DARK HEARTED (The COIL Series)

by Telbat, D. I.

  "Boy, you don't skirt around the issues, do you?"

  "It's the reporter in me. Well, I know we're getting friendly, I guess, and I've heard that it says in the Bible how a Christian should try to be with another Christian, not an unbeliever."

  "And that's why you want to become a believer? Maybe we need to step back."

  "Come on, Memphis. That's not the only reason. My life as a whole is quite a wreck. Look, I know you like me. Now, I've told you I'm taking a good look at, well, the Cross. Let's say I'm giving you fair warning."

  "How'm I supposed to concentrate on this op when you tell me something like that?" Laughing with him, she then set her hand on his.

  "You can love Samantha forever, Memphis. Just give me a piece of you, too, okay?" June gave him a peck on the cheek. "You're something special."

  He didn't seem to know what to say, so she gathered her things, the notebook, and the camera card, and crawled out of the tent. Glancing back inside, she caught him smiling like a schoolboy.

  "Give me a few days with this decision, though, okay?"

  "Um. What decision, exactly?" he stuttered.

  "Jesus."

  Memphis nodded, and she darted into the trees toward the car.

  **~~~**

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the basement offices of Berlin's COIL headquarters, Corban walked through the desks of caseworkers. Though he wore a visitor's pass on his breast pocket, he was no visitor. He had purchased the building, then hired Rupert Mach to run the office. Without an escort, Corban moved to one of the back rooms next to Rupert's office, then closed the door and sat in front of a computer terminal. There was a camera mounted on top of the plasma screen. The screen blinked at the touch of a key. Halfway around the world in New York City, Chloe turn to face her own camera in a secure conferencing booth at COIL's head office.

  "Good evening, Chloe," Corban greeted.

  "Evening? I just took your daughter to school. It's barely after eight here."

  "Oh, you've got Jenna for the weekend? I forgot. Any word from Janice?"

  "She arrived in Cameroon last night and sent a digital. She's leaving Yaounde for a couple days to visit a clinic in the bush."

  "What about hostiles in that area?"

  "The Bight of Biafra is stable right now, Corban. You left me back here so you don't have to sweat the little things, right? Janice is fine. She'll be back on Monday. You'll be back then, too, right? If all goes well this weekend?"

  "Well, a little change of plans. That intel we got from Snake moved us up, but there's a bad storm coming in that's forcing us to stand down until Tuesday at the earliest."

  "Not good." Chloe groaned. "Time means lives. Every hour counts, Corban."

  "Nobody is more aware of that than me, Chloe, but we're expecting ten inches of snow over the next two days. Visibility is key. We would have good cover in low visibility, but we can't approach the castle with our night vision in a storm, nor can we use our long-range weapons through a flurry of flakes."

  "You're the man on the ground, Corban. What about Xacsin McLeery? Any sign of him in or out of the castle?"

  "No, and this concerns me. It was as if he was warned; maybe he's been warned from day one. First, there was Paris. There've been other things, as well, that might suggest…"

  "Corban?" Chloe leaned closer to the camera. "Do you realize what you're saying? An inside leak? That gives me chills. You have to think back over the few you've trusted and figure out what the enemy found out. To even mention this, you must have someone in mind. Whoever this someone is, we might be able to get a fix on Abaddon."

  "Yeah, you're right. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age. I do have a possible leak on this side of the pond, but I'm too terrified to admit that it's him."

  "Just tell me, Corban. So you're not implicated, I can monitor him from this end. You need to focus on the op, anyway."

  "I can't. Not until I know for sure. And then I'll deal with it quietly."

  "Don't do it alone, Corban. When you're sure, bring me into it. I don't want revenge, but I want to be there for justice. And if Abaddon is the inside leak himself, I definitely want to see him for myself, in cuffs, going to prison."

  "We need to pray for the Lord's will on this, Chloe." Staring at his hands, Corban paused long enough to pray silently, then he looked up at Chloe again. "There's day and night coverage on the castle. After we tracked Xacsin to England, we lost him. I wish Snake would give us something more."

  "He took a gamble calling us in the first place. And it sounded like the second call he made was interrupted. Hopefully he'll call back. Who knows how many lives he's saved by risking his own."

  "That's true, Chloe. The gunshot you may have heard might have been the end of Snake." Corban bowed his head. Snake had most likely been killed—so others could live. Small gestures of sacrifice continued to play out around the world. But when would the bloodshed be avenged? Corban looked up. "It's by Snake's intel already that I've been able to confirm what I suspect of our leak, and that could make a difference in the years to come. Snake knew what he was doing."

  "After you hit the castle, and once you get all the captives to the hospital, I hope you can sit down with Snake, if he makes it through this, and figure out where Xacsin is. He's too dangerous to not chase, especially since we know he is connected to Abaddon. By the way, how's the hospital prep coming?"

  "That's been Rupert's assignment, but, according to him, the administration knows something is up. It's not every day a borough hospital gets outfitted with quarantine specs."

  "As long as no one panics."

  "Thankfully, we've been able to avoid that so far. Keep searching for Xacsin, Chloe. Get airport footage through MI-6 if you have to. We need to know what he's doing now and where he's going next."

  "All right." Chloe studied her PDA. "Oh, CIA Deputy Director Buchanen called to make sure all was well since you missed your monthly meeting. I told him you were on assignment."

  "Thanks. Did he have anything for us?"

  "Just some background on Xacsin you probably already know. We now have confirmation from old email caches that Xacsin did indeed set us up in Malaysia. And Brandon Fairchild and Velt Plavanko, the two that Abaddon brainwashed to kidnap your family, still aren't talking. Neither is Helena. No surprises there. But the Agency did pass on that Fairchild, through Xacsin's counsel, hired an Italian assassin to hunt you last year. Might he be the one who shot you in Rome?"

  "Hmm. Could be."

  "They couldn't find any communication indicating that Fairchild cancelled the hit on you, but the assassin is rumored to have died in Lebanon. Someone name Luigi Putelli. Anybody we know? Anyway, might keep an eye out for this guy, because his death isn't confirmed."

  "Okay, I will." Corban acted as if he was taking notes, but he needed no notes about Luigi Putelli. He was hoping his old friend was still working in the shadows and hadn't returned to the darkness from which Corban had dragged him. Maybe, just maybe, the man who chewed bubble gum with gusto was somewhere near. "Anything else?"

  "Well, I don't want to bother you with so much on your plate right now…"

  "Go ahead, Chloe. I'm snowed in here; I know the world's still turning."

  "Maybe I can get one of the other teams to handle this. It's not even a COIL situation, not directly, anyway. Well, I guess it is, because there's a missionary family involved, but—"

  "Chloe, you already texted me two days ago that all the teams are swamped right now with other assignments. If it's something I can handle while we're on standby, let me have it."

  "All right. It's Sudan. One of the Darfur states isn't getting their rations from the UN World Food Program again. South Darfur, actually, in the Red Sand Desert."

  "So who called for us?"

  "Roger and Judy Weston."

  "Weston? Remind me."

  "We transplanted them from Ethiopia eighteen months ago when they were run out of Addis Ababa. They were doing well in Khartoum, but recently
got involved in the aid effort for the refugees in South Darfur. Ninety thousand people, mostly children, are in Kalma, the largest camp. World aid organizations are helping, or wanting to help, but even their food shipments have been intercepted by the Janjaweed, the Arab tribal militia. Several drivers have been killed. Even when the Janjaweed aren't raping and killing, they're stealing ration cards and burning them. These poor people are at the breaking point."

  "So, why doesn't the UN send in a couple thousand troops and take back the food?"

  "A few problems with that. First, the food's hidden. We don't know where they're hiding it, so the aid programs are stocking a second shipment right now to replace the last, but they don't want to send it until they're certain it'll reach Kalma, and the other smaller camps nearby. Number two, Sudan has again ousted a UN force in the name of peace talks organized by the African Union. Basically, no one cares about the two million displaced persons, not even their own governments, of which ninety thousand are starving to death as we speak. There was even a rally in Washington yesterday, but it wasn't on COIL's radar until Roger Weston called from a sat-phone we gave him for emergencies."

  Corban's eyes were on his hands again as he mentally worked on the makings of a strategy. Chloe seemed to know to give him a few minutes while he came up with a plan. How could he make this hopeless situation better—at least for a while? Finally, he looked up.

  "Where's the new aid shipment being staged for a second time?"

  "The Upper Nile."

  "Tell them to air drop it on Sunday at daybreak instead of driving it in. Drop it right on Kalma."

  "Uh… The U.S. Air Force would love to run an airdrop, but they're not exactly cleared for Sudanese airspace. Treaty talks have stalled everything. Besides, even if the camp did get the airdrop, the Janjaweed would ride in and steal it, killing people all the while. You can't solve Darfur's humanitarian problems in one day, Corban. No one expects you to. We can't cure the world."

  "I hear you, Chloe," Corban nodded sadly, "but I think we can do better."

  "There's nothing… I mean, we can't—"

  "Let me call you back in a few minutes, okay?"

  "All right. I'll be here."

  Cutting the connection, he rose to his feet and paced the small room, then knelt on the floor.

  "Lord, You know how torn up this Darfur region is. Right now, Roger Weston is probably telling the refugees to pray to You to save them, to somehow miraculously bring them food since no one else can. Father, my heart… You know my heart. Do I have the resources to handle this? Show me how, please. How can I help these people—Weston's people? Show me how to feed Kalma, and I pray that You use the rest of that disastrous atmosphere to somehow bring others to saving faith in You. Guide me, I pray, and guide Chloe. Watch over Janice in Cameroon—and us here, as well. In Jesus' Name, amen."

  Corban sat in the chair and redialed the connection with Chloe. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited. Chloe appeared again on the screen.

  "Figure it all out?" she asked with a smile.

  "Yeah, it came to me after I took it to the Lord. You ready for some notes?"

  "Seriously?" Chloe's smile faded. "You're gonna tackle this?"

  "We have the time with the storm coming. If all goes well, we'll be back by Tuesday to finish Operation Rahab."

  "Okay. Tell me what you have in mind."

  #######

  An hour after his talk with Chloe, Corban stood in his hotel room, the whole team gathered before him. They sat on the floor and on the beds, except for Memphis, who was on surveillance at the castle. The meeting was being recorded for his sake.

  "Today's Friday. We can't do anything until after the storm passes, so Operation Rahab is being shelved until then." Several of them mumbled their dissatisfaction before Corban continued. "We're going to Africa—the Sudan, actually—for a short trip, assuming everything is ready to hit the castle as soon as we get back. Scooter?"

  "Brauch and I are ready. Scaffolding is in place. The snow shouldn't phase it."

  "Good. Rupert, you'll stay back here at the office to keep things moving forward. How are the preparations at the hospital coming?"

  "Oh, a few staffing issues to address. We'll be ready by Tuesday for the infected patients from the castle."

  "Okay. Johnny, you've got the choppers for backup?"

  "Yep, and the bio-hazard masks."

  "Okay, is there anything that won't be ready for Rahab on Tuesday? Rupert, we're going to be covering a whole other mission now, so if you want to head back to the office, you can. We'll be out of the region for a few days, but we'll be in contact."

  The German man rose to his feet.

  "Just come back with enough men to make our efforts here worthwhile," Rupert Mach urged. "I can't stop Xacsin alone."

  When the Berlin director had left the room, Corban laid out a map of northern Africa.

  "Now, listen up. Operation Kalma requires our attention. Kalma, Sudan's largest refugee camp, is in South Darfur. Tribal militias have been intercepting food transports by track and truck, so we're going to make sure an air-dropped delivery is successful and not stolen." Corban sorted through a handful of papers. He handed one to Johnny Wycke. "Johnny, you're the lead with Memphis, piloting one of the oldest cargo planes in the world from the Upper Nile down to South Darfur to make the air drop. The aid organizations in the area will supply you with three or four volunteers to assist with the loading of the cargo, but they won't be flying with you. It'll be a dangerous flight."

  "Exactly how old is this bird, Boss?" Johnny asked apprehensively.

  "This one is a Boeing converted bomber, a YB-52, called a Stratofortress. Since you're looking for a date, fine. It's a 1952 hunk of metal." Johnny shook his head and chuckled with the others. "But in defense," Corban continued, "it was a prototype for the still-operational B-52 bomber. It was all we could borrow on such short notice. And, I think…it has wings."

  Everyone erupted in laughter.

  "Sorry, but that's actually the good news. Now, the bad news. Somehow, our militia boys in the area, called Janjaweed, got their hands on some SA-7, heat-seeking, rocket launchers. As if the drop isn't going to be tough enough, flying an antique, you two get to dodge three-and-a-half-pound charges with a two-mile range."

  The operatives were silent now, their mouths shut and eyes wide, contemplating the seriousness of the situation.

  "Moving on. Scooter and Brauch, pack up the NL-X1 sniper rifles. You'll be defending the refugee camp's eastern approach. The Janjaweed will be on horseback and it's likely they will counter-attack after we make contact. Bruno and I will cover your efforts. Bruno, you're with Scooter."

  "Oh, great!" Scooter playfully punched Bruno's shoulder.

  "And Brauch, it's you and me."

  The ex-assassin nodded once.

  "After ten minutes of convincing, Chloe and I managed to talk the colonel of a Turkish UN garrison into taking the Janjaweed off our hands, after—and only after—we have completely disabled them. The UN can't do anything else, under penalty of international tribunal, but their assistance is mandatory post-op when we are gone and the camp is otherwise defenseless. This is a short-term fix to a drawn-out conflict. Everyone knows that. The Janjaweed will regroup a month from now, but maybe, by God's will, the peace talks will settle on some sort of treaty.

  "Our objectives are to get to Kalma undetected, set up a drop-zone, defend the drop and dispersement of food, knock out the militia with tranqs, and pull out after the Turks have taken up our post. The Janjaweed wouldn't dare attack a UN garrison, but that same garrison won't attack the Janjaweed unless provoked. As an impartial and non-lethal force, we are striking in absolute secrecy. Questions?"

  "What about me?" June asked.

  "We're risking our lives to buy these people only a few days, June. This is what we do. I'd tell you to stay here if I thought you'd listen, but you have that look in your eyes. In the cargo plane, you run the risk of getting shot down. On
the ground, you run the risk of getting shot by a Kalashnikov assault rifle. Pick your poison, or wait here for our return."

  They all waited for June's decision.

  "Your new sniper rifles out-distance the AK-47, though, right?"

  "By two or three times, yes."

  "I'm not too hip on getting shot out of the sky. I'll take my chances on the ground."

  "Fine. The ground force will be armor-suited and booted. Everyone better make it back alive so we can finish up Rahab, or Rupert really will be trying to attack the castle on his own."

  "Question, Boss," Scooter voiced. "Exactly how many Janjaweed are we talking about here?"

  "Shouldn't be more than one hundred or so on horseback."

  **~~~**

  Chapter Seventeen

  Corban watched from the back as the van bounced along a barely discernible road that disappeared for yards at a time, its dusty, shallow ruts trampled by bony cattle and scrawny refugees. Bruno was assigned to drive the green jalopy across the wasteland of southern Sudan since he was the only black man on the team. And the green wreck had seen its share of warfare, so it fit the scene, as well.

  Brauch, Scooter, and June were seated in the back with Corban. At the back of the van, Brauch sat on his forty-pound pack, his NL-X1 propped on his knees. If Bruno came to a stop and gave the word, Brauch would be the first to jump out of the van to fire upon an enemy. He also carried an NL-3 rifle and NL-1 for close contact. When Corban had checked the packs, he saw that Brauch carried his night scope adapter for the day scope that was attached to the top of his sniper rifle, and he had two hundred rounds for the NL-X1. Everyone carried one thousand pellets preloaded in magazines for their NL-3 rifles.

  Scooter sat across from Brauch with his own NL-X1 and similar gear. Beside Scooter, June sat on her twenty-pound field pack. Corban prayed that she could handle whatever was ahead. He had no idea how long they would be defending Kalma; hopefully it would be a two-day op, but they had food, water, and gear for three days. Still, water would be carefully rationed in this desert.