by R G Ainslee
In the aircraft, I asked Barker, "Is Dom cool with everything?"
"He's good, no problem."
Amadeo agreed, "Dom told me his story. He was an Army officer in Spain and got in trouble with the Franco regime. Don’t like to deal with authorities. He'll be okay."
Barker revved the Lycoming engine, released the brakes and we took to the air on our final leg. My shoulder still hurt, the numbness replaced with a sharp sting. I vowed to make Marsden pay. Given half the chance, he'd share my pain.
* * *
Late in the afternoon, we passed Mount Kenya. Nairobi lay ahead, less than an hour to go. A new reality began to sink in: It's over, we did it.
The loud whine of the turboprop wasn't conducive to small talk, we sat unspeaking within our own thoughts. I reflected on Rasta Man's fate: left to nature in the bush, never to see home again. Few people would ever know of his sacrifice. Amadeo sat quietly. Barker had done a fantastic job. Too bad he would never be recognized. I also had a new appreciation for Santini's leadership skills. He was in charge of the mission, but didn't try to run the show, just let us do our jobs.
Barker broke the silence, "Ross, we got any cash left?"
"Sure."
"How much did you shell out to James Bond?" asked Santini.
"Dunno."
"What do you mean?"
"Just scooped up some bills and gave it to him."
"You didn't count the money?"
"Nope, neither did he. Just grabbed the money and ran. Glad we got off the ground before he had a chance to count the loot."
Barker said, "I'll need a chunk of cash to pay for these bullet holes."
"Think I'll spend the next month filling out reports," said Santini. "Count the money soon as we land. We need to have an exact figure when we reach the embassy."
* * *
Barker approached the small airstrip, deployed the flaps, and lined the Porter up for touchdown, just as the sun dipped below the horizon. It had been a long day from sunup to sunset. We almost cut it too short. The primitive unpaved airfield lacked landing lights.
Barker taxied the Porter to a small wood and concrete block shed and shut down the engine. Dieter strode out and anxiously advanced towards the aircraft. His eyes darted to-and-fro over the full length of the Porter. Santini asked if he could use the telephone and jogged to the office. A worried Dieter continued his inspection. Amadeo and I stayed in the cockpit to guard Marsden.
Dieter paced around the Porter and examined the fuselage, wings, and tail. He muttered colorful German expletives as he paused and fingered each of seven bullet holes. Barker followed but offered no explanation.
An indignant Dieter wanted 500 dollars for each bullet hole, an additional 3,500 dollars. Barker reluctantly agreed and maneuvered him inside the office for the final payoff. He didn't want Dieter to become curious about Marsden.
I leaned back and said, "Hey Andy, make sure you keep your frickin mouth shut. My promise still stands. You understand? — ?Comprende?"
Marsden grunted an obscenity and laid his head back on a putrid pool of barf. He had tossed his cookies sometimes during the flight. On the ground, the resulting stench, exacerbated by vodka-fueled Berbere spice laden sweat, became an issue. Amadeo and I bailed out and took up positions under the wings.
Santini returned. "They're on the way."
"How's Dieter, he be okay with this?" I asked.
"Yeah, he's counting his money. Screwed Barker for another 500 for what he called processing fees." Santini nodded in Marsden's direction. "How's our boy?"
"Better than he deserves. He's stretched out in a puddle of barf right now."
"Barker will stay in the office and keep Dieter occupied until our people get here. Don't need him asking about Marsden."
A question had been bothering me for the entire mission. I motioned for Santini and Amadeo to move away from the Porter. "Why is Reynolds, the CIA man, out of the loop?"
Amadeo glanced over at Santini. I nodded it was okay. "Goes back several years. Reynolds and John Smith, they—"
"Is that his real name?"
"Yeah. As I was saying, they served together in Laos in the sixties. Something happened. Not sure what, but there's been bad blood between them ever since. I asked him about it, but he won't say. John tries to stay out of Reynolds's way. Are you saying he hasn't been involved in this mission?"
"That's right. I've never spoken to the man."
"You're lucky," said Santini, "He's a SOB. Colonel Gregory gets along with him, but the rest of us try to steer clear."
* * *
Sergeant King and John Smith arrived with a van from the embassy. Dieter finally noticed Marsden and I said he was drunk and had been airsick. Cost Barker another hundred when Dieter found Marsden's puddle.
John Smith was anxious to hear how it had gone and asked why Rasta Man wasn't with us. Amadeo told him about landing in the bush and the deaths of Ras and the Ethiopian pilot.
"Can’t believe you left the Rasta Man, I trained him. Are you sure—"
"Look, I wanted to go back, but we had no choice, we barely got out alive," pleaded Amadeo.
"He's right," I said. "We flew over the downed aircraft, and there wasn't much left. The hyenas and vultures had…"
"Damn … don't tell me anymore." Smith grittily returned his view to the road. He abruptly twisted around and yelled back at Marsden, "You stinkin' bastard, I'm goanna…" he choked up and I detected a reflection of a faint tear from the lights of an oncoming vehicle.
"Where do we go from here?" I asked.
John said, "We'll drop you three off at the embassy. Can’t take Marsden in there, his presence would raise too many questions and I don't want any State Department types nosing around. We're already too high profile as it is." He paused and cleared his throat. "There's going to be some blowback with the Sudanese troop involvement, not to mention the helicopter. It's probably either Ethiopian or Soviet." His tone turned icy. "We'll hear about this."
He was right about not wanting the embassy people nosing around. Considering Marsden's odiferous condition, they were sure to get a nose full. I asked, "Where you taking him?"
"To an isolated compound I've rented south of town. Amadeo and I'll stash him there. Brannan, you can come down in the morning to continue the interrogation. Colonel Wilson wants the rest of you to report in ASAP."
* * *
At the embassy, Wilson, Mack Gibson, and Michaels greeted us warmly and the colonel insisted on an immediate briefing. Barker didn't have a chance to call home. The meeting lasted two hours and did not go well.
Santini first briefed Wilson on what had happened, and Wilson questioned each of us in turn on various aspects of the mission. The mutilation of the bodies angered him, and he seemed genuinely impressed by Santini's account of Barker's airmanship. Barker spoke up and praised my marksmanship. Wilson slumped in the chair dejected and concerned.
Wilson responded after a few moments of silence, "This has all the potential to be a major FUBAR. How does that go? — No good deed goes unpunished. — However, we do have Marsden in custody and you didn't kill anyone in the Sudan. We need to wrap this up and get out of country. Brannan, how much cash do you have left?"
"We spent 12,350 dollars including the Kenyan money."
"That was cheap. I was afraid it might cost a lot more and you might come up short. What did the ransom cost?"
Some quick calculations revealed Commander James Bond came up short on his reward. "He ended up with about 3,200 dollars. Guess I double crossed him though, promised him 5,000 plus 2,000 in Kenyan Shillings."
"Remind me never to play poker with you. Gentlemen, you have had a long day, you can go. Report back here at eight in the morning. Tomorrow, Brannan will leave with Gibson and Michaels to re-interview Marsden."
After the briefing Barker and I rushed to his office to call home and tell Sarah we would be there soon. As they spoke, I nervously waited for word on Lisette's condition. It seemed like they w
ould talk forever, and my shoulder continued to bother me, the pain replaced by numbness. The doleful expression on Barker's face worried me.
"Is Lisette okay?"
"Sarah said she's better today."
"What's wrong?
"She's gone."
"Gone." My heart seemed to stop. "Where? … She all right?"
"Her uncle flew up from Lamu and took her back with him."
"Lamu? … She's too sick to travel. Why'd she leave?"
"Sarah says she was still weak, but better. They flew to Lamu this afternoon."
"How did he know where to find her?"
"He came to Nairobi and contacted Lara Dumont. She came to the house with him."
"Why would Lara do that to Lisette, they're friends." An overwhelming sense of betrayal numbed my inner being. "Lisette wouldn't leave without seeing me first."
"He threatened to call the police, and have you arrested. Sarah said he was extremely angry about her kidnapping and blamed you for the whole episode. Lisette had no choice. She went with him to save you from a Kenyan jail."
"Was this Lara's idea?"
"No, she tried to talk him out of it. She wanted him to wait and speak to you, but he wouldn’t listen. Lara's on your side."
"I'm going to Lamu in the morning."
"No. Lara told Sarah to tell you not to try to contact them. It might make things worse. If you want to have a chance to save the situation just stay cool."
"Cool." I was at a loss for words and felt that empty feeling.
"You ready to go?"
"No, I’d better stay here tonight."
Barker gave me a skeptical look. "You’re welcome to—"
"Thanks, but I need to be by myself and sort things out. I’ll go down to the Marine guardroom. Anyway, Wilson wants me down at Smith’s place early in the morning."
"Okay, it’s up to you. — Say, you don’t plan to do a runner for Lamu in the middle of the night … do ya?"
"What … Don't you trust me?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"You're getting to know me pretty well."
I did think about taking off for Lamu. Made it halfway to the rear gate before I changed my mind: Barker’s right, just gotta let it play out. A confrontation wouldn’t accomplish anything. Need to… Hell, don’t know what I need to do.
I was almost asleep when it occurred to me: I love her — and never told her.
Chapter 26 ~ BOHICA
Wednesday, 22 February: U.S. Embassy, Nairobi
The bunk in the Marine guardroom wasn't the most comfortable bed, just an old Army cot, thin mattress and wire springs. Had the place to myself, the Marine's in the Security Detachment lived in town, the bunks reserved for emergencies.
Passed another restless night, tossed and turned, my shoulder stung every time I rolled over. The day's events replayed, over and over, with negative possibilities. An old song played an endless loop in my mind about wanting to go home. But I wasn't dreaming about cotton fields: I was dreaming about the girl I had lost, and I was stuck in Nairobi, far from home.
The Marines changed shifts at six. I trundled out of the sack, drank three cups of strong black Kenyan coffee, and poured over the morning editions of The Daily Nation and The Standard, front to back. The news seemed stale and uninteresting.
Not for the first time, I wallowed in a pit of despair, hit with a setback, a kick in the teeth, just as I was about to develop a meaningful relationship with someone who understood.
Lara was right. Let things settle down for a few days. Charging off to Lamu would only make matters worse. Lisette can work on her uncle when she recovers. Andre is a reasonable man. Tried to be optimistic, but down deep, feared I struck out again.
At eight o'clock, I dragged myself up to the Defense Attaché's office and inquired about a ride to the safe house, more than ready for another go at Marsden. Karen said she had no word from Wilson, but Major Santini and Captain Barker were downstairs.
After a few minutes of chitchat with Karen, I grabbed another cup of coffee and wandered down to the conference room. Santini and Barker appeared tired. Yesterday had been a long day.
"Where's everybody at?"
"Gibson and Michaels left early to help John Smith," responded Santini.
"Why'd they leave without me? I’m supposed to go down there this morning."
"Don't know. The colonel left word for us to wait for him in here."
"Where's he at?"
"Karen said he was in the ambassadors' office."
"Kinda early for the ambassador, don't you think?"
Barker nodded. "That's what we thought."
"How's the shoulder?" asked Santini.
"Better … still sore, got a big old bruise."
We lounged in the conference room for another hour rehashing the previous day's events. Barker was peeved at Dieter. He thought Dieter screwed him on the deal, overcharging at the last minute. I pointed out that we were in effect buying his silence. Barker reluctantly agreed.
Santini had just picked up the phone to check with Karen, when an ashen faced Colonel Wilson entered the room. He proceeded with slow heavy steps to the end of the table, paused a moment, and spoke, "Gentlemen, the situation has developed into a full-blown disaster. It will take all we can do to avoid the matter escalating into a catastrophe." He sank into the chair, deep in thought, staring down at the table.
My mind raced through the possibilities. What else could go wrong? Marsden escape, or did John Smith kill him? Wouldn’t put it past him, he seemed plenty angry … couldn’t blame him, just wish it was me pulling the trigger.
After a few moments, Wilson released a breath and continued, "I’ve been with the ambassador and on the horn to Washington. Last evening the Sudanese government filed a complaint with the Kenyans. An aircraft registered in Kenya was involved in an incident over the border. According to the Sudanese, the aircraft was transporting arms and supplies to an anti-government rebel group."
Hell’s bells, we’re screwed.
Santini started to speak, the colonel raised a palm to quiet him, and spoke in a curt tone. "It gets worse."
Worse? How could it be worse?
Tension electrified the air. Barker stole a worried glance in my direction. Santini shifted in his chair.
The colonel continued, "When the Sudanese forces came under fire, the Ethiopians offered military assistance to their comrades. The intruder shot down an Ethiopian aircraft and killed its pilot and his observer. The intruder was pursued to the Kenyan border by the Ethiopians who tuned back in respect for Kenyan airspace."
"Does the ambassador believe this?" asked an incredulous Santini.
"Doesn’t matter what he believes. The Kenyans do, and they are investigating."
Barker seemed concerned. "You said the Kenyan authorities obtained the aircraft's ID numbers?"
Dieter — that SOB will squeal for sure.
"Yes, but the owner got wind of what was coming down and flew his aircraft over the border to Tanzania early this morning."
Relieved, I asked, "So they can't tie us to any of this?"
Wilson shook his head. "We can't rule it out. The ambassador is afraid it will eventually be traced back to the embassy. Major Santini and Captain Barker … you hold diplomatic immunity, but you need to prepare yourselves for expulsion from the country." He paused to let it sink in and continued, "Perhaps the matter won't get that far. They will most likely pull you out first to avoid an incident."
Barker’s expression was grim.
"What about you?" asked Santini.
"I’ve been ordered back to Washington and leave this afternoon on a commercial flight to London." He noticed my discomfort. "I am optimistic we can straighten this out once we return to Fort Meade. On the positive side, Marsden is in custody. Unfortunately, Raven-One was a covert mission. Full knowledge of our success will have limited distribution." He paused once more and inhaled a deep breath. "If we’re lucky, this episode won't kill our careers."<
br />
Barker glanced my way. "Sir, what about Brannan."
Wilson examined me with a pensive stare. "Technically, you are here illegally. The ambassador doesn't want to take any chances. You are not to leave the embassy grounds. We— I mean, they will decide what to do later."
Muscles tightened in my neck. It was happening, left out in the cold by a bunch of pencil necked bureaucrats. "How much later?"
"Sorry, that's up to them. Like I said, I won't be here."
It’s all going to hell … a total fiasco … typical FUBAR of the first order. What else? — Wait a minute.
I blurted out, "What'll happen to Marsden?"
"He should be on his way to Mombasa as we speak. A Navy destroyer is in port on a liberty stop. The ship sails to Diego Garcia soon as Marsden is on-board. Gibson and Michaels fly out on a Navy aircraft tomorrow afternoon."
At least the bastard won’t get away. There’s still hope.
Barker asked, "What about John Smith and Amadeo?"
"Wasn’t told. They have their own methods. I assume at least one of them will accompany Marsden."
I slumped back in the chair. "That's it, I'm left here holding the bag."
Wilson dropped his head. "I promise you. I will do all I can once I return to Washington." He stood, headed for the door, and left us to ponder our fates.
After, the door closed behind the colonel, I roared, "BOHICA — the SOB's have done it again."
* * *
An hour later, an exhausted, but cautiously optimistic Mack Gibson returned to the embassy. He recounted Marsden’s twists and turns as he attempted to evade the truth. In due course, they were able to break his will when John Smith threatened to hand him over to me.
"I believe we obtained enough relevant information to proceed with the initial stages of a new countermeasures project. It will take time to run through all the permutations. Just hope it's not another blind alley. We were right about a couple of our suspicions. He altered a portion of the data and stole even more. He's on his way to Diego Garcia now, seems like a security issue came up. Hopefully we can gain access to him when we return to the states."
"Didn’t they tell you?"
"Tell me what? Is there a problem?"