The Peacemakers

by Jim Roberts

  "Please, I don't know why, he just said he wanted to talk to you."

  Brick looked at Krieger. The Arab-Russian shrugged, leaving it for Brick to make the call.

  "Alright Miss Anders," Brick said, turning back to the young reporter. "Let's go meet this bloke."

  "Just you Sergeant."

  Brick stopped and looked at Krieger.

  "I am in no hurry to talk to rebel. Go." Krieger said, nonchalantly. Brick shook his head. He followed Sarah upstairs, followed close behind by Jacob.

  * * *

  IN DIRECT contrast with the bustling atmosphere downstairs, the top floor was practically empty. The early morning light shown through a small window, providing the large unbroken room with a small amount of light. In the corner of the floor, lying on a sullied, white mattress, was the leader of the URAF rebellion, Donald Muzenda.

  Or what was left of him.

  Nearly half of his body was wrapped in bandages; soaked through with gangrenous smelling blood. From what Brick could tell, he was in his late fifties. Muzenda must have once been a strong, virile man; but the ravages of war tear the flesh from even the strongest of hearts.

  The mortar shell had destroyed both of Muzenda's legs, as well as most of his right arm. His head was heavily bandaged, soaked through with blood.

  "All of the volunteer doctors and missionaries left after the start of the civil war." Sarah said, making her way over to crouch beside the rebel leader. "There is only so much care we can give to the dying."

  Brick swallowed as he moved to stand over the motionless form of the URAF leader. Sarah took the leader's unwounded hand in her own, holding it affectionately.

  "He...he is the most honorable man I know." Tears began to pour from Sarah's eyes. "I...these people can't replace him."

  Behind her, Jacob put a reassuring hand on Sarah's shoulder. She cleared her eyes then leaned forward to speak to the dying leader.

  "Donald...open your eyes, I brought the CIA man, as you asked."

  It took a few seconds, but Muzenda managed to open his one good eye, the other being layered with bandages and sutures. He looked at Brick, not recognizing the uniformed African-British man that looked down upon him.

  "What is your...name...my friend?"

  "Sergeant Alistair Reynolds, sir. Peacemaker Unit."

  "You are...American?"

  "Uh...no sir, British actually. Former Special Air Service."

  Muzenda tried to pull himself up on the bed, but succeeded only in coughing violently. When he could speak again, the rebel leader spoke slowly, but with much grace and intelligence in his voice. "I have fought hard for my people, Sergeant Reynolds. I was only a schoolteacher two years ago. After Musabe began his secret killings, I decided to speak out. People listened to me. They helped me hide and spread my word that we could fight back against a tyrant."

  A young Zimbalan girl, who Brick guessed was acting as Muzenda's nurse, knelt by the leader and dabbed his forehead with a moist towel.

  "My life is ending, Sergeant. I have fought the good fight to bring my people out of darkness, but I have failed."

  "Mister Muzenda..." Brick began to speak, but the rebel leader raised his hand weakly. The Brit fell silent.

  "War has torn my once beautiful country to pieces. Where once were schools, there are now bomb craters. Where children once played on swings, Olympus patrols with terrible machines. We were so close to beating Musabe. The dark army came and forced us back. What will happen when other countries in Africa purchase their power?"

  Brick shook his head, "It's what I've sworn to stop, guv. With my dyin' breath."

  Muzenda smiled, "Then we have something in common, Mister Reynolds. We are both willing to die for a cause to set people free. It is an unsettling thought, is it not?"

  Brick didn't follow. He looked quizzically at Sarah, who shook her head.

  Muzenda haltingly, tried to explain, "The world needs to think about killing Mister Reynolds. You fight against Olympus, but you and I both know that when they are gone, another will rise to fill their void. The circle of war will just continue, clouded and confusing as ever."

  "I don't pretend ta' know these things, sir." Brick responded, trying to sound as reassuring as possible, "I'm just a soldier, trying to fight the good fight."

  "Of course, Mister Reynolds." Muzenda said, reaching his weak hand out to tap Brick on the arm. "It's a new world. Leave the philosophy to the foolish old men, like me." Muzenda coughed roughly. "Sergeant...I must ask you...a favor..."

  Brick was puzzled at the request, "Of course sir. What can I do?"

  "You must...guard this woman with your life," Muzenda made a feeble gesture to Sarah, "She is...important for my people's future. You must help...her tell her story..."

  Brick was again at a loss, "Sir...I−"

  "You must...do this, Sergeant. From one soldier to another...Sarah must tell our story. Musabe...must pay for unleashing the devils of war against my people. Please...do this."

  Brick didn't know what to say. The man speaking to him was close to the end of his life, yet his last wish was for the simple truth to be told about Olympus. Death was nothing new for the ex-SAS soldier. But after meeting this man for only a moment, he felt like he would be willing to do anything for him.

  "You have my word, sir."

  Muzenda coughed again, his wounds causing him to gag.

  "Jacob...come...here."

  Brick stood up and let the rebel leader kneel by his father's side.

  "Yes father?"

  "Our people need you now, more than ever. My son...never stop...fighting for them..."

  Jacob's dark face was flush with emotion, "Of course, father."

  Muzenda smiled briefly. His eye closed and in another moment, he was gone.

  Jacob made the sign of the cross and hugged Sarah, who was wracked with sobs. Brick took a long breath, holding the scene close in his heart.

  At that moment, Africa suddenly felt closer to him than his home in England ever had.

  * * *

  "Yes Colonel, we found her...No guv, she's fine."

  Brick had to hold a finger to his opposite ear in order to hear the Colonel's voice above the din of the Hatfield crowd noise. Trucks roared through the dusty streets, filled with rebels on their way to the areas of heavy fighting, kicking up large clouds of dust as they passed. Brick stood in the shade at the side of the ramshackle house, trying to give his boss an update on Miss Ander's condition. He'd retrieved his weapons from the guards standing at the HQ entrance.

  "What's the status of the war there, Sergeant?" Walsh's voice asked, coming through rather distantly in the comlink.

  "Unchanged, Colonel. Most of the fighting is contained in the downtown area. Hatfield is decently protected by a perimeter of heavily armed anti-aircraft batteries. The soldiers here are kids, mostly. Just boys trying to do a man's job..." Brick paused before giving the Colonel the bad news, "...Colonel, Donald Muzenda is dead. Killed by a mortar strike."

  "Mmm...who's taking over the URAF?"

  "His son, most like. Jacob. Good lad."

  "Good. Be at the LZ at 16:00 hours tomorrow."

  "Roger that, Colonel. Reynolds out."

  He switched off the comm and was about to go back inside when Sarah came through the front door. Stepping into the bright African sunshine, she put her arms around her, as if she felt paradoxically cold.

  "You alright, miss?" Brick asked.

  "I'm okay. It's just...hard." Sarah tried to cover her grief with a brief smile. It failed. "Donald was the URAF's best hope for a chance to win against Musabe. Now, like so many good men, he's dead."

  "You were close to him, yah?"

  "Yes. When my news crew left months ago, I had no one else. Jacob and his father helped me so much. I'd probably be dead if not for them." Sarah leaned against the house, resting her head against the plaster.

  "They're good people." Brick observed. "They helped me and my mate out. Wouldn't have got here if not for the you
ng boss."

  The door to the HQ opened again. Krieger stepped out, stretching his arms as he did. The Russian was followed by his new pet. The mangy mastiff-German shepherd crossbreed yawned as he stood vigil in front of the house.

  "How's Jacob?" Brick asked the ex-mercenary.

  Krieger shrugged, "How would you be? Boy just lost father. Very upset."

  Brick sighed heavily. He made his way over to stand beside the CNN reporter, her eyes still closed as if trying to block the world out.

  "Well, Miss Anders, are you sure you can't tell us what's so important as to drag us halfway across the world to pick you up?"

  "Sorry, Sergeant. But I promised the Colonel I would only tell him. Please understand."

  "Alright, fine. Our pickup will be tomorrow at four in the afternoon. If you have any goodbyes to make, you'd better make them now."

  Sarah was angered at the Peacemaker's ambivalent attitude. "Haven't you ever lost someone close to you, Sergeant?"

  Brick's face hardened at the question. "I've lost everything, Miss Anders. Three years goin' I've been without my daughter."

  Sarah was taken aback at the sudden revelation of the stoic British soldier.

  "I served three tours in Iraq with the SAS. Saw a lot of shit, know what I mean? Drank myself to the edge of sanity every night after I got back to the Blighty. She up and left me; took my little girl. I ain't seen them for well on two years now."

  "I...I'm sorry." Sarah was taken aback by the Brit's admission.

  "Loss is something we in this Unit know very well, Miss Anders."

  "You can call me Sarah."

  "Miss Anders−" Brick said, hefting his FN FAL rifle, "−you best get ready. Say your goodbyes and get some rest. Tomorrow's a big day."

  Sarah wiped her eyes and nose, her rigid composure returning. "Right. Thank you...for telling me those things, Sergeant...about your family."

  "It's only the truth, Miss Anders. I'll never lie to you, as long as you're straight with me."

  Sarah nodded, but said nothing more. She opened the door and disappeared back inside the HQ.

  Krieger had listened quietly to the entire exchange, his face surprisingly pensive. He scratched Bowser on the head as he spoke to the British soldier.

  "You never tell anyone that before. Why her?"

  "I need her to trust me," Brick answered, swatting a fly crawling on his arm. "She asked a question, I answered it."

  "Were your child and wife important to you?" Krieger asked sincerely.

  "They were the only thing important to me." Brick answered, leaning back against the HQ.

  Krieger hesitated before asking his next question. The Russian was playing with fire here. "What is daughter's name?"

  "Susie, after Susie Q." Brick smiled faintly at the memory.

  "You see Susie again after this is all over?" Krieger asked.

  Brick looked as if he were about to answer, but he closed his mouth tight, his lip shaking slightly. He took a long, deep breath of the hot African air and blew it out slowly.

  For Brick Reynolds, the past hurt worse than a bullet wound.

  Chapter 15

  Dance Central

  Chelyabinsk, Russia, November 24th

  "Orchid, are you receiving me? Report, over."

  Orchid put a hand to her ear to activate the communicator Doctor Yune had installed inside her ear canal.

  "I'm receiving Whisper. I'm nearing the front door now."

  "Good. Stay in touch."

  Orchid was astounded how quickly things seemed to change in this new Unit. Eight hours ago, she was sitting on the tarmac of Andrews Airforce base, ready to join a group of soldiers dedicated to bringing down some oddball Private Military. Now, she was in Russia, heading into a discotheque to try and convince a slimeball mobster to give up the goods on the whereabouts of the last surviving Olympus scientist.

  Life wasn't always easy to predict, the sniper told herself. Orchid was currently dressed in a form fitting black dress, a garment she had kept in her baggage in case she needed it for formal engagements. She certainly hadn't expected to need it for her first assignment with the Peacemakers.

  There was one thing the Japanese Self-Defense Force soldier had over her new found teammates and that was tact. From her investigations into the illusive Vassili Kutsenko, she had learned the man enjoyed female company, sometimes more than several at once. It sickened her to have to go down to his level, but she was certain she could get the information she needed from him the diplomatic way. This was their one and only lead. The last two surviving Olympus scientists was probably right now being targeted by the cruel assassin mercilessly wiping their colleagues out. If they didn't find them and soon, the team's best answer to what the elusive Code was would be lost.

  This little facade absolutely had to work.

  Before knocking at the door to the War Zone discothèque, she checked her appearance in a small mirror in the purse at her side. Her studies and work in the JSDF had left little time to practise the finer points of femininity, but she knew how to look good. Men were, after all, men. Orchid knew she was short, but men had always complimented her for her legs. When one of the more adventurous men at her college in Japan snuck a touch on her behind, she had nearly snapped his wrist off. After that, no one had messed with her.

  Taking a quick breath of the cold early winter air, she knocked on the rusty door to the nightclub. It was a three count before the tiny eyelevel window slid open. The face of one of the club bouncers appeared in the slit.

  "Chto ty khochesh!" The man said in harsh Russian.

  "I'm here for the party. Vassili will want to see me."

  The man peered through the window at Orchid, his eyes lingering on the contours of her body.

  Pig, thought the Peacemaker.

  "Just one minute." The bouncer replied in broken English. He slid the window shut.

  Orchid shivered. Right. I've got all night out here.

  It had begun to snow: a light dust of frosting to make the city seem truly picturesque. Orchid knew that if she was allowed inside, she would be on her own in a man's world. If things went bad, she would have to act quickly. Whisper might be able to help if her cover was blown, but there was no way to know for sure. Her skills in Pencak Silat, the Indonesian martial art known for its brutal nerve-centric combat style, would have to be enough in taking down enemies in close quarters. She had been taught the art of combat by her father; an Indonesian cop who had left to serve in the Tokyo police force after marrying her Japanese mother.

  Orchid knew the bouncers would search her before she got to meet Kutsenko, so weapons were out of the question. It was her hands and feet that would have to do the talking in case of a fight.

  She was practically shivering by the time the door opened. The bouncer was gigantic, nearly six and half feet tall and easily three-hundred pounds. His head was shaved at the top and bald on the sides. Intricate tattoos twisted and curved up his naked arms and on the sides of his head. The man gestured for Orchid to enter. She nodded and stepped inside the dancehall gratefully. Another bouncer, shorter but every bit as thick as the doorman, asked her in broken English to follow him. Orchid, playing the coy little call girl the fools would be expecting, bowed and did as she was asked, walking through the dark corridor towards the main dancehall. The unmistakable noise of eurodance trance music began to get louder as she moved along with her escort. Reaching another door completely covered with graffiti in unreadable Russian tags, the bouncer opened it and waved Orchid in. The large brute pointed to the far corner of the discotheque.

  "Vassili is waiting. Do not keep him." He said brusquely.

  A heavy scent of artificial fog and strong alcohol wafted into Orchid's nostrils as she entered the dancehall. The rave was in full effect, with eight hundred-odd people writhing and pulsating to the eurotrash music blaring from gigantic speakers built into every corner of the hall. Dancers grinded against each other in sensual rhythm, vivaciously working their libidos in
to overdrive by consuming tonics of vodka spiked with phenethylamines. In corners around the hall, crowd members snorted alkyl nitrates as fast as they could to maintain their highs.

  Orchid was aware of a number of eyes−male and female−that followed her through the rave crowd. In the JSDF, she had gone to great lengths to make herself be accepted by her predominantly male comrades, but the simple fact was that she was a naturally attractive woman and men would be men. This was what she was counting on in her meeting with Kutsenko.

  "Orchid, are you in?" Whisper's voice came through over the comm.

  "Affirmative." Orchid replied, trying not to look odd talking to herself. A drunken Russian boy, no older than sixteen, thumped up against the Peacemaker, trying to cop a feel. Orchid, without missing a beat, put her foot between his legs and gave him a quick push. The motion was enough to entangle his legs in hers and lose his balance; landing on the ground in a drunken heap. The crowd didn't notice a thing.

  "Do you see Kutsenko yet?"

  "Negative. No sign. Where are you?"

  "Look up."

  Without trying to be obvious, Orchid moved her gaze upwards and noticed for the first time the skylights that spread across the rave hall ceiling.

  "I'm on the skylight above you. Do you see Kutsenko?"

  From the mug shot she had studied in the Spirit Walker, Orchid was looking for a man in his early forties, with a stubby nose, unkempt bleach-blonde hair and several grisly white scars on his neck. Not hard to miss. She pushed through another group of writhing dancers and onto the dance floor. Above her in neon covered steel cages, female dancers wearing only the basic necessities of human attire, dancing wildly; thrusting themselves against the bars of their enclosure with sensual abandon.

  "This place is something else, isn't it?" Whisper asked from above.

  "Hedonism is a recreational necessity in a repressed society." Orchid spoke as she walked, "These people are acting out base instincts to escape from the entrapments of everyday banality."

  "Well...that's one way to put it, I suppose." Whisper replied.