Whiplash d-11

by Dale Brown

“All right,” said Danny, turning. “Time to go.”

  28

  Blemmyes Village, Sudan

  Leaning up against the wall of the barn building, just out of the view of the video camera he’d discovered, Nuri decided he had two options. One was to put everything back the way he’d found it, and return tomorrow with a better plan. The other was to press ahead. That made the most sense, but he wasn’t sure how to defeat the camera without being detected.

  He looked up at it. It was small, with a cable running from it. There was no way to tell if it was even working. The barn was very dark, but even a cheap low light camera would pick up an image. He had to assume that it did work and was being monitored.

  “What if we climb up in the rafters?” he said, more to himself than Hera, who was right behind him on the other side of the wall.

  “And then what?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. But this place is too well-guarded to ignore.”

  Nuri pulled himself up between the posts. Set about sixteen inches apart, they would have been a tighter squeeze for a taller man, but he had little trouble.

  The beams running across the ceiling were just as close, but walking across felt much more dangerous — a slip was going to hurt, even if he didn’t fall all the way through.

  Hera started up behind him.

  “Wait,” he said in a stage whisper. “Put the wall back if you’re coming.”

  “Put the wall back?”

  “In case the guard comes.”

  “How the hell are we going to get back out?”

  “Tighten two or three of the screws from the inside. We’ll undo them.”

  “That won’t work. The panels attach from the outside.”

  “Then you’ll have to stay outside. You have to put the panel back. The guard may come around. I don’t need you here. It’s all right.”

  Hera slipped back through the posts and put the panel back in place. Meanwhile, Nuri worked himself about halfway down the room, crawling along the rafters. The factory was divided into a large work area to the right and a much smaller section of rooms to the left. The work area was open. There were machines in the large room, sinks, large drying machines, and a bagger.

  There weren’t, however, any more video cameras. Or any other security devices, for that matter. He looked back at the camera he’d gotten by. It was aimed directly at the hallway.

  Why watch there and not the larger room? It seemed to be protecting the rooms in the back — yet they were empty.

  Nuri took it for granted that Colonel Zsar knew little if anything about security systems, but whoever had installed this one had. So the camera had some reason to be there, as did the window and room alarms.

  “Hera, go around the back and make sure there’s nothing in any of the rooms there,” he whispered over the Voice’s radio circuit. “I’m confused.”

  “That seems to be a constant state.”

  Nuri worked his way over the rooms, which were covered by a Sheetrock ceiling. One had a large fan vent in the middle. Deciding it must be a restroom, he was about to move on when he noticed two different sets of wires running from the fan unit — a power wire and a smaller, stranded wire, the type typically used in an alarm unit.

  “Look for a bathroom,” he told Hera. “See if there’s anything — I don’t know. Unusual.”

  Hera had to bite her lip not to say something nasty in return.

  “I can’t find the bathroom,” she told him after a moment. “It doesn’t have a window.”

  Which explained the need for the fan, but not an alarm.

  There were other things the wire might have belonged to, such as a thermostat, but Nuri was stuck on the idea of an alarm. He checked the wire, found current, then examined the fan, carefully unscrewing the upper housing. A motion detector was mounted just below the fan unit.

  Why would anyone want to know if someone was taking a leak?

  He decided to put his own bug into the unit. He took out a fresh stick of gum and began chewing furiously, then put a small piece on the back of the bug. As he hunted for a place to put it, the Voice told him two men were approaching the building.

  “Armed, coming from the rebel camp,” added the computer.

  “Hera. Someone’s coming.” Nuri flattened himself on the ceiling. “Rebel soldiers. Be careful back there.”

  “Where are they?”

  “On the road. Just be quiet.”

  “Are they going in the building?”

  “I don’t know. Probably not. They’ve never had a shift change at this time before.”

  But the men were guards, and were coming for a new shift. Colonel Zsar had taken his best men with him to the meeting, replacing the guards at the barn and the village. Had Tarid not been there, the colonel might not have even bothered to post another guard, but the Iranian would have had a fit if he’d found out.

  To make the dull duty more palatable — and in hopes of actually keeping them awake — Colonel Zsar divided the normal shift. The two soldiers spotted by the Voice through the blimp’s feed were coming to replace the men on watch.

  The men went to the side door of the factory, talking and laughing loudly enough that Nuri could hear them quite clearly, even before they began shouting to wake the guard, who’d fallen fast asleep less than an hour after coming on duty. It took a few shouts before they rousted him; they found that hilarious rather than troubling. When he finally woke and let them in, they claimed they had just left his wife and suggested he look for evidence in nine months.

  Nuri listened to the Voice’s translation, which was flat and without humor. When they were done joking, they asked if he’d seen anything, which for some reason elicited a new round of laughter. Then they told him to go home to his wife and “sloppy seconds.”

  The Voice confessed that it could not find the proper definition of the slang term.

  As he listened, Nuri slipped across the rafters to the edge of the open area, planting a video bug in a position where it could scan nearly all of the front room. He placed another one to cover the hallway, then slipped back over the bathroom area, pressing himself down and trying to breathe as softly as he could.

  29

  Murim Wap, Sudan

  Boston threw the Land Cruiser into reverse even as Danny pulled himself inside. Dirt and gravel spat in every direction. Mortar shells exploded forty or fifty yards away. There were more helicopters nearby, their rotors pounding the air like the excited heartbeat of an oversized dinosaur.

  They made it to the highway.

  “Wait up,” said Danny, struggling to get his bearings in the passenger seat. “I want to make sure they get out of here in one piece.”

  “We got to get the hell out, Colonel,” snapped Boston. “All hell is breaking loose.”

  As if to underline his statement, a fresh volley of mortar shells landed nearby.

  “You’re going west,” said Danny.

  “We can’t go back the way we came. We’d be running right by the Sudan troops.”

  “I have to make sure Tarid gets away,” said Danny, still having trouble getting his bearings. “Pull off the road.”

  “We’re sitting ducks here.”

  “Just pull off the goddamn road.”

  Boston veered off the asphalt. The other Land Cruiser stopped behind them.

  Danny pulled out the control unit of the Voice. “I need the overhead images of the contact point,” he told the computer.

  The video from the UAV came onto the screen, streaks and flashes of gunfire, flares and explosions.

  “Locate marked subject.”

  “Located.”

  Two stars appeared on the screen. The Owl was supplying the image.

  “One of those is Tarid,” said Danny. “Who’s the other?”

  “Rebel identified as Tilia.”

  “Highlight Tarid and zoom.”

  The image zoomed on Tarid, but the screen was so small that Danny couldn’t get a good feel for his situation. Wa
s he trapped? He seemed to be moving, but even that wasn’t clear on the small screen, which was intended primarily as a control display.

  “What’s Tarid doing?” Danny asked the Voice.

  “Subject is moving south of the road, accompanied by seven other soldiers.”

  “Boss, we staying here forever?” asked Boston.

  “Relax,” Danny told him.

  “Not understood,” said the Voice.

  “What is the disposition of the Sudanese army troops?” Danny asked MY-PID. “Mark the main groups on the screen.”

  The computer did so. All of the troops were north of the road.

  “All right,” Danny told Boston. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Boston got back on the road. Danny leaned his head back and closed his eyes, reliving not the firefight, but his emotions, his hesitation and the butterflies. He’d accomplished his mission, and yet he felt like a failure — a coward.

  Any objective observer would have scoffed. Yet it was the fear that Danny remembered.

  “Army troops approaching,” warned the Voice.

  “What?” said Danny, sitting up.

  “Four armored personnel carriers on road ahead, traveling east at a high rate of speed.”

  “Will they reach the intersection before us?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Boss?” asked Boston.

  “Keep going,” Danny told him. “MY-PID, I need an alternate route back to Base Camp Alpha. Pronto.”

  “Working.”

  30

  Blemmyes Village, Sudan

  Nuri lay across the rafters above the sheetrock, waiting as the new set of guards took their posts. One stayed in the small vestibule near the door, snuggling into the soft chair. Despite the ridicule he’d heaped on his colleague, he was dozing within a few minutes, done in by boredom, the stale air, and the late hour.

  The other guard walked through the building, turned into the hallway, and headed for the restroom, his way lit by a soft red light activated from the threshold. He hummed as he walked, bouncing and full of energy.

  The man had learned that his wife was pregnant with their first child earlier in the day, and the prospect of a new son — and the bonus Colonel Zsar paid to all married men when their children were born — filled him with something approaching glee. He’d taken inside guard duty before, though always when people were working; tonight the laboratory would be dark, its last batch of material processed twenty-four hours before.

  Though guard duty was a boring, mindless task, he liked the chance to let his mind roam, filled with songs he was constantly inventing. He wasn’t much of a soldier, as he would have been the first to admit. He’d joined the colonel’s army for the pay, choosing to be a rebel because soldiers were hardly ever paid on time. Religion was also a factor in his choice; he wouldn’t have joined Uncle Dpap, even though his reputation for watching over his men was better than the colonel’s, because Dpap was a nonbeliever. As dim as the soldier’s own concept of Islam might be, he nonetheless observed the proper forms, praying and dreaming of one day making his own hajj, the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca.

  Nuri held his breath as the guard walked down the hallway nearby, then entered the restroom. The light shone through the fan covering. Nuri slipped over to the fan and peeked into the room through the open space. He couldn’t see the rebel — he’d gone into the commode nearest the door — but he could see the man’s rifle, an early model AK-47, complete with a battered but polished wooden stock, leaning up against the exterior of the stall almost directly below him.

  The man’s humming continued. Nuri wondered if it might be possible to somehow plant a bug on his gear.

  He could put one of the small ones into the gun barrel. The gum would make it stick.

  It was a crazy idea. The device would be found as soon as the man cleaned his rifle.

  The rebels fell asleep on guard duty and laughed about it. Were they likely to clean their weapons?

  And what if it was discovered? So what? By that time he would already have a decent idea of what was going on.

  If he surrounded it with gum, the soldier would just think it was a stone or some sort of debris. He’d think it was a prank and never report it. It wouldn’t look like much of anything.

  The fan was held down by a pair of screws. Nuri undid them, then put his hand on the fan assembly and lifted it slowly. The detector of course found motion, but it would be dismissed by anyone who knew the guard was in the bathroom.

  Just as Nuri got the fan off to the side, the soldier stopped singing in his commode.

  Nuri started to replace it. Then the man began humming again.

  The barrel of the gun was about six feet from him.

  Nuri leaned over, but his small body left him a good four feet away. He slipped over some more, leaning farther, but was still at least three feet from the barrel. It was just a little too far, he decided, stretching farther.

  His knee slipped against the joist, and suddenly he started to lose his balance. He threw his hand out, grabbing on the top of the nearest stall.

  “Who’s there? What?” said the rebel soldier.

  Nuri, leaning almost full out of the hole, reached over and took the barrel of the gun with his right hand. He pushed the bug into the barrel, then pulled himself back up. As he did, the gun slid on the floor, clattering against the wood.

  The rebel hurried to finish. He couldn’t see the fan from where he was, nor did he even imagine that someone had slipped inside the building. He thought his companion was playing tricks on him.

  “I’ll get you, I’ll get you,” he shouted as he pulled open the door.

  He wasn’t surprised that no one was there. He went and grabbed his gun, spinning all around. He checked the stalls, but didn’t look at the ceiling before running out and going back to the vestibule to berate his friend.

  Nuri decided it was time to leave.

  “I’m coming out,” he whispered to Hera. “Get the panel off. Quick! And be quiet.”

  He scrambled across the rafters. Hera pulled off the screws and took the panel away. As she did, Nuri reached the side and swung out through the opening, landing in a tumble on his feet. Hera put the wall back in place, turning the screws quickly.

  “Give me some,” Nuri told Hera, taking the screws.

  “Ssssh,” said Hera.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  The Voice, listening through the bug Nuri had put in the gun, translated the conversation between the two guards. The guard from the vestibule said he’d been napping; the other one refused to believe him. Both then began accusing the other of trying to pull a hoax. Finally they decided to conduct a full search of the building.

  They looked in the front room, then in the hallway, and finally in the empty offices at the rear.

  “Maybe it was Jacob inside,” said the guard from the vestibule.

  “Maybe,” said the other man doubtfully. He was now starting to think that he had either imagined it or that the ghosts some of his neighbors believed in were real.

  “Well, go ask him, and leave me alone,” said the first.

  During the search, Nuri and Hera circled around to the other side of the road, back in the direction of the motorcycle in case they had to make a quick getaway.

  Nuri stopped when he heard there was another man in the building.

  Finally he understand what was going on there. Or at least part of it.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the small iPodlike control for the Voice unit. Then he told the computer to track the bug feed on an outline of the building.

  “What are we seeing?” Hera asked, looking over his shoulder at the tiny image.

  “I slipped a bug into the guard’s rifle.”

  “Where?”

  “In the barrel.”

  “That’s not an image.”

  “I wasn’t lucky enough to get it in heads-up. Next time I’ll do better.”

  Actually, the gum surround
ing it would have made it very difficult for the camera to pick up anything. Hera wasn’t sure whether slipping the bug into the gun was the ballsiest thing she’d ever heard — or the craziest. She kept silent, deciding she didn’t want to compliment him. He had enough of a swelled head already.

  The guard returned to the hall, and then to the area where the restroom was. And then he went behind the building — downstairs, Nuri realized, into some sort of secret basement that extended into the hill behind the building.

  The earth hampered the audio transmission, but he had heard and seen enough.

  “We have to plant radiation traps around the site,” he told Hera. “And get some soil samples from the front yard.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “I think we just found out where those metal tubes are.”

  31

  In the vicinity of Murim Wap, Sudan

  The voice told Danny there was a road to the north about a half mile away. If they took it, they could follow a series of trails north and then back east to their camp. The detour would require that they drive through two leveled fields, but seemed considerably safer than running past the approaching government forces.

  Boston had trouble finding the turnoff. Then the road petered out after barely half a mile. Even with the night glasses and the GPS, it was slow going.

  “Danny, you on?” said Nuri, coming over the line.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “What’s your situation?”

  “We’re heading back to camp. Red Henri and then the Sudanese army ambushed us.”

  “The Sudanese ambushed you?”

  “Right.”

  “Are they working with Red Henri?”

  “No. He ended up in the cross fire. Red Henri got wind of the meeting somehow and showed up. The Sudanese army came a little while after that. With helicopters.”

  “There are plenty of informers in both rebel groups,” said Nuri. “Colonel Zsar’s especially. They may have tipped the government off.”

  “I guess.”

  “Did you tag the Iranian?”