by R E Kearney
“Stay there. We’re not far and are headed your way. Try not to become lost in the next ten minutes.” The aerodrone hovers closer to his head.
“Ok. I’ll stay here. But, hurry. There’s two guys here that…”
“Yes, Dijaineo told us about them. Dag says they’re ARTAS. So leave them alone. Don’t mess with them. And for your own sake, don’t tell them any of your quotes. You’ll just aggravate them.” A short Komfort giggle emanates from the aerodrone.
“Ha. Ha.” Robert fails to find her jest amusing, since he faces two possible ARTAS assassins just ten feet away. He may be imagining it, but he certainly thinks that the two ARTAS men are sneaking closer every time he glances away from them.
Each minute creeps by as an hour. He listens intently. The cacophony of the crowd drowns out all other sounds. His eyes search. Nobody. Nothing. Engulfed in a surging sea of humanity, he is alone, and very lonely, except for his two relentless shadows. He waits and watches them intently, so they cannot sneak any closer.
Without warning, from behind, two men seize Robert. Each man grabs one of his arms twisting them backward and up. He struggles in vain, succeeding only in hurting himself. Silently, the men behind him march him toward the two men he has been busy watching. Too late, Robert realizes how they duped him into paying attention to them while their confederates crept up behind him.
Trapped between the four ARTAS men, Robert wriggles and resists, but cannot stop them as they drag him away from the crowd and into an alley. A dirty rag shoved into his mouth muffles his attempt to shout for help. People in the alley disappear into their shops at the sight of him and his four captors. The deeper into the alley they drag him, the more the alley empties, until it is deserted.
“Uuurk!” exclaims the man clutching Robert’s right arm. Peeking over his shoulder, Robert discovers Dag’s hand reaching over the top of his captor’s head with his fingers digging deep into his eyes. Rivers of blood gush down his cheeks. The man releases Robert and drops to his knees. Lightning fast, Dag slams his palm against his throat crushing his larynx. He crashes onto his back clutching his face.
The man twisting Robert’s left arm, releases him and swings at Dag. Dag ducks and drives his palm into the man’s nose. Blood explodes out of his face. He crumples onto the ground. His broken nose rammed into his skull.
The men in front spin around. Dag shoves Robert aside and attacks. The man on the right throws his right fist first. Dag slides his right arm below his and in one continuous, smooth motion buries his fist deep into the man’s diaphragm and heart and then into the man’s chin. When he drops to his knees, Dag smashes his elbow into the base of his skull breaking his neck. His face digs into the ground.
Having seen enough, the last man shoots his hands into the air, surrendering. He quickly steps backwards away from Dag and Robert. When Dag does not pursue him, he races away.
“You ok now?” Dag calmly asks.
His mouth gaping open, Robert silently surveys the three men writhing, groaning and bleeding on the ground. He is stunned. In split seconds, Dag crushed them all.
“You ok?” Dag asks again as he waves his hand in front of Robert’s eyes to awaken him.
“How…how did you do that?
“Spetsnaz Systema hand-to-hand, close-combat fighting. Only in the US do they believe it’s necessary to kill everybody with guns. Americans are weak because they rely on weapons instead of their wits. Sometimes, your wits are more effective weapons. Quite effective, don’t you agree?” Dag grins, as he starts to leave the alley. “Come. We must go.”
Walking slightly behind him, Robert contemplates this strange man, “So, I guess you really are Zaslon then. When you first admitted it, I thought you were just trying to intimidate me.”
Dag chuckles, “Yes, I really am and I really was.”
“Well, you’ve certainly earned my thanks and my respect. So, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. It was nothing. A little exercise,” Dag quickens their pace.
“Ow! You save my life and you call it a little exercise. Well, that hurts my feelings a bit.”
“Ok then. Not just exercise. Let’s just say then that we’re in a situation where we either survive together or we’ll perish separately. You need me. I need you. Sometime, you may have to fight for me, my friend.” Safely outside the alley, Dag smiles and gently squeezes Robert’s shoulder, saying in Russian, “Moy drug.”
“You’re a mess! Can’t I leave you alone for ten minutes without you getting into trouble?” Komfort’s smirking face never looked so good to Robert, as she appears from the horde and joins them.
Circling her right index finger in the air above her head, she returns the aerodrone to its owners. “That was quite a show, Dag. Too bad, I was your only audience. An audience of one. Couldn’t even record it.”
“Good. No one should know. Erase it from your mind, too. I was never there.”
A train of porters hauling heavy bags and boxes on their heads and shoulders pass Robert, Komfort and Dag, as they return to the major street. Amesha waves as he hikes alongside the continuing parade of porters. “Meet you at the trucks. We should leave as soon as possible,” he directs as he passes.
More heavily loaded porters pass before Evoil and Dijaineo arrive. Evoil sneers as he silently stalks past them. Dag slides into step next to Evoil. The two adversaries depart into the crowd.
Dijaineo hurries to Robert’s side. “I’m sorry. When I saw those two chasing us, I panicked. I’m embarrassed that I ran away and left you like that. That is just wrong. Cowardly.”
“I survived. I’m a little bruised and embarrassed, myself, but I’m here and I’m alive. So, let’s not dwell on it. In fact, let’s never mention it again. Ok?”
Komfort grasps Robert’s elbow and pushes him forward. “We do need to go. As soon as the porters load the trucks, we need to leave for the plantation. It’s getting late and without any problems it’s still a twelve hour road trip.”
“A twelve hour road trip! I’m not sorry that I won’t be traveling with you, then. While you two are bouncing and banging along, I’ll be enjoying the peace and quiet of my comfortable, little airplane.” Dijaineo smiles happily.
As he separates from Robert and Komfort to return to the airport, Komfort issues last minute directions. “Good. Stay close to your airplane. We may need an emergency escape flight out of there. So, keep it fueled and ready.”
After Dijaineo departs, Komfort leans toward Robert concerned. “I’m worried about the situation down there. When I last communicated with Pion, she answered my questions unnaturally, almost evasively, which is not normal for her. She has never lied to me. In fact, I don’t think she can lie. But, there is something…something she wished to reveal to me or discuss with me. I could sense it. I just didn’t know the correct question to ask, so she could tell me.”
With Komfort leading, they start slowly, limp-jogging, dodging slow walkers and standing talkers. Their slow jog increases into a run. Breathless and wet with sweat, they stagger out of the Merkato.
At the beginning of their loaded, waiting six truck convoy waits Amesha impatiently waving and shouting for them. As he strides by the trucks, Robert examines each truck driver’s face in their truck’s side mirror. Nasty scars furrow each man’s face. Callous, tough-faced men, they measure him with unblinking, fierce eyes. He scurries ahead.
“What do you think of your crew?” Amesha probes as he motions him toward the vehicle door he holds open. “You’ll like your driver. His name is Balaam. He’s mean and ugly and won’t say much.”
“Well, none of them will fool anybody. They definitely don’t look like food delivering missionaries. That’s certain.” Robert turns and looks back at the idling trucks. “And why do they all have those terrible scars?”
“Each scar is a kill. It’s a tribal ritual.” Amesha places his hand on Robert’s back attempting to push him into his seat.
“Wait a m
inute. Kill? What type of kill?”
Amesha shoves him inside, slams his door and backs away. Facing Robert, using his index finger, he slashes across his throat. Then with a sweeping motion of his arm, he signals the convoy drivers forward. Smoothly, Balaam rolls ahead forty feet before abruptly stopping. A herder driving goats blocks the street. Balaam honks. Then the other drivers honks. The herder ignores them and continues slowly walking his goats in the middle of the street. At full goat speed ahead, their convoy inches onward.
“This is ridiculous! Hey driver, get off your butt and do something,” Evoil bellows at Balaam. “We need to move. Now!”
Considering the image of Amesha slashing his throat and the numerous scars cut into Balaam’s face, a rattled Robert cautions Evoil, “Oh, let’s not start trouble here. Remember, we don’t want to attract any additional attention. Instead, let’s be calm and follow the words of Clifton Fadiman. He said that when you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to make its own people comfortable.”
“Ridiculous nonsense!” Growling, Evoil reaches across Balaam and repeatedly pounds on the horn. “I’m not going to allow these simpletons to run my life!”
In a low, rumbling voice, Dag asserts his control, “Wise words Robert. I appreciate your insight. Yes, we shall wait.”
Balaam grabs Evoil’s arm and slings it away from the horn.
Evoil unbuckles his seatbelt and attempts to force open his locked door. Angrily, he orders Balaam to release it. Dag orders him to leave it locked. In a furious tantrum, he pounds against the inside panel of his door.
“Oh, would you please settle down? You can’t do anything more than we’re doing,” Komfort scolds him.
Dag slyly smiles at Robert, “What is your opinion Robert? Do you know any relevant statements?”
“Well Dag, I’m glad you asked. I believe we should consider the thoughts of Saint Francis de Sales when he said that you should never be in a hurry; do everything quietly and in a calm spirit. Do not lose your inner peace for anything whatsoever, even if your whole world seems upset.”
Komfort silently shakes her head in resignation. Evoil seethes silently. Dag absently cleans his revolver against his pants. Their drivers inch their trucks forward. Shoppers hauling their purchases home parade past the trucks. Waiting van and truck drivers lean against their vehicles chatting. Barefooted children wave at the foreigners. Some brave children pound on the Range Rover’s windows, begging for coins. One child spying Robert sitting in the back seat begins clucking and cackling loudly while pointing at his video on his PCD. Meanwhile, the herder urges his goats ahead and, finally, off the street. Once the dam bursts, the convoy roars through it.
Escaping the Merkato stole an extra hour from their day. A fatal accident blocks Uganda Street adding forty-five minutes more. Finally, two hours later than expected, the convoy rattles through the climate refugees’ shacks huddled on the edge of the city. At last, Highway Five rolls out in front of them. The convoy pushes south toward Tepi racing against the fleeing day.
Following the SPEA convoy’s progress closely by aerodrone, five ARTAS fighters cruise out of sight one mile behind the last truck. The lone survivor of Dag’s alley attack leads the five. Via satellite, they transfer their live convoy video ahead to fellow fighters waiting with extra weapons south of Jimma. They were prepared and ready. They will not be surprised this time.
Chapter 24.
Road Trip
Ethiopia is an ancient land struggling to climb out of its gloried past, scramble into the present and seize a future. Crippling Ethiopia’s efforts to realize a prosperous future are climate change and the resulting population pressures. Many millennia ago, our earliest ancestors climbed Ethiopia’s mountains, crossed Ethiopia’s rivers, and roamed Ethiopia’s valleys as they wandered north to spread across the Earth. Today, Sudanese, Kenyan, Somalian and other climate refugees climb scorched Ethiopian mountains, cross those same, but drier, rivers and roam parched valleys as they search for sanctuary.
Ethiopia’s past, present and future hug Highway Five. Surrounding the SPEA convoy trudging south is a mix of new buildings in industrial zones, apartment complexes, villas, tin houses in shanty neighborhoods and temporary camps. Towns and cities existing for thousands of years merge with the rough shacks of discontented villagers displaced and relocated off their ancestral lands by the government for dam and big agriculture projects. Next to them are the hastily constructed camps for the climate refugees streaming in from Kenya, Sudan and Somalia. Originally intended to be temporary, the camps are acquiring permanent roots.
Highway Five is one of Ethiopia’s half-dozen major roadways. Near Addis Ababa it is paved and maintained. As the convoy rolls farther south, away from the capital, the less well maintained Highway Five becomes. Between villages, the pot-hole pocked pavement dissolves into gravel and the road narrows. In the villages of Tefki, Tagi and Tulu Bolo, pedestrians, livestock and animal-drawn carts claim the roadway, forcing the trucks into a cautious crawl. Much slower than expected, the convoy trudges onward.
Retrieving equipment from the Rover’s storage, Komfort engineers and establishes communications with the SPEA Embassy in Addis Ababa. The jovial face of Amesha flickers and flashes into sight. As soon as he realizes he has an audience, his smile fades.
“I just spent the last hour with the Ethiopian Federal Police convincing them that we have nothing to do with the three men they found in the Merkato. They identified them as ARTAS members. So, they’re glad they’re gone, but they still have to investigate reports that we were in that area of the Merkato. Since, I didn’t know anything about the bodies, I easily convinced them that we had no connection. So, if you don’t mind I would like to remain ignorant of anything that may have happened there this morning.”
“We don’t know anything about them here, either,” Komfort lies.
“Good, but be aware that ARTAS issued a statement promising revenge. So, be careful. We’re already locked down here. I’ve doubled our security force and the Ethiopian Federal Police are stationing extra men in the area, as well.”
“Understood. Anything else?”
“Oh yes, much more.” Amesha taps on his desk computer and reads from his screen, “US officials are reporting the downing of two Navy aircraft near the Chinese island of Nansha Qundao in the Spratly Islands. President Abaddon is calling it an act of war and is deploying an aircraft carrier task force to that area. In response, the Chinese are claiming that the US aircraft were hostile and invaded their airspace. In reaction to Abaddon’s Navy deployment, the Chinese are reinforcing their Navy in the area, as well as flying additional troops to the Spratly Islands. The Chinese President stated that China, despite its unwillingness, is not afraid to fight a war with the US in the region, and is determined to safeguard its national interests and dignity. So, the warm water of the south China Sea is bubbling and boiling hot right now."
Amesha stops reading and momentarily focuses on Robert. “You’ll be particularly interested in this next item, Mister Goodfellow. After Abaddon threatened the Chinese, he publicly demanded that Prime Minister Bonne Vie order two Canadian Navy frigates that are conducting a good will visit nearby in Manila to join the US Navy ships converging on Nansha Qundao. Needless to say, Abaddon’s disrespect and affront to Vie and your government created an uproar. This morning, she declared that she will not allow Abaddon to drag Canada into an irrational, illogical and nonsensical war against China. She withdrew Canada from the Coalition and terminated military partnerships with the US. She’s recalling all Canadian military immediately. For their own protection, according to her. So, I’d say that you’re officially free of any obligations to the US. If you want, you can head home right now.”
“Cowardly Canucks! I knew we couldn’t count on Canada when the chips are down.” Evoil barks angrily.
Perplexed by these sudden, unexpected events, Robert silently attempts to ab
sorb what Amesha has told him. He looks at Komfort. She responds by silently, mouthing, “It’s up to you.” A quick glance toward Dag finds him staring back at him.
“Well, are you going to abandon us like your spineless Prime Minister?” Evoil scoffs. “Should have expected this type of desertion from a woman. Everybody knows that women are too weak willed to lead a nation.”
“Shut up Evoil!” Komfort shouts. “You’re the one responsible for this disaster. Not Robert. And certainly not Prime Minister Vie. You! You and Abaddon. When will you realize that Canada is not your fifty-first state to boss around? It’s an independent and free nation.”
“May I continue? There’s some more that you will want to know.” Amesha enquires loudly, to be heard.
“Yes, please.” Robert instructs, “Please continue.”
“Retired US Army General Blodmann died in a freak explosion of his microwave in his home, yesterday. According to my report, during the first days of the Nordic War, Abaddon assigned him as commanding general of the US Army forces that retook Valga Latvia.”
“Retook it!” Komfort interrupts, incensed, “He destroyed it! His forces killed more innocent Latvian and Estonian citizens than Russians.”
“That’s because there were no Russians there. Before Blodmann’s forces leveled Valga, all of us had left. And there were never more than a dozen of us there.” Dag quietly announces.
“You were there?” Robert asks.
“I was in command. We were a small scout team. We went it, looked around, decided Valga had nothing we needed and then left three days before Blodmann wiped it off the map.”
Amesha interrupts again, “That’s interesting, because Abaddon is accusing Russia of assassinating Blodmann. He is claiming that the Russians murdered him to avenge his killing of thousands of Russian soldiers in the Valga action.”
“That makes no sense. He was never a threat to us. He was no threat to us when he was in the Army and now he is retired. So, we certainly did not kill him.”