by Brad Taylor
I tucked the tarp over my head, the light now blotted out, and looked at him in our little cave. “How’d that work out?”
He grinned and said, “We went to jail. But I’m sure this’ll be different.”
85
Returning to the hospital in the trail of the Special Forces caravan, Jennifer had parked and then spent her time trying to placate Clint, but he was having none of it. The men of his team had seemed to appreciate what they’d done and treated them with newfound respect, but Clint had been aggravated. He knew he’d been used but still wasn’t sure if he should be angry at the subterfuge or happy that he’d accomplished something worthwhile. Jennifer could see the dichotomy play out and recognized Pike in the battle. She knew which side would win. No man like Clint would remain pissed because he’d found a gunfight.
Shoshana’s phone rang, and she walked away to answer it. Jennifer said to him, “I appreciate the help. You did a good thing.”
He said, “Don’t fuck with me. Next thing you’ll tell me is that you have an issue with a submarine in a lake in the Highlands, and you need my help because you’re a marine biologist.”
Jennifer repeated, “You did a good thing. Just take that for what it’s worth.”
He grinned and said, “You’re not going to tell me who you are, are you?”
“We already did.”
“Bullshit. You don’t work here. You’re pretty good at pulling the strings. The Benghazi touch was the coup de grace. If I were to guess, I’d say this whole charade was just to save those men back there.”
He was close, but she couldn’t tell him that his purpose was simply to show the flag. She said, “I appreciate the help. I really do. Please make sure these people are safe.”
He laughed and said, “So I never left here, right?”
She said, “That’s right. If you don’t mind.”
He nodded, and Shoshana hung up her phone, saying, “We need to go.” She turned from the SUV and shouted, “Thomas! Get your ass over here. Time to get in the fight.”
Thomas came jogging toward them, and Clint said, “What’s she talking about?”
Jennifer leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, saying, “Worry about the hospital. Leave it at that. Trust me.”
His men hooted at the gesture, and he said, “Okay, okay. You win. But one day I’m going to find out what happened here.”
Shoshana opened the door to their bullet-ridden SUV, letting Thomas take a seat. She said, “Wow. You gave up easy.”
She closed the door, and Clint said, “What does that mean?”
Jennifer opened the driver’s side and said, “Nothing. She just figured it would take a little more to get you on board.”
“Like what?”
“You don’t want to know.”
He said, “You got that right. She’s scary as shit.”
Jennifer put the vehicle in gear before Shoshana could say anything crazy.
* * *
I felt the truck slow down for the checkpoint, and every man under the tarp tightened his grip on his weapon. If they wanted to check the bed, they’d have to lift the canvas. We all waited, praying for the darkness to remain. One inch of daylight and we were coming out shooting, our surprise lost.
I held my breath, hearing Chris talking through the window, wondering yet again whether it was good policy to put my fate into the hands of two mercenaries who had no loyalty to me or my team. I realized that worrying about someone ripping the tarp off us wasn’t the worst case. Johan could tell them to simply start shooting into the bed, and we wouldn’t realize it until the first rounds ripped into our bodies.
We began rolling forward again, and I let my breath out. Knuckles whispered, “Okay, they get some credit when we’re done here.”
And I realized he’d been thinking the same damn thing.
We drove for another two minutes, and I felt the vehicle turn, subtly shifting us in the bed. We were driving around the building toward the flight line.
Not long now.
The truck stopped, and I heard Chris shout out the window.
It was all Johan now.
* * *
Johan saw Andy on the airfield, but not Colonel Armstrong. The terminal was to their left, and he assumed the entourage was inside. Which would make it hard for a quick reaction from the men in the bed.
Andy walked up to Chris on the driver’s side and said, “So it looks like you and I get to stay in the new prime minister’s residence tonight. Not bad.”
Chris said, “When are we leaving? I don’t like this.”
“We’ll be out of here tomorrow. Armstrong’s got some business with Colonel Smith. Don’t worry, he’s not hanging around.” He pointed at Johan and said, “He’s got some business here, as well. Get him out.”
Chris exited the door, went to the passenger side, and pulled out Johan. Andy said, “Hold him still.”
Chris did, and Andy ran his hands over Johan’s torso, Chris saying, “I already searched him.”
Andy stood back up and said, “Can’t be too sure.”
They marched to the entrance of the terminal, and Johan could see Armstrong and Lenatha inside, surrounded by the same four of Lenatha’s security men he’d seen when they’d met in Cape Town. One of them opened the door, and he was ushered inside.
Armstrong had a smile on his face, but behind it was a smoldering anger. Johan had seen it once before, when Armstrong had destroyed the teenagers in the park.
Johan was made to stand in front of Armstrong, Chris behind him and Andy off to one side. Johan surveyed the threat matrix, seeing Armstrong and Lenatha were both unarmed, and, while the four-man security detail showed bulges under their suit jackets, they had nothing in their hands—yet. Andy was the only one with a visible weapon out, his Sig Sauer slung at his side.
Armstrong said, “So, Lily Boy, you thought you could teach the master a few tricks, is that it?”
Johan said nothing.
Armstrong slapped him across the face, screaming, “Answer me!”
Johan rolled with the blow, and then said, “You broke the contract. You know I don’t work for terrorists.”
Armstrong laughed and said, “Is that what this is about? You found out about the payment to Tyler Malloy? I thought it had something to do with the moral high ground of Lesotho. All of this pain, and you didn’t stop the transfer from happening. Must really hurt.”
Johan said, “What now?”
Lenatha stepped forward, speaking for the first time. “Now, you traitor, you will get exactly what you deserve. When General Mosebo arrives, I’ll formally turn you over to him as an enemy of the people. I don’t know how long he’ll keep you alive, but I do know you’ll probably wish it was shorter than it will be.”
Johan smiled and said, “Mosebo’s dead, you little maggot.”
The news came as a shock to everyone but Chris. Armstrong started to speak, when the sound of gunfire erupted outside the terminal.
86
Hidden under the tarp, I heard the conversation stop, then the sound of footsteps retreating. Then nothing but silence. I said, “Brett, take a peek.” He did, cracking the tarp near the cab of the pickup and peering out. He said, “They went inside the terminal. I can’t see anything through the glass.”
“Can we exit?”
“Front’s got two security, but they’re on the far side. If we were quick, we could get into the terminal alcove and they’d miss us. Knuckles, what about the rear?”
Knuckles crawled to the tailgate and cracked the tarp, then slowly lifted his head. He immediately snapped back down like a turtle withdrawing into a shell. He hissed, “Two security headed right for us.”
“Are they going to bypass? Go inside the terminal?”
“How the hell would I know? If I were to guess, since this shit show is your plan, I�
��d say no.”
He laid his rifle gently on the bed of the truck and withdrew his Glock. Brett and I did the same, repositioning our legs underneath us. We waited for what seemed like an hour and then heard the footsteps, the men speaking in Sesotho. They stopped at the tailgate, and we held our breath. Then one of them grabbed the tarp, flinging it back.
Knuckles rose like a jack-in-the-box from hell, drilling the first one in the head, then rotating to the second. The man got off one wild round, and Knuckles put him down.
I threw off the tarp, saying, “Get to the terminal.” Knuckles and Brett leapt over the side of the bed. I started to do the same and saw the two men from the far side of the airfield. They’d heard the single round and were running toward us to see what had happened. I laid my weapon on the roof of the truck and seated the buttstock. One of them took a knee and fired at the team scrambling for the terminal. I eased out my breath and broke the trigger. A split second later, he grabbed his chest and flopped on the tarmac, rolling in a death spasm.
The man next to him oriented on me, and I saw him cut down by the team, both now in the alcove of the terminal. I leapt out of the bed and sprinted to them. I stacked behind Brett and heard gunfire from inside the terminal. I looked at Knuckles and said, “Go.”
* * *
With the sound of the single AK-47 round still echoing in the air, and all eyes focused on the terminal windows, Johan raised his arms to his chest and yanked, hard. The flex-tie split down the middle, freeing his hands. He flicked his right arm down, and like magic, the handle of a double-edged fighting knife slid from his sleeve and into his palm.
Andy caught the initial motion and whirled to him, but not quickly enough. He raised his weapon, and Johan leapt on him, bringing him to the ground and driving the knife low, just above the groin, under Andy’s body armor. He sank it to the hilt, then ripped left and right, tearing through Andy’s internal organs.
Andy screamed, beating him on the head. Johan heard firing behind him, the room exploding into noise. He slid his left hand up Andy’s body, catching him under the chin and pushing out, exposing Andy’s neck. Johan jerked the knife free, batted Andy’s hands aside, and slit his throat from ear to ear.
He rolled over, snatched Andy’s rifle, and rose to a knee, seeing Chris firing at the security men. A bullet hit Chris in the thigh, flinging his leg backward like it had been hit with a bat. He dropped to the ground face-first, and Johan saw multiple rounds tear into the gaps in his armor around his shoulders and neck, a final one cratering his skull.
Johan got in the fight, squeezing the trigger in controlled pairs and taking the life of the security man. The other three surrounded Lenatha, pulling him back to the security point and focusing on Johan. He swiveled his weapon, knowing he was dead, and Pike Logan’s team poured through the terminal door, killing every threat in their path.
In the span of a single trigger pull, all three security men were lifeless. Lenatha fell to his knees with his hands covering his head. Johan scanned the room and saw Armstrong running past the security metal detectors, toward the front of the terminal.
He leapt up and said, “I’ve got him,” and gave chase. He reached the entrance lobby of the airport and caught sight of Armstrong running past the single check-in counter. He fired over his head and shouted, “Armstrong! Next one will be in you!”
Armstrong stopped, then slowly turned around, his hands in the air. Johan motioned, and Armstrong walked to him. He put his hands down and said, “I suppose you’ll kill me now.”
“No. I have something more important in mind.”
Armstrong heard the words, and a sneer spread across his face, his confidence growing. He said, “Still the Lily Boy. Sure. Something more important. Maybe you just don’t have the stomach for this work.”
Johan hammered the butt of his Sig into Armstrong’s face, shattering his nose. Armstrong dropped to the ground.
Johan said, “Stomach that, you fuck.”
Armstrong moaned, and Johan said, “Get the fuck up.”
Armstrong rose, holding his bloody face, and Johan pushed him with his foot, forcing him back into the waiting area. When they arrived, Johan saw a new cluster of men, all wearing police uniforms except one.
Lenatha was on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back, the police circled around him. One cop smacked him in the head, and the man called Thomas waved his hand, saying, “No more violence. We don’t do that anymore. Let the law take care of him.”
Lenatha looked up and said, “Who are you?”
Thomas glanced at Pike, and Pike nodded. He said, “Thomas Naboni.” He had trouble getting the next words out but finally did. “The man who is now in charge.”
Pike said, “Good. Good. Thomas, it’s your show now. Good luck.”
Surprised, Thomas said, “That’s it?”
Pike smiled and said, “That’s it. We’ve got an aircraft inbound. We’ll be taking Armstrong with us, but the rest of this is up to you.”
“What if the fighting continues?”
“It won’t. Mosebo’s dead, and you now control the police. You’ll have a ton of US Marines here in short order. I’d recommend as a first step getting in touch with the US embassy for coordination. Get them on your side early.”
“Can’t you do that? Can’t you stay and help?”
His face was so earnest it caused Jennifer to come forward. She said, “Thomas, you have all the help you need. The people love you. You’ll be fine.”
“But I could use your help. I mean, I trust you. The people will trust you, and so will the Americans at the embassy. I need you to talk to them.”
Pike chuckled and said, “Don’t read in to our reputation. Just being an American won’t help here. I don’t think you want me speaking to the embassy. They won’t take kindly to us being here. In fact, it’d be good if you just didn’t mention us at all.”
Confused, Thomas said, “Why? After all you’ve done here to bring about justice?”
Shoshana said, “Because Pike’s an asshole. Nobody likes him.”
Knuckles laughed and said, “Thomas, justice is in the eye of the beholder. Trust me when I say the embassy will not appreciate our efforts. Leave us out of this, and make it all internal to Lesotho. You do otherwise—you bring us into this—and it becomes complicated. Let it go.”
Thomas reluctantly nodded, and Johan said, “I’ll stay.”
Pike looked at him in surprise, and he said, “Least I can do. I’d rather be here, working with Thomas, than wherever you’re taking Armstrong.”
“I told you I’d set you free.”
He said, “I trust you, Pike. I do, but I don’t trust whomever you work for. And besides, I think Thomas could use the help. I’m from South Africa. I know the continent.”
Thomas nodded and said, “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Pike shook his head but understood the sentiment. He said, “As long as you stay on the right side.”
Johan said, “Just get those triggers. Promise me that.”
Pike looked at Armstrong and said, “Of course. That’s what this whole thing has been about.”
Shoshana smiled, and Johan knew why. Pike was stretching the truth to the breaking point.
Pike looked at Armstrong and said, “But those triggers will be the easy part. Isn’t that right, Colonel?”
87
I took another sip of my giant hurricane—if you ordered the big one, you got to keep the glass—and saw Tyler Malloy enter the restaurant. It was okay to booze it up now, because my team wasn’t in on the hunt. That had all been turned over to the “proper” authorities, and the restaurant was now surrounded by State Department Diplomatic Security Services and the FBI. Because of Tyler’s status as a US citizen, the Taskforce had been pulled from the operation, but nobody could tell me I couldn’t get a ’Merican hamburger at a ’Merican restauran
t—which was why I was pleased Tyler Malloy had chosen the Hard Rock Cafe for his transfer. Hell, our waitress was even from Texas. Long story, once I asked her, but fascinating all the same.
It had been three days since the L-100 had landed on the Lesotho airfield, and so far, things seemed to be going splendidly for Thomas Naboni. The mighty US Marine Corps had landed about six hours after we’d left and had pretty much secured the entire city from any threats, giving the Lesotho police and military a helping hand at crowd control, all coordinated through the US embassy. Unfortunately, by the time they’d begun operations for the removal of US citizens, the shooting was all over and the people refused to leave.
The commander of the Marine Corps taskforce had been bitching holy hell, trying to put his finger on the idiot who had demanded the NEO. The embassy said it wasn’t them—even as they coordinated a response. In their defense, they’d mentioned one wounded person—an Israeli, no less—and a hysterical woman who’d demanded protection for a children’s hospital. She had disappeared in the chaos, and nobody even remembered her name. Nobody seemed to know how the rumor of threats to US citizens had snowballed into a deployment order. Well, one person knew—Colonel Kurt Hale—and he was none too happy.
We’d boarded the L-100, dragging Armstrong with us, and I was surprised to find Blaine Alexander on the bird, along with an interrogation team. He’d apparently had enough of Djibouti and had forward staged with the bird. He was in constant contact with Kurt in DC, and I’d spent the thirty-minute flight on a headset, giving Kurt a verbal report on everything that had happened. Well, everything pertinent to our mission.
The last I’d seen of Johan was taxiing down the runway in Lesotho. I had no doubt that Thomas needed the help, but I was a little sad to see Johan go. He’d ended up being a pretty solid guy, despite his seriously flawed employment decisions—to include his interrogation of Aaron. That mistake had almost cost him his life, but if he could keep Thomas breathing, I’d call it a wash.