Jill drove in silence as Sutherland scanned the report and her panic mounted.
Sutherland read at well over a thousand words a minute and had digested the report by the time they reached Mission House. “Very interesting,” he allowed. “And very thorough. But there’s a problem. I need to speak to Sergeant Malone. Immediately.”
Now it was Richards’ turn to panic. She called the security cop on her communicator and handed it to Sutherland. The colonel identified himself. “When did you turn over BermaNur to the United Nations?” He listened. “Twenty-four hours ago. At Addis Abba. Got it. Thank you.” Without getting out of the truck, he turned to Richards. “This is an excellent report, general. Top notch. You made a strong case. But you gave your prime witness away. Without him, we have nothing, nada, zilch.”
“But the video,” Richards protested.
“Without BermaNur in the witness box, it can all be explained away in court by any first-year law student. Not only that, Allston, against his own interests, urged you to retain custody and not transfer him to the UN. Does that sound like the actions of a guilty man? Not to me.”
“So what do we do?” Richards asked, her voice stretched tight.
“We get him back. How soon can we get to Addis Ababa?”
Jill spoke up. “There’s a shuttle tomorrow afternoon.”
“They’ll damn well do better than that,” Richards said. “I’ll talk to Allston.” She hurried into the Ops Center with Sutherland and Jill in tow. Dick Lane was there, manning the scheduling desk, and shook his head when Richards demanded a C-130 for immediate transportation to Addis Ababa,
“General, I would if I could.” He scanned the board. “We got three Herks inbound but they’re on hold for another mission and I can’t release them.”
“So who can?” Richards demanded.
“Colonel Allston. He’s flying. I expect him back this evening with the fourth Herk.”
Sutherland took charge. “Stay on top of it, Major. It’s important that we get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. But since we have a few hours to kill, I’d like to see the mission.”
Jill perked up. “General Richards, if you no longer need me, I can show Colonel Sutherland around.”
“You do that,” Richards groused.
“Thank you, ma’am.” It was her turn to twist the knife. “And I did learn a lot.” Richards stormed out. Sutherland thought for a moment and followed her, leaving Jill and Lane alone. “Delay as long as you can,” Jill told him. “The longer the better.”
“I didn’t hear that,” Lane said. He lowered his voice. “But if they want out of here before tomorrow, they’ll have to walk or drive.”
“Thank you,” Jill murmured. She ran after Sutherland. “Colonel,” she called, “would you like to meet Reverend Person? He’s with Colonel Vermullen.”
~~~
“Very impressive,” Sutherland said. Jill had given him a Cooks Tour of the mission and the refugee camp, and was driving west on a gravel road. “Where are we headed now?”
“This is the road to the town of Malakal, but we’re only going as far as the outskirts. The Legion has a checkpoint there and that’s where I expect we’ll find Toby. I imagine he’s pretty worried about now.”
Sutherland gave her his friendliest look, playing the game. “Okay, Major. Where is all this leading, and why is the Reverend Person worried?”
“Because his wife is shopping,” she replied. She slowed and turned into a large open area with a camouflaged revetment and a canopy-covered rest area. A squad of legionnaires sat in the shade and shared cigarettes with four young African men dressed in civilian clothes. “We’re there. That’s Colonel Vermullen’s Panhard over there and his bodyguard, Private Beck. He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.”
“That old guy?” Sutherland asked, taking in the legionnaire and the battered utility vehicle. He got out and followed her into the revetment that was also covered with a canopy where Jill introduced him to Vermullen and Person. “My pleasure. Gentlemen,” Sutherland said. “If I read Major Sharp correctly, there is something I need to see.”
Vermullen took over. “We are trying to coax a Sudanese Army battalion into evacuating Malakal. I’m hoping we can do it with smoke and mirrors.”
“Actually, with well-placed rumors on the jungle telegraph,” Toby added. “And a little encouragement.” From the look on Sutherland’s face, he didn’t have a clue and an explanation was in order. “The jungle telegraph is Africa’s internet. It is word-of-mouth news transmitted by merchants and truck drivers who move about. Market places are the URLs.”
“I get it,” Sutherland said. “The market places are where information is stored and disseminated. Major Sharp tells me your wife is shopping today, so I assume she is gathering news.”
“Not quite,” Toby explained. “She’s pumping information, actually misinformation, into the system.”
“Just like the internet,” Sutherland added, understanding the analogy.
Toby nodded. “The mission buys a lot of food and supplies from the local vendors, which creates goodwill. Right now, D’Na is spreading the rumor that the South Sudan’s People’s Liberation Army intends to attack tomorrow morning, and it’s payback time.”
“Because the South Sudanese have been losing big time,” Sutherland added.
Toby had to make the lawyer understand the stakes. “If you call genocide, ‘losing’ then they are losing big time.”
A high-wheeled pickup loaded with crates of food drove up, and a big, raw-boned woman got out. She gleamed with vitality and, like most Dinkas, her hair was cut short. Toby visibly relaxed. “My wife, D’Na,” he announced. She motioned for the four young men dressed in civilian clothes to join her as she came into the revetment. They all gathered around a large-scale map of Malakal as she filled them in. From the concise way she briefed the men and commanded their attention, there was no doubt she was an accomplished and experienced leader.
D’Na’s first stop had been at the stall of an old woman, Malakal’s most famous fortuneteller and traditional healer. D’Na had whispered the rumor that the South Sudanese were going to attack the SA garrison, and then gone about her business. But she also carefully marked the location of every Sudanese Army checkpoint around the market. By the time she was finished, the market was buzzing with the rumor. “I counted six checkpoints,” she told the men. She carefully marked the six locations on the chart and turned to the four young men. “Go,” she ordered. “Do not spend time talking to the girls. Make sure the soldiers see you and then leave. Get back here as soon as you can.” The four men were all smiles as they left.
“Who are they?” Sutherland asked.
“South Sudanese from Juba,” Toby explained. “You can’t tell it, but every Dinka and Nuer in Malakal will know they’re from a different tribe.”
Sutherland understood. “Confirmation of the rumor. So what happens next?”
“We wait,” Toby replied.
Two hours later, the young men were back, still smiling. They reported they were seen scouting the Army checkpoints and were as popular as Ebola fever.
“Now the next phase,” Vermullen said. He keyed his handheld radio. “Freedom Flight, Freedom Flight, this is Wink One transmitting in the blind. You are cleared to drop. Repeat, you are cleared to drop.” He ended the transmission. “I hope the SA monitored that,” he said. “Have you ever seen an airdrop from the ground?” he asked Sutherland. The lawyer said he had not. “Then you will find it most interesting.”
“Who’s being dropped?” Sutherland asked.
“South Sudanese, of course,” Vermullen replied. He led the way to his Panhard and climbed in the back with Jill. Sutherland sat in the passenger’s seat and Beck drove. “Colonel Allston is flying the C-130,” Vermullen explained, “and the parachutists are South Sudanese recruits we have trained. It is what you Americans call a Hollywood jump. They are jumping without equipment.” They made the drive to a large open area four
miles south of Malakal.
The sun was setting when Sutherland saw a single C-130 approach from the west. It passed overhead as jumpers streamed out both aft jump doors. Within minutes, the jumpers were on the ground and gathering up their parachutes. They quickly double-timed into the brush and disappeared. “More confirmation of the rumor?” Sutherland asked. It was a rhetorical question and he knew the answer. “So what now?”
“We have dinner,” Vermullen replied. “Colonel Allston will be joining us.”
“So what happens next?” Sutherland asked.
“We wait.”
~~~
Jill relaxed into her chair and cradled her wine glass in both hands. As always, Vermullen was the perfect host and the dinner superb. She was content to listen as the four men talked. They were an odd mixture; the small and wiry Toby, the scholarly and reserved Sutherland, the lanky and edgy Allston, and the dominating presence of Vermullen. There was no doubt they were a band of brothers, complementing each other, yet different. She looked up to see Sutherland studying her. “Major Sharp, there is something I’ve been wondering about. Why did you show me all this?”
She decided to go with the truth. “Two reasons. First, we need a friend at court. Second, I trust you.”
“What a nice compliment,” Sutherland replied. “Colonel Allston, you know General Richards and I need to get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. All your C-130s are sitting on the ground but you won’t release one. May I ask why?”
“Because we are going to need them,” Allston answered. He checked his watch. “If Colonel Vermullen’s plan is on schedule, it won’t be too long.”
“So we wait,” Sutherland said. He held out his wine glass to be refilled.
~~~
Allston’s communicator buzzed just after midnight. He glanced at his dinner companions as he listened. “They’re here,” he announced.
“At the risk of sounding very stupid,” Sutherland said, “I’m guessing your guests are Sudanese Army troops from Malakal demanding you evacuate them to safety.”
“Very good, Colonel,” Vermullen replied. “You have deduced our little plan.”
“May I make a suggestion?” Sutherland asked. “Reverend Person, it would be best if you disappeared at this point.”
“You are afraid our guests will not arrive safely at their destination?” Vermullen wondered.
“The thought has crossed my mind.”
“I did consider it,” Vermullen explained, “but this is better.”
“I’ve got to see this,” Sutherland said, now totally hooked.
“We better get going,” Allston said. Toby stayed behind as they piled into their trucks and drove for the airstrip.
A very agitated Major Waleed was waiting for them. He paced back and forth beside his silver-blue Mercedes Benz sedan. “Do you always ignore the presence of your superior officers?” he snarled.
“My apologies, Major,” Allston replied, ignoring Waleed’s arrogance. “But we were not notified you were coming and were entertaining our guest, Lieutenant Colonel Sutherland.” He went through the formal introductions. “How may I help you?” Allston asked.
“I have been ordered to report to Khartoum and require you fly me there immediately.”
Allston looked at the soldiers Waleed had brought with him for muscle. They were all armed and milling around the C-130s. If the Jungle Telegraph was correct, they were all that was left of the garrison. “Yes, of course we can do that. We can also take your men, if you require.”
“I demand it,” Waleed said. “And my car.”
“Yes, we can take your car,” Allston said. “But weight will be a problem. You must either leave some men behind or your heavy weapons and much of your baggage. I will let you decide who stays and you can give the appropriate orders to your men. We can start loading immediately.” Waleed’s left eye ticked nervously. His soldiers wanted out of Malakal as badly as he did and were not in any mood to be left behind, especially when they could argue the point with an assault rifle. Allston offered him a way out. “Perhaps it would be best to let us handle it. I’m sure everything will go smoothly as long as we get everyone on board. And of course, your car.”
“Yes, of course,” Waleed said, breathing much easier.
Allston made a show of issuing orders and the ramp exploded in activity as aircrews appeared and loadmasters quickly loaded the C-130s. Within minutes all the soldiers and the Mercedes were on board. The ramp was littered with bags, suitcases, machine guns, mortars, and ammunition. Allston escorted Waleed to the first aircraft and ushered him up the crew entrance steps. He made a big show of waving his right arm in a start engines motion before climbing on board as the last passenger.
Sutherland was worried. “Is it safe taking them to Khartoum? Waleed’s an arrogant bastard here, what’s he going to be like on his home turf?”
“Who said anything about Khartoum?” Vermullen replied. He laughed at the look on the lawyer’s face and gave in. “I don’t think Waleed will recognize Juba as long as it is still dark when they land.”
“I’ll be damned!” Sutherland roared. “You’re taking them to the South Sudanese. You clever bastards. I would love to see that.”
Vermullen motioned at the last C-130. “Please, be our guest.” The lawyer ran for the Hercules.
“He’s having a great adventure,” Jill said. She had read the lawyer right.
“Who will tell your General Richards?” Vermullen asked.
“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”
Vermullen appreciated the use of the famous movie line by Clark Gable. “Perhaps we should tell her in the morning.” Jill followed him to his Panhard and got in. He cocked an eyebrow at her.
“Blame Mother Nature,” she told him.
TWENTY-TWO
Mission Awana
The far off drone of C-130s woke Richards from a fitful sleep. For a moment, she was back in time when a C-130 had woken her that first morning in Malakal. But this wasn’t Malakal and she was sleeping on a chaise lounge on the veranda of the guesthouse at Mission Awana. She pulled on her boots as the sound grew louder. She stepped to the railing just as four C-130s passed overhead in formation, echeloned to the right and a thousand feet above the ground. The roar pounded at her. Her eyes narrowed as she followed the aircraft. They flew over the approach end of the runway and pitched out to the left, in sequence, circling to land at thirty-second intervals. She didn’t recognize the classic overhead recovery of aircraft returning from combat. She had no idea where they had been, but was certain where at least one was going in the very near future. She ran for Mission House and the Operations Center. She barged into the center and confronted a very tired Dick Lane. “Where’s Allston,” she demanded.
Lane posted the arrival times of the C-130s on the scheduling boards with a Magic Marker and marked them all O.R., operationally ready. “He just landed and should be here in about twenty minutes,” Lane told her. “Can I get you some coffee?”
“You can get me a plane to Addis Ababa,” she said, her voice low and threatening. Lane handed her a cup of coffee that she eagerly grasped without a word.
“Thank you, Major,” Lane said.
Richards glared at him and stepped outside on the veranda. She didn’t have to wait long. The first six-pac truck arrived from the airfield jammed with two aircrews. Hank Sutherland was with them. The lawyer was dead tired and trudged up the steps. “Where have you been?” she demanded.
“Juba,” the lawyer answered. “It was the damnedest thing.” He followed the smell of coffee into Mission House. “They pulled off one fantastic con job and I was there. Colonel Vermullen came up with a plan to scare the Sudanese Army into evacuating Malakal. Major Sharp rang me in on it.” Richards stiffened at hearing Jill’s name. The general had a few scores to settle and was going to terminate her career. “The SA commander,” Sutherland continued, “a Major Waleed… he was the most arrogant bastard alive… showed up around midnight and demande
d airlift to fly him to safety at Khartoum. But Allston wouldn’t do it without taking all of his men. That was why they were holding the C-130s on the ground. They had to do it while it was still dark.”
Suddenly, Richards sensed an opening. “You said Waleed ‘was.’ Did they kill him? Throw him out of the airplane without a parachute?”
Sutherland tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Not a bad idea, but no, they didn’t. They flew Waleed and his men to Juba. Waleed didn’t have a clue where they were because it was still dark. You should have seen that arrogant ass deflate when he got off the plane and realized where they were. Allston turned Waleed and his troops over to the South Sudanese, lock stock and barrel. It turns out that the International Criminal Court in the Hague has issued a warrant for Waleed’s arrest. He’s got a history going back to the genocide in Darfur.” He smiled broadly. “The world is gonna love him when he goes on trial.”
Richards wouldn’t let it go. “Flying the Sudanese Army anywhere is a violation of the UN’s peacekeeping charter. Who authorized it?”
“Allston.”
“Got him!”
“I don’t think so, General. The International Criminal Court was created by the UN and Allston can argue that his job over here is to support the UN.”
Another truck arrived and Allston got out with the crew. He hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and his face was lined with fatigue. Richards went on the offensive and demanded a C-130 immediately fly her and Sutherland to Addis Ababa. “Let’s go see what’s available,” Allston said, trudging inside. Lane was waiting with a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Thanks, Dick,” Allston said. He sipped the strong brew and studied the scheduling boards.
The Peacemakers Page 28