Covert Action

by Dick Couch

  “Sandwiches and soup today and tomorrow. Then we’re going to be eating like the troops.”

  “MREs?”

  “MREs.”

  Janet considered this. “I’ll save my sandwich for when I relieve Dodds at 4:00 A.M. I think I’ll have an MRE right now. Want to join me?”

  “Why not?” Steven said easily. “It seems like a good way to begin this venture.” Dodds LeMaster readily agreed. MREs, or Meals, Ready to Eat, were the standard field ration of the U.S. military, similar to hiking rations but with a packet that chemically heated the meal. Loaded with calories, and reasonably tasty, a single ration could keep a man in the field for an entire day.

  They set about preparing their MREs in companionable silence, eating them from the foil packets like containers of Chinese takeout. Dodds relieved Bill Owens from his comm watch so he could join them for something to eat. Steven had seen Janet Brisco run an operation before. She was normally tense, prowling about like a nervous cat; thus far, she had been no less vigilant about her duties, but she seemed far more settled and centered than he would have expected her to be. Perhaps Africa was reaching out to her, even if she was not reaching out to Africa.

  Several miles east, and upstream of where Garrett Walker and Elvis Rosenblatt were so elegantly encamped, a group of men and several trucks gathered on the bank of the Zambezi River. They were on an uninhabited stretch between the Kafue and Chonga Rivers, which ran circuitously north to south into the Zambezi. They all worked quietly, showing no lights. One of the easiest, most popular, and accessible ways to see the Lower Zambezi is by canoe, so there are a number of concessions along the river downstream from the town of Chirunda that serve the Lower Zambezi National Park on the Zambian side and the Mana Pools National Park on the Zimbabwean side. Now that they were going into the wet season, Mana Pools National Park was accessible only by canoe. One of Benjamin Sato’s many cousins owned a concession that provided guided canoe tours on the Zambezi. These range from single day paddles on the river to canoeing safaris that lasted up to a week. The Zambezi from Kariba, through Chirunda and the two national parks, to the town of Karryemba, near where the Zambezi flows into Mozambique, is one of the most spectacular waterways in the world. Since the damning of the Zambezi to form Lake Kariba, the water levels have been controlled and consistent for most of the year, except for the runoff late in the wet season—generally March and April. It is a land of dramatic beauty and contrast. On the Zimbabwean side the land rises to rugged mountains. On the Zambian side, it is a hot, flat, malarial flood plain.

  At first, Benjamin’s cousin had not been keen on the project. A concession on the Zambezi and the license to operate tours was his livelihood, but when Benjamin offered him three times what he made in a year, with half up front in South African rand, he agreed. A flotilla of eight safari canoes had been assembled on the bank. The assault team contained a dozen men plus Tomba, AKR, and their two guides. Crossing the placid Zambezi and drifting downstream toward the Mana Pools National Park on a moonless night did not appear to be a difficult task for a band of seasoned bush professionals, but the Zambezi could be dangerous. There were shifting sandbars and islands that were often hard to distinguish from the permanent shoreline, even in the daylight. Then there were several pods of hippopotamuses, mostly on the Zimbabwean side. A rampaging hippo could easily take out half of the little fleet of canoes; more Africans are killed by hippos each year than by lions. Then there was the matter of navigation. Tomba and his men were well equipped with GPS receivers, but the GPSs did not mark where the Mana Pool rangers might be camped along the river, nor did the exact trail that would take them into the hinterland have a set of GPS coordinates. To avoid park rangers and find the right trail, they needed guides with local knowledge.

  The men had their individual gear stowed in waterproof bags, two men and two bags to a canoe. They were all dressed in dark clothes and black sneakers for the crossing, the canoes lined up on the bank, the men standing by their craft.

  “All is ready, sir,” Benjamin’s cousin said to Mohammed Senagal, who had organized the crossing and had the small force ready to move when Tomba and the others arrived.

  “And the guides understand exactly where we need to be on the Zimbabwean side?”

  “Yes, sir.” Senegal exuded a quiet, powerful presence that Zambians seemed to respect and fear.

  “Then we will be away. Thank you for your work here.” He handed him a bag filled with hundred-rand notes. “This is the balance of what is owed for your services. If something unplanned is waiting for us on the other side, then I will be back for the money and your life.”

  Benjamin almost spoke out, but held his tongue. Senagal was not a man to be contradicted, at least not by him. Then Tomba joined them, placing one hand on Senegal’s shoulder and the other on the cousin’s.

  “Benjamin has vouched for this man, so I am sure his services are in order and his guides will see us to the proper place in Zimbabwe. Still, it will be unfortunate if Mohammed has to return to Lusaka. Let us be about our business.” AKR stood to one side, allowing Tomba to handle the matter.

  Benjamin and his cousin watched as the expedition eased themselves into the eight canoes and pushed off from the shore. Another of the Africans, a quiet Zulu named Msika, had been detailed to stay with Benjamin and to keep an eye on the Jeki camp. Both Tomba and AKR agreed that neither Benjamin nor Msika should be away from the camp at the same time. Both men understood their duties and did not complain, but both desperately wanted to be away with the assault force on the Zambezi.

  One of the guides was in the bow of Tomba’s craft, the other with AKR. The canoes formed two loose groups of four as they paddled easily out from the shore, and the gentle current swept them off to the northeast. It was a very dark night, so both Tomba and AKR had Chemlights tied to the stern of their canoes. They were not visible from the shore, but the dull, lime green lights allowed the others to keep them in sight. In addition, one man in each boat had a small squad radio and was fitted with an earpiece and a small boom mic. Mid-channel, Tomba inventoried his flock with a radio check as they proceeded at a leisurely pace toward the Zimbabwean side of the river while the current carried them to the section of shoreline within the boundaries of the Mana Pools National Park. The string of canoes made their way around several islands and across a shallow bar where they could touch bottom with their paddle blades. On one occasion they could hear hippos snort and blow from shallows near the shore. Shortly before 3:00 A.M., they coasted into a marshy indentation on the shoreline. Tomba told them all to wait in the shallows while he and the lead guide beached their craft and scouted ahead. They were back in twenty minutes; this was the proper insertion point.

  “Our trailhead is fifty meters in from the shoreline,” he whispered into his boom mic. “We will secure and hide the canoes as briefed and meet at the rally point.”

  One by one, the men dragged their craft through the bed of papyrus reeds to the shore. They left the canoes in the water, nestled in the reeds, but hefted their gear bags onto solid ground. Once at the trailhead, the men began to change into their operational gear and prepare for land travel. At the shoreline, Tomba gave each of the guides a large tip and left them with the canoes. While the men melted into the bush to form a security perimeter, AKR dropped to one knee and shifted his squad radio to the designated satcomm frequency.

  “Home Base, this is Unit One, over.”

  “This is Home Base, Unit One. Go ahead.”

  “Unit One, here. We are feet dry at point alpha and proceeding, over.”

  “Home Base, Unit One. Understand feet dry at point alpha and proceeding, over.”

  “Good copy, Home Base. Unit One, out.”

  There was no need for strict radio procedure—their satellite channel was shared by no one else and fully encrypted—but proper procedure ensured a clear understanding, and it was a habit. Dodds stepped from the van to pass the news along to Janet. It was time to wake her, as she was to re
lieve him at 4:00 A.M. She was not in her tent, but he found her sitting by the fire, gazing at the riot of stars in the African sky.

  As the dawn spread across the Zambezi, two men, each paddling a canoe and towing three others, worked their way out into the slow-moving river. Soon an aluminum boat with a large outboard came downstream to meet them. They tied the eight canoes together in a line astern and began to slowly work their way back upriver. This activity went unobserved, with the exception of a single white man, a Canadian real estate executive badly in need of a shave, sitting in a director’s chair at Chiawa Camp on the Zambian side. After they labored past him, he rose, stretched, and walked back into his tent.

  9

  Danger Close

  The American Embassy in Lusaka was a large complex on the corner of Independence Avenue and United Nations Avenue. In spite of the impressive address, it was still an armed compound, as were most American embassies in Africa. The morning was quickly warming, and a brief shower had momentarily purged the streets of the ever-present stench of sewage and decay. Across from the embassy at a sidewalk café, a waiter had just brought Judy Burks a pot of tea. Both of them were steaming. She had just come from the embassy, and had taken shelter at the café to wait out the rain and try to figure out what to do next. Per her instructions, she had presented herself at the embassy gate at ten o’clock that morning to see the ambassador. First she was made to stand outside for close to half an hour while the marine sentry hit on her. She was then thoroughly searched and finally, after signing in at the guest registry, allowed to enter the main building. There she waited for another half hour before an embassy staffer came to ask what she wanted. She presented her FBI shield and credentials and informed him that she was there on official business, and it was important that she meet with the ambassador as soon as possible.

  “He has a frightfully busy schedule. Could you please tell me what this is about?” He was a first-tour Foreign Service officer who had graduated from Georgetown only the year before.

  “I am here on Bureau business, and I have been given instructions to speak directly with the ambassador and the ambassador only. He should be expecting me.”

  “Well, I don’t know about your instructions, Agent Burks,” the staffer said with a patient, there-there-little-girl attitude, “but we are instructed to screen all audiences with the ambassador, even official ones.”

  “Please understand that I am here on official business. This is a classified matter,” she said tightly, “and one that involves national security.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Burks, but you will need to tell me exactly what this—”

  “Excuse me, but as I have already told you, I am instructed to speak only with the ambassador. Does Ambassador Conrad even know that I’m here?”

  The junior FSO sat up and regarded her coolly. “The ambassador is not in the habit of being notified about every single person—”

  “Stop right there.” Suddenly she was on her feet. “I didn’t come halfway around the world to be hassled by the likes of you. I have a job to do, and you seem determined to keep me from doing it. In the meantime, Mr. Schoolcraft,” she said, squinting at his ID badge, “I suggest that you go back through your message traffic and look for my clearance. I’m authorized to speak only with the ambassador.” She rose and pulled on the bottom of her suit jacket as she took a deep breath. “I’ll be at the Intercontinental.” When you pull your head out of your ass, she almost added, but held back. She turned and headed for the door.

  She took a cab from the café back to the Intercontinental and went straight to the bar, ordered a martini, and dialed Steven’s sat number. After a short wait, the ciphers clicked into place, and he came on the line. She explained what had happened at the embassy. Steven listened without comment.

  “So what next?” she asked.

  “Does the hotel where you are have a nice pool?”

  “What!”

  “I said, do they have a pool there at the hotel?”

  “Well, yes, they do.”

  “Good. Why don’t you take the day off and sit by the pool. Take in some sun and treat yourself to a cocktail.”

  “Uh, I’m already working on the last one.”

  “Good. Let me make a call or two, and why don’t you plan on returning to the embassy again tomorrow. Maybe things will turn out differently.”

  “You think so?”

  “Perhaps. We need to bring the ambassador into this, but whether it’s today, tomorrow, or the next day doesn’t really matter. Go enjoy yourself, and give it a try tomorrow.”

  Judy rang off and turned her attention to her martini. She sipped cautiously at her drink, noticing that a man having lunch a few stools down was watching her. He wore a poorly tailored suit, and must have just come from the airport, as his bag was sitting on the tiled floor by his stool.

  “What?” she said, a little too loudly, and he immediately went back to his lunch.

  She took Steven’s advice and spent the day by the pool, reading magazines. The next morning at 10:00 A.M. sharp, she presented herself to the same marine lance corporal at the gatepost. She wore makeup, but it didn’t quite mask the raccoon look she had acquired from falling asleep in the sun by the pool with her sunglasses on. This time there was a sergeant alongside the corporal at the gate. Both snapped to attention, and each rendered her a parade-ground salute.

  “Good morning, Miss Burks,” the senior marine offered. “I’m Gunnery Sergeant Hallasey, ma’am, and I’m to be your escort. If you will just come with me, my orders are to take you directly to Ambassador Conrad’s office. We’ll bypass the security and sign-in this morning. You’re good to go.”

  She followed him inside and up to the second floor. Without hesitation or any word of announcement they strolled past Mr. Schoolcraft, intently working at his desk. He never looked up. The marine sergeant opened the heavy wooded door to Ambassador Donald Conrad’s office, allowing it to swing inward. He again snapped up a salute.

  “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” she replied, and added quietly, “It’s already looking better.”

  The large black man who came around the desk was dressed in a crisp white shirt, red tie, dark pleated slacks, and polished black shoes. He was a fit, handsome, younger version of James Earl Jones—same deep, gravelly voice. Judy had envisioned an overweight political hack; this man was anything but that. The ambassador held out a chair for her in front of the desk. She formally handed him her credential. He studied it with measured care and handed it back to her.

  “First of all, Miss Burks, let me apologize for yesterday. That said, I now understand that your visit was to be low-key, and that your business is with me alone. The message we received a few days ago announcing your arrival was of routine precedence and routed to one of the junior staff. I now gather that your business here is not purely routine.” He folded his hands on the desk, looking very ambassadorial. “Please understand, I run a good embassy here. It’s not London or Paris, or even Nairobi for that matter, but we do our job. And I might add that this is the first time I’ve been woken in the middle of the night and had my butt chewed by the Secretary of State.” He handed her an official card across the desk. “My private number is on the back. In the future, should any of my staff not be up to the task, call me directly, day or night. Now, what is it that I can do for you?”

  “First, I should apologize for any inconvenience to you,” she began. “Given the closely held nature of the matter that brought me here, I have very few official points of contact up the chain of command. I am sorry it came to your attention in the manner that it did. I’m here to brief you on an issue that is, for want of a better word, a matter of courtesy. I can tell you only that which is required should you have to function as the president’s representative. The situation is this. We have become aware of a serious weapons-of-mass-destruction threat in neighboring Zimbabwe. As we speak, a small, covert paramilitary force is being launch
ed from Zambia to investigate this threat and take action. I don’t want to seem overly dramatic, or oblique for that matter, but this force operates independently of the U.S. government. They have no official portfolio, but their involvement is a closely held and guarded understanding with our government. My relationship with this force is strictly that of a liaison officer.” That triggered a flashback to Garrett’s clandestine visit to her room the night before last, and she could feel a blush surfacing through her sunburn. She paused and cleared her throat. “It was decided at the very highest level that you and you alone were to be made aware of the situation, since the force is being infiltrated from Zambia, and controlled from here. As I understand it, if things go as planned, no one will even know that they were even here. However, if all does not go well, our government will officially deny any knowledge of the event. As I mentioned, I am here to extend a courtesy so that if something does go wrong, you can be properly surprised and privately not be caught unaware of the situation.” She paused for a moment. “Just between you and me, this kind of unconventional activity would not be taking place if there was not a significant risk to our national security. Past that, you just gotta have faith.”

  Neither of them spoke for a long moment. “I’m not sure I have that kind of faith, Miss Burks,” Conrad replied, “but I do have my instructions. I assume the information that you have shared with me so far is the extent of what I am allowed to know?”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  Another silence. “Do you require anything more of me or the embassy and my staff?”

  “No, sir. I will contact you again if I am directed to pass along any more information. You will hear from me by phone, or if there needs to be another face-to-face meeting, I’ll ask for another appointment. Hopefully, the next time we talk I will be informing you that this force has completed its mission and is no longer in Zambia.”