Covert Action

by Dick Couch

  Ambassador Conrad slowly shook his head, deep in thought. “I have a thousand questions, Miss Burks.” He sighed and exhaled his concern through steepled fingers. “But I’ll only ask one. Can I at least provide you with an embassy car to return you to your hotel or wherever you may need to go?”

  “No, thank you, sir,” she said, rising and offering him her hand. “I’ll catch a cab.”

  That same afternoon, a file of fourteen men made their way up yet another escarpment of the Mavuradonha Mountains and down into yet another drainage. The Mavuradonha Range forms the backbone of Zimbabwe and is part of what is known as the Great Dyke, which runs along the same fault line as the Great Rift Valley. The file of men had long since left the lower reaches of the Mana Pools National Park area along the Zambezi and were now crossing some of the most rugged terrain in Africa. This was the easiest and hardest part of the journey. It was easy, in the sense that this mountainous part of the Mavuradonha Wilderness Area was totally uninhabited. Centuries ago it had been a part of the Bushman and Monomatapa empires, but now it was a restricted wilderness area. Aside from isolated ancient ruins, the only vestige of civilization was the Kopje Tops Lodge, a rustic bush lodge used by the few safari concessions that lead treks into the Mavuradonhas during the dry season. Now the lodge and the few outlying bush camps were deserted. But the going was hard. In some places it was hand-over-head scaling rock outcrops, and on climbing lines to descend from steep areas. On top of the ridgelines they halted briefly to plan their next descent, and at the bottom of the ravines they strung lines to safely cross the fast-moving streams. Every two hours, they paused for about twenty minutes. Two men remained awake while the others simply squatted on their heels, and with heads on folded arms across their knees, fell immediately asleep.

  The file moved for the most part in a straight line toward the objective, as there were no man-made roads and few game trails. They walked on a compass bearing, periodically checking their position by GPS and on computer-generated topographical maps. The task of their point man was only to make the job of the others a little easier. A Ndorobo and a skilled tracker, he moved well in any terrain, and ranged out in front of the laboring column. Periodically he dropped back in to speak with Tomba, pointing to where a game trail might make the going a little easier for a short while or where there was a detour around a rocky outcropping. Occasionally they would flush a bushpig or a small pack of wild dogs, but the miombo woodland birds were always with them. They heard cheetah, but never saw one of the elusive cats. The only real danger was from the thorns of the acacia trees while moving at night. They only had forty miles of terrain to cross, but they had to walk twice that, dealing with the elevation gains and losses and negotiating their way around obstacles.

  Each man in the fourteen-man patrol carried between fifty and sixty pounds of gear. In addition to rations, sleeping poncho, and personal weapons, they were all laden with ammunition. Since there was no local population, there was no need to dress like locals. They wore a combination of standard special operations combat dress, modified to carry their individual load across the mountains, and bush-fighter clothing of their own choosing. All wore leather gloves and had short machetes and garden pruning shears to get through the brush. Most wore Danner jungle boots, but a few, including the Ndorobo scout, wore velskoen, three-quarter boots with heavy hide soles, a favorite among bush fighters. At dawn of their second full day on the trail, they arrived on a ridge that peered into the mana or valley they were seeking. The Makondo Hotel rested in the lower reaches of this drainage. The travel would be easier as they descended into the valley. The force was now only three hours’ steady march from the target. AKR quickly set up an antenna and aimed it in the general direction of a geosynchronous satellite that patiently waited 22,000 miles above the earth. The antenna was needed for data transmission. He slipped on the earphone-boom mic appliance and hit the autodial on the Blackberry display. It was answered on the second ring.

  “Owens, here,” came the reply, as clear as a number dialed in an urban area.

  “Hello, Bill. It’s AKR; is Janet there?”

  “Akheem. Good to hear your voice. Wait a sec, and I’ll get her.”

  A few moments later her voice crackled over the headset. “Brisco here.”

  “Janet, this is AKR. We just arrived at Point Bravo. GPS has us about two and a half miles from the objective. Tomba wants to rest his men for a few hours before we begin our approach.”

  “How are the men holding up?”

  “It was a walk in the park for them, but I’m a little tired. Tomba feels we will have the target in sight within a few hours of leaving here, but they will take that much time or more to cover the last four hundred meters. Depending on what we find as we approach the target, we will be ready for the assault just before first light tomorrow. Any more intelligence?”

  “Nothing concrete,” she replied, “but the recent satellite passes show increased vehicular activity, and we have found two more weapons emplacements at grid D-11 and M-6. They should be plotted on your download. M-6 looks to be a machine gun dug in near and above the helo pad.”

  “Understand D-11 and M-6. We’ll put them in the assault plan. When do you launch the bird?”

  “About zero nine hundred your time, so it will be overhead late afternoon for the duration.”

  “And the packages?”

  “The packages are aboard.”

  “Excellent. I’ll check in when we’ve established a forward observation post later today. Still enjoying the camping trip?”

  She ignored his last question, but he noticed her voice had softened. “I’ll relay all this to Steven and Garrett. Be careful, and good luck to all.”

  “Good-bye, Janet.”

  “Good-bye, Akheem.”

  That was the first time, he reflected as he restowed the antenna, that she had called him Akheem. Normally it was Kelly-Rogers, or something less endearing. Perhaps, he mused, a little time in the bush, even a bush camp, was softening some of her edges.

  At dawn Alfred brought coffee, rolls, and fresh fruit to a small portable table near the riverbank. The sun was just peeking over the Mavuradonha Mountains, giving the Zambezi a touch of gold before its return to its normal light chocolate color. Dr. Elvis Rosenblatt arrived at the table fresh from eight hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep, scrubbed and freshly turned out in tan walking shorts and a clean bush jacket. Garrett had been up for over four hours and had probably slept no more than that the previous night. He was wearing what he had on the night before. In fact, he had slept poorly ever since Tomba, AKR, and the others had crossed the Zambezi and begun their trek into Zimbabwe. His need to be with the assault element had been so great that he had almost petitioned Steven to let one of the Africans stay with Rosenblatt, masquerading as his native guide. But he hadn’t. It made sense that he stay with Rosenblatt, and bring him to the party at the right time. Yet that was just a small part of it. The real reason was that his presence would undercut AKR’s role as the ground controller and Tomba’s role as assault leader. This band of Africans were proud of their ability to fight, and a white man in their midst would be an affront to that pride. It was a matter of trust. And finally, while they did not expect to encounter anyone in this uninhabited area, a white face would only raise questions. As Alfred withdrew, Garrett stood with his hands thrust deep into his cargo shorts, gazing out across the Zambezi, into the mountains.

  “Will you come and sit down, for Christ’s sake? You’re making me nervous.”

  Garrett turned from the river and slumped into a canvas chair. His eyes were red slits from the lack of sleep, and he hadn’t shaved in two days. Gratefully he poured himself a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Y’know, you look like shit. If we’re supposed to be on a safari vacation, you’re blowing our cover, big-time.”

  Garrett shrugged and then grinned. “You’re right. I guess I’m just not good at waiting while there is a team in the field.”

  “
What are they doing now, or is that still a secret?” Rosenblatt had been told little of the tactics of the operation, only that he would be brought in when the objective was physically secure and the issues before them were medical in nature.

  “They should be in the mountains above the hotel complex about now. They will rest for a while, then make their way down to predetermined observation posts this afternoon. From there, they will move into position for the final assault, which is scheduled for just before dawn tomorrow.”

  “You say those mountains are rugged?”

  “Some of the most challenging terrain in Africa,” Garrett replied.

  “There has to be a road into this place. Why didn’t they just sneak up the road at night? Probably a lot of guards, huh?”

  “You can bet on it. Did you see the movie Lawrence of Arabia?” Rosenblatt nodded. “Lawrence and his desert tribes were heavily outnumbered and outgunned by the Turks at Aqaba, but they won a decisive victory. Know how they managed it?”

  “They came in from behind them, from the desert?” Rosenblatt ventured.

  “Exactly. The Turks thought they would attack from the sea—that no force could cross that desert. So they fortified the harbor defenses and left the back door open. It was the same for the British in Singapore; they relied on the jungles of Malaya to defend Singapore from the north. So the large British garrison surrendered to a much smaller Japanese force. Sixty thousand men, and they surrendered almost without a fight. So you see, surprise is everything. The men that will soon be creeping down that escarpment to the hotel will be outnumbered four to one. As far as we know, the security force there is not expecting an attack, but if they are, they will look for one along the access road—at least, that’s the theory. If we achieve surprise, we will do well. Surprise and a few other goodies we have in store for them.”

  “These guys, the ones who are going to do this—they pretty good, are they?”

  “The best.”

  “Think they can do it without you?”

  Garrett grinned again. “Oh, yeah. They don’t need me to be there half as much as I need me to be there. They’ll get along just fine.”

  “Then why don’t you finish your coffee, have a crumpet, and go get yourself a shave and a shower, and find some clean clothes.”

  “Is that the doctor’s advice?”

  “That’s the doctor’s advice.”

  Garrett drained his cup and grabbed a piece of fruit as he stood up and stretched. “I respect your medical opinion; I’ll do just that.”

  When he returned a half hour later, he found Steven Fagan in his seat, with Benjamin squatting a few feet away in the shade. Benjamin was dressed as a laborer, and Steven had his CAPA identification card in a laminated carrier clipped to his shirt pocket. Garrett shook hands with Steven, waving him back into the seat as he dropped to his heels next to Benjamin, greeting him, to Benjamin’s surprise, in Bemba. Steven thoughtfully sipped his coffee, then turned his attention to the others. They were quite alone sitting along the bank of the river, yet he still addressed them in a guarded voice.

  “The assault force made the mountain crossing without incident and are now about two and a half miles to the northwest of the hotel complex. They’ll rest the balance of the morning before moving into position for the final thrust. All indications are that they are undetected although there seems to be some stepped-up activity around the main hotel building itself. If all goes as planned, the bird will be here to pick you up about midnight. If they are detected, they will attack immediately, so you had best be ready to move by midafternoon, just in case. All else is in place. Dr. Rosenblatt, please be assured that we will not put you on the ground until the complex is secure.”

  “I understand,” Rosenblatt said. “And the equipment is ready to go?”

  Steven glanced at his watch. “The portable equipment is aboard the helicopter, which is now waiting at the Jeki airstrip. The backup gear you wanted will be standing by in case you need it. Hopefully you won’t; we’d like to get in and out of there as quickly as possible, but we won’t leave until you are finished with your investigation. From here, it will take about fifty-five minutes to get to the staging area. From there it will be another ten-minute flight to the objective. Any other questions?” There were none. “Good. Then we wait while the men on the ground do their job. But let me say again, Doctor, that we appreciate your part in all this. If this is what we believe it to be, then your work will be critical.” He looked around. “I trust you haven’t been inconvenienced by having to wait it out in this little safari camp? It seems to be a great deal more accommodating than our bush camp by the airstrip.”

  Steven again wished them well, and he and Benjamin made their way back toward the battered pickup truck. He stopped by the Chiawa Camp office to pick up a handful of brochures before they drove back to the Jeki airstrip.

  “Hello, fellow campers. May we join you?”

  As they had done the previous mornings, Clark and Maria Gerhardt joined them early on to talk about the day’s activity. The Gerhardts were from the San Francisco Bay Area. This was their third safari to Africa, only this time they had brought their two sons, Nicholas and Miguel, along. They were the only other North Americans at Chiawa Camp. The Gerhardts, proficient photographers, found the two Canadian businessmen eager to learn game photography. The boys, nine and eleven, showed no interest in exotic wild animals and were content to chase about the camp, playing with the native children of the camp attendants.

  “I hope we aren’t intruding,” Clark Gerhardt said. “We saw you had a visitor.”

  “Not at all,” Garrett said. “Just a contractor from Toronto out here to help with the electrical power system. We Canadians keep a lookout for each other. Please, sit down.” Alfred had anticipated their arrival with a plate of fresh fruit and another carafe of coffee.

  “Are we ready to go after that black rhino today?” Maria Gerhardt asked as she took a seat. “Our guide said they spotted several of them just across the Chonga River in the Game Management Area. If we can get a rhino, we’ll have done the big five.” The big five were elephant, lion, leopard, buffalo, and rhinoceros. “You fellows are bringing us luck. We’ve never done the big five on a single trip.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to go without us today,” Garrett said. “Greg is having some stomach problems. He was up most of last night with a case of the trots. I think we’ll stay in camp today.” Rosenblatt shot him a questionable look.

  “So sorry to hear that,” she replied, turning her attention and sympathies to Rosenblatt, who was now doing his best to look like a diarrhea victim.

  “Tough luck, old man,” Clark said empathetically. “It can take it out of you. I know from personal experience. You sure you won’t join us, John?” he said to Garrett. “Perhaps Alfred can see to him.”

  “Thanks,” Garrett replied, “but I better stick around. He was pretty sick last night.”

  The Gerhardts left with their guide later that morning, but not before Maria Gerhardt returned with a bottle of medicine. She would not be persuaded to leave until Elvis Rosenblatt, aka Greg Wood, had taken a spoonful of the dark, vile-tasting liquid while Garrett Walker, aka John Naye, looked on with benevolent approval.

  For the past week, Guardian Systems International and the Joseph Simpson Jr. Foundation had been working on a jointly sponsored project. GSI had a short and successful history in adapting military drone aircraft for basic security work. They had contracts, bid well below their cost, to provide surveillance for large, high-security government facilities like the Idaho National Engineering and Environmental Laboratory and the Air Force secret test facility known as site 51 in southern Nevada. A single drone or unmanned aerial vehicle, UAV for short, could survey large tracts of land and sound an alarm if there were intruders on the property. These facilities were still patrolled by military units and contract security forces, but if the concept proved out, the drones could eventually replace costly vehicle patrols and el
ectronic sensors.

  Their work in Africa was a pilot program to see if drone aircraft could help with the tracking of game herds. In addition, sensors aboard the UAVs could collect a host of migratory and environmental data to help with wildlife and game management. Given the growing sophistication of these sensor packages, it was envisioned they might also be able to spot poachers and direct park rangers and army units to intercept these outlaws. Poachers with automatic weapons were still the biggest threat to the elephant and rhino populations in Africa. Each morning one of the two UAVs took off from Kilimanjaro International Airport and began to make a long, lazy figure eight over Kenya and Tanzania. Soon the air traffic controllers began to ignore the slow, high-flying aircraft. The drones were easily able to stay aloft for a full twenty-four hours. They used a blend of synthetic aperture radar and electro-optical sensors during the daylight and primarily relied on infrared imagery at night. The drones were, in the words of the attending technicians, maintenance pigs that required an hour of work for every hour in the air. But once in the air, they had proved highly reliable. By working in shifts, the ground crew was able to get one of their two drones airborne moments after the other landed.

  The surveillance project was not cheap. Each Global Hawk UAV carried a price tag of $15 million. Along with the two supporting C-130Js at $70 million a copy, and the various support equipment, there was close to a quarter of a billion dollars tied up in the project. Several of the technicians tending the two Global Hawks had only two years earlier been tracking enemy tanks and SAM batteries during Operation Iraqi Freedom. These were men who were, in the words of the supervising GSI program manager, queer for the gear. It didn’t matter if they were tracking an Iraqi armored personnel column or a herd of giraffe. For them it was a grand video game. In the spring of 2003, these talented technicians and their sophisticated UAVs not only generated tactical targeting information but provided fast-look target assessment of designated weapons impact points to lower civilian casualties. The Global Hawks were essentially low-hanging satellites. They could provide dramatic pre- and poststrike imagery as well as serve as a reliable communications relay platform.