. "I know a shortcut. We can definitely get there before dawn."

The Olduvai Gorge was an east-west canyon in the famous Great Rift Valley of East Africa, about 50 kilometers long and 900 meters deep. However, its floor wasn’t the barren cliffs and jagged rocks one might imagine, but a vast expanse of vibrant flatlands.

It was less a cultist’s "Eden" and more a sacred ground for archaeologists, paleontologists, and anthropologists. Scientists had discovered there 3.6-million-year-old hominid footprints, fossils of Australopithecus boisei from 1.75 million years ago, and fossils of Homo habilis, considered human ancestors.

The final point on the witness route map Jack and Hannah had drawn was less than 60 kilometers from here.

Without Tumor Makani’s confession and Old Mutto’s local guidance, even a military operation might not have stumbled across the location quickly.

After pushing through a dense field of green stalks, Jack turned off his flashlight and lay prone beside Old Mutto.

"Here, try this. It's sweet," the old man said, casually breaking off a long stalk and handing it over.

Under the faint moonlight, Jack saw something familiar. It was slender and long like sugarcane but not quite. He recalled eating it often as a child; in the South it was called "lucu," and Northerners referred to it as "sweet stalk" or "second-generation sugarcane."

The field around them was densely packed with the stuff.

Jack didn't know its official name was sweet sorghum, originally native to Africa.

When mature, sweet sorghum’s sweetness rivaled sugarcane but was easier on the teeth. It was one of Jack's cherished childhood memories.

Sadly, he wasn’t in the mood to reminisce now. He gnawed absentmindedly on a couple of sections to stay hydrated. Before long, the green field stirred again, and a quick, dark figure appeared in front of them.

One of Old Mutto’s scouts flashed a wide, white grin at them before giving a whispered report.

Jack struggled to understand him but eventually got the gist through Old Mutto’s translation. "They found the yellow bus parked next to the camp. There’s a small chapel inside the camp, but no other buildings. The area is surrounded by tents. Some people are keeping watch by the campfire, so our scouts didn’t dare get too close. One of your guys sabotaged the bus’s starter motor and stayed nearby waiting for you."

To avoid alarming the camp—and due to a lack of squad communication equipment—the group had split into three teams.

Clay volunteered to advance alongside the scouts, while Jack and Old Mutto stayed in the middle for support and to relay messages. Jubal led the rest in the rear.

After a brief discussion, Jack followed the white grin toward Clay, while Old Mutto turned back to organize the others.

Their fugitive apprehension team had just five members. Detective Polino had brought two capable subordinates. Adding Old Mutto and his militia, they barely numbered twenty.

Meanwhile, the camp housed 22 American tourists plus Elijah’s locally recruited followers—almost twice their numbers.

A frontal assault was clearly out of the question. It wasn’t that they couldn’t win; by attacking now, they’d essentially be launching a surprise raid, and Old Mutto’s militia—personally trained by him—was certainly not weak.

The problem was the camp’s sheer numbers. If they couldn’t seize control immediately, chaos would ensue.

Though most of the cultists deserved whatever came to them, at least the ten abducted women and the seven-year-old Nicholas were innocent.

After crawling through the green field for a short while, Jack spotted firelight ahead. Clay, his face camouflaged with dark paint, was lying behind a large rock, watching two drowsy men nodding off by the campfire.

The camp was surrounded by a crude barrier of sharpened stakes and a wooden fence about chest-high, looking freshly constructed—there wasn't even a gate yet.

At the center stood a proper concrete chapel. Beneath the windows of its two rooms, Jack even spotted outdoor AC units.

Clearly, a place like this wouldn’t have a proper power supply. Since there was no hum of generators, they either hadn’t been installed or weren’t running yet.