Thoughts and memories swirled behind his eyes, and he scrabbled among them, seeking an answer, seeking for some one to accuse: Umamgi, Bey, Sako, the Leopard. And yet, somehow he could not bring himself to lay blame upon any of them. Each had only played out a destined role as the conflict had unfolded. Belewa could not condemn anyone for doing what they had seen as their duty, not even Ambassador Umamgi and Sako Atiba.
Could it be that the dream had not gone wrong, but had in fact been wrong from the beginning?
The day of empires and empire builders is past, General.
Gods! Has it all been for nothing!
The pistol still gripped in Belewa’s hand lifted as if of its own volition. The steel of its muzzle, cooled again, felt good pressed against his temple, soothing and simple.
And yet he heard that stern yet gentle voice speak once more. Out of stubbornness and pride, you may allow yourself to slide down into total defeat, taking all that you have built with you. Or you may lift your head again and begin this new and greater battle.
The General lowered the pistol, setting it on the desktop He was puzzled as to how he had come to aim it at himself. That would have been the act of a coward. And while he was many things, good and bad, Obe Belewa was not a coward.
He got out of his chair and circled around to the body of his chief of staff. Kneeling down stiffly, he brushed the flies from Sako’s face and gently closed the lids over the staring eyes. Then, denying himself a limp, he rose and strode to the office door.
He left the gun behind on the desk.
Washington, D.C. 1534 Hours, Zone Time; September 15, 2007
“Essentially, Harry, he’s put everything we’ve asked for on the table and then some.”
Vavra Bey’s matronly features filled the flatscreen of Harrison Van Lynden’s videophone. “He has officially acknowledged the Union’s military operations against Guinea and has personally accepted responsibility for them. He has also personally guaranteed there will be no further acts of aggression and he is pulling the Union army back from the Guinea border.
“Finally, he has agreed to a full repatriation of all Union refugees in Guinea territory. He has promised a full restoration of property and civil rights and has invited a U.N. observation group in-country to supervise the resettlement program and to monitor the Union side of the border zone. He’s giving us everything we’ve been asking for.”
“Well, he’s asking for a whale of a lot in return,” the Secretary of State replied, frowning. “An immediate lifting of all nonmilitary trade sanctions and a whopping big aid package. We took quite a few casualties during the UNAFIN operation, Vavra. I can tell you right now we’re going to have some Congressmen back here who are going to be asking why we’re fighting this guy one day and paying him off the next.”
“The same question will no doubt arise within the Security Council, and I will give them the same answer I give you now. If we are to get these refugees resettled, we must first ensure there will be a country to resettle them in. Believe me, it will be far cheaper in lives and money to allow the West African Union to survive than it would to allow that area to backslide into the anarchy it knew in the nineties. We need someone to be in charge there, and General Belewa is our best and only available option.”
“That still doesn’t get us around the fact that Belewa invaded and took over Sierra Leone to create the West African Union,” Van Lynden replied. “That’s a fact we can’t just sweep under the rug, Vavra.”
“I understand this, Harry, but I believe I have a solution. Let’s give General Belewa the concessions he asks for, but incorporate a requirement for a U.N.-monitored plebiscite among the former citizens of Sierra Leone on the question of returning to an independent status or remaining as part of the Union. We can give Belewa a broad time frame—say, two years—to stabilize things before mandating the vote. I think the majority of people down there will support the current status quo with the Union. The plebiscite would both legitimize the Belewa government and reintroduce the democratic principle into the region.”
“I think you may have something there.” Van Lynden tilted his chair back and began to tamp tobacco into his battered rosewood pipe. “The only question is how far we can trust Belewa. This gentleman has proven to be one very tough and resourceful customer. I can’t help but wonder if he might be trying to put some kind of move on us. This is an awfully abrupt turnaround for the man.”
“I agree,” the distant U.N. representative replied over the circuit. “But Belewa knows he must move fast if he’s going to stave off an internal collapse of the Union. Also, for what it’s worth, my instincts are telling me the man is sincere. I truly believe he is abandoning his aggressive course of action.”
“What triggered it, Vavra? Sure, the man’s back was against the wall, and the loss of that tanker must have hit him pretty hard, but something else must have happened.”
Bey pondered for a moment. “I don’t know, Harry. I truly don’t know. We understand there has been a major disruption in the relationship between Algeria and the Union. All of the Algerian technicians and advisers have been withdrawn, and the Algerian ambassador has either been recalled or has disappeared. We aren’t sure which. We also know that there has been a shake-up in the upper echelons of the Union government. The civilian minister of internal affairs now appears to be Belewa’s new second in command. Beyond that, we simply don’t know.
“Essentially,” she continued, “I think that General Belewa is a good man who may now be on the road to becoming a better one. The kind of leader that very sad portion of the world may need.” Bey smiled slightly.” I’d like to think that maybe I had some influence on General Belewa’s decision to turn down that road. But no doubt that’s only an old woman’s vanity.”
Van Lynden took a moment to draw the flame of his lighter down into the bowl of his pipe, savoring the first rum-flavored puff. “Who can say? In this great game we play, you can never be sure what card will take the trick in the end. I’ll be speaking with the President later this afternoon. I believe you can expect the support of the United States in this matter.”
“Thank you, Mr. Secretary. That is good to hear.”
“And thank you, Madame Representative. Damn nice piece of statesmanship.”
Vavra Bey lowered her eyes modestly and nodded her acknowledgment. The video screen reverted to the State Department net logo a moment later.
The Secretary of State tilted his chair back. Closing his eyes, he drew on his pipe again. It felt good to win one every once in a while. The only problem was that they just kept coming at you.
Van Lynden enjoyed half a dozen more puffs. Then he straightened at his desk once more, knocking the pipe embers out into his ashtray. Returning his attention to the Indonesian Country File he’d been studying when Representative Bey had called, he flipped back the security cover and reread the title:
PIRACY IN THE 21ST CENTURY:
AN ANCIENT THREAT REBORN
Mobile Offshore Base, Floater 1 1921 Hours, Zone Time;
October 1, 2007
My Dearest Arkady:
I’m very pleased to hear things are progressing at Jacksonville. I always knew you were a fighter jock at heart, and I’m glad that heart has found a home. I hope you’ll be glad for me as well, because I think I’ve found a new home too.
Remember that last day out on the Seeadler? (Lord, that seems so long ago now.) We talked about what I was looking for and where I was going. I was a little confused at the time, and I understand why now. I had ideals mixed up with things.
When I became a naval officer, my focus was on getting myself a ship. Well, eventually I got one, and that was all well and good. But the day loomed when I was going to have to give her back, and I sulked like a kid whose bicycle was being taken away.
However, before I could do anything stupid, I was called away to
the Heart of Darkness to fight in an odd little war that nobody else wanted. And while roosting out here on this barge for the past six months, I learned an important truth about myself. It hasn’t been the ship that I’ve craved all this time, it’s been the making of a difference.
I like the feel of doing something that matters. I like the thought that by my own small efforts I might be helping steer history onto a better, safer course. ls this vanity or ego? I don’t know, but I am stuck with it. It’s what I want out of my time in the universe.
I’m a lifer, Arkady. Be it on a bridge or behind a desk, I’m staying and doing the job until I’m old and gray and they throw me out the door.
And where does that leave us, love? As you said, we’ll see how it goes. We have our duties to do today and many sweet yesterdays to remember. Tomorrows haven’t been promised to us yet, but we will avail ourselves of them if they come along.
Be well. Seek happiness.
Amanda
Amanda paused and reread the letter, then nodded to herself. She was comfortable with the words. Double-tapping the “Send Mail” box on the computer screen, she launched it on its way. Palming a bit of moisture from the corner of her eye, she flipped the laptop shut.
A decisive knock sounded on the module door.
“Enter.”
Stone Quillain stepped up into the office, utility clad and packing a backload of equipment. “We’re getting ready to transfer across to the LSD, Skipper,” the Marine said, unslinging his seabag and MOLLE harness, “and I figured I’d come by to say so long.”
“I’m very glad you did, Stone. I have a couple of things I want to talk to you about before you go.”
“Sure thing,” he replied, crashing down into the visitor’s chair.” Shoot.”
“Firstly, I wondered if you could discreetly keep an eye on Commander Lane for me on the crossing to Little Creek. I’ll be flying back, and Steamer’s taking the loss of Lieutenant Banks pretty heavily.”
Quillain nodded. “Already planning on it, Skipper. The Commander’s kind of taking the hit on Miss Banks a little harder than average, if you get my meaning.”
Amanda nodded. “I surmised as much. The traditional bond of comradeship between warriors can become a very strong thing. When the two warriors involved also happen to be man and woman, well, a pretty potent combination can occur.”
Quillain shook his head. “That ain’t supposed to happen, Skipper. It says so right there in the regs manual.”
Amanda smiled an ironic and reminiscent smile. “A lot of things happen in this navy that aren’t supposed to. And regulation books don’t fight and win wars. People do, with all of their inherent weaknesses and strengths. The system is going to have to live with that fact, at least until we’re all replaced by computers and RPVs.”
Quillain rolled his eyes. “Amen to that. Now, ma’am, you were sayin’ there was something else you needed to talk to me about?”
“That’s right. There is. How would you like to come out to Hawaii with me for a while?”
Quillain tilted his head down and lifted an eyebrow. “This isn’t some kind of proposition, is it?”
“Well, not quite in that sense.” Amanda chuckled. “I’ve been swapping a few ideas with Admiral Macintyre and we’ve decided to keep the Seafighter Task Force together as a littoral-warfare test bed unit for weapons technology and combat doctrine. We’ll be taking the Three Little Pigs out to Pearl as our core element. From there, we’ll be experimenting with various support and force multipliers for different battlefield environments.
“One of the things we want to try is a composite Force Recon/Marine SOC company, a kind of Seadragon regiment in miniature. We’re going to be putting a provisional unit together, and your name came up in reference to the command slot. Interested?”
Quillain grinned. Standing up, he extended his hand across the desk. “I said anywhere and anytime, Skipper. Have the Admiral save me a bunk.”
Amanda stood as well, exchanging a strong handclasp. “Welcome aboard again, Stone.”
After the big Marine’s departure, Amanda brewed herself a cup of tea. Earl Grey at last, thanks to a care package from her father. Taking the steaming mug with her, she went out to sit on the front step of her quarters. Now that she had adapted to it, the lingering heat of the day was a comfortable hug. A Gold Coast sunset flamed the sky, one of the last she would see.
Floater 1 was being stricken, its current mission completed. A big Whidbey Island-class Landing Ship Dock lay close aboard, its deck lights glowing golden in the dusk. The three seafighters had crawled into the commodious womb of its docking well earlier in the afternoon. Now a Marine Sea Stallion skycraned trailers and cargo pallets across from the platform to the amphibious warfare ship’s helipad.
Farther out, the silhouettes of a pair of Tribal-class Fleet Ocean tugs could be made out. In another day or two, with the platform emptied and the components uncoupled, they would take up the long tow. First back across the Atlantic to the States for repair and refurbishment, then on to some new crisis point elsewhere in the world.
Soon the sea would roll in to the verdant coast untroubled once more.
Amanda sipped her hot drink and thought about people. The Chief, Danno and the Fryguy, Snowy Banks. Sad thoughts, but good ones. She was proud to have known them all.
She thought also about someone else. A man with whom she had spoken with only once but who had totally dominated her life for half a year. The man who had been her foe through no intent of his or her own.
What kind of man was he, beyond being a skilled and capable warrior? Had he ever wondered about her and who she was? And what were his thoughts?
“Hey, boss ma’am.” Christine Rendino ambled up from between the housing units. “Out sitting on the front stoop, huh?”
“That’s right. Just enjoying the night airs.” Amanda slid over, clearing a space beside her on the step. “Care for some tea?”
“Maybe later.” Christine flopped down on the step, bumping shoulders companionably with her friend. “I brought you something,” she said, holding up a padded manila envelope. “It came in with the last hard mail shipment.”
“What is it?”
“Uh, we’re not exactly sure. It’s addressed to you, but according to the postmark, it was mailed in Abidjan and there’s no return address. FPO security was leery, so they checked it out really well before they cleared it as safe, and I had my antiterror people do the same. There’s no explosives or exotic tropical poisons involved, but beyond that, I dunno. Have a look.”
Amanda ran a thumbnail under the tape that had been used to reseal the envelope and shook the contents out into her palm.
It was a pendant, a fine braided leather thong with two golden beads and some kind of polished animal’s claw centered on it.
“What in the world is this?” Amanda wondered aloud, fingering the curved, ivory-colored shape. “A lion’s claw?”
Christine shook her head. “No, it’s too small. I asked a couple of guys who know about this stuff, and they say it probably comes from a leopard.”
“A leopard.”
Amanda Garrett weighed the pendant in her palm for a moment, wondering at the mystery of it. And then she smiled and looped the thong around her neck.
Glossary
Aerostat A blimplike tethered balloon used to carry radar antenna and Elint-gathering systems to high altitude to expand their area of coverage.
Boghammer Generic name for a light, high-speed motor gun boat. Generally an open 30—40-foot Fiberglas hull propelled by powerful outboard motors and armed with an assortment of machine guns and shoulder-fired rocket launchers. The name originates from the Swedish boat-building firm that manufactured a large number of the craft used by the Iranian Revolutionary Guard during the Persian Gulf tanker war of the late 1980s.
Cyclone-Class Coastal Patrol Craft A derivative of the Vosper Thornycroft “Ramadan”-class Fast Attack Craft, twelve of these 170-foot, 35-knot vessels have been commissioned by the United States Navy for littoral patrol work and as a staging vessel for SEAL special naval warfare operations.
Depending on the defense pundit one listens to, the Cyclones are either too large, too small, too lightly armed and vulnerable, or too heavily armed and provocative. The only firm conclusion that can be drawn to date is that there aren’t enough of them to go around.
Dash The monetary lubricant that keeps the governmental wheels of many African nations turning. Referred to else where as “squeeze” or “bribery.”
Eagle Eye UAV (Unmanned Aerial Vehicle) Built by Boeing Textron, the Eagle Eye reconnaissance drone uses the same tilt-rotor technology developed by Boeing for the V-22 Osprey Verticle Take-off and Landing transport aircraft, permitting it to either maneuver as a conventional aircraft or hover like a helicopter. With a 300-mile radius of operation, the Eagle Eye’s dual-mode flight capacity has rendered it of great interest to the Navy, permitting comparatively small surface warships to have an aerial search-and-surveillance capacity.
ECOMOG (Economic Community of West Africa Military Observation Group) A multinational peacekeeping force deployed to Liberia by ECOWAS. While including military detachments from a number of West African states, it is primarily Nigerian in makeup.
ECOWAS (Economic Community of West African States) A multinational economic development and security organization that includes in its membership Benin, Burkina Faso, Cape Verde, Côte d’Ivoire, Gambia, Ghana, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, Liberia, Mali, Mauritania, Niger, Nigeria, Senegal, Sierra Leone, and Togo.
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