"I read your report," yelled Bishop while Mirza rallied the Bowler down the dirt track, the engine howling through the quiet morning air. "The girl, Jess, she's a long way from home. Pretty little thing out here in the sticks. Have you had a chance to meet her?"
Mirza shook his head. "No, I thought that would be better left to you. You always have better luck with the ladies."
Bishop laughed. "That's very charitable of you, Mirza. From what it sounds like she's already taken."
"Yes, one of the NGOs said she was seeing the American freedom fighter."
"This guy Garang?"
"That's the one. According to our sources in Juba, he's trying to raise an army to fight the Janjaweed. There are rumors he launched a raid into Sudan to hit the Chinese refinery."
"Well, credit where credits due. At least he's doing something. I wish the same could be said for the rest of the SPLA," Bishop said referring to Southern Sudan's official defense force. "So, when are we meeting her?"
"Tomorrow. That gives us a bit of time to check things out around Juba and follow up on a few leads."
"Sounds good, but first things first; let's sort out some breakfast."
Chapter 17
Juba, South Sudan
"Doctor Hutton, there is a man here to see you." The orderly stuck his head into the room as Jess was finishing up with a patient.
"One minute, Michael." She tied off the final suture in the young boy's arm. "So brave!" She pulled the rubber gloves from her hands and gave the three-year-old a lollipop. The toddler had fallen on a sharp piece of tin slicing open his forearm. Without proper treatment he probably would have lost his arm. "Bring him back in one week, OK," she told the child's mother.
"Thank you, Doctor Hutton." The child's mother thrust a bag of fruit into her arms.
"Oh, thank you!" Jess had tried to refuse her patients' gifts in the past. She had learned since then that this offended them.
She gave the boy a pat on the head, tucked the fruit under her arm and left the treatment room. Michael was waiting for her outside. "He is in your office, Doctor."
Jess walked down the dimly lit corridor to her small office. She opened the door and was greeted by a stranger wearing a baseball cap and sporting a light beard.
"Doctor Hutton, my name is Aden." He removed his cap, uncovering a shock of dark hair, and offered her a hand.
"Please call me Jess. Everyone does." She placed the fruit on her desk and grasped the man's hand noticing how rough it was. She studied his face: to her he had kind eyes, dark brown with wrinkles around them suggesting he laughed a lot. His jaw line was strong, his nose crooked and his smile roguish. Jess put his age at around thirty-five. His slight accent threw her: a tinge of American, but something else, something crisper. Maybe he was from Boston or maybe he'd spent time in England.
"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Jess. No doubt you are a very busy woman."
"It's never quiet, that's for sure."
"I think what you're doing here is pretty damn special," said Bishop honestly. "It takes a certain kind of person to give up life in the developed world and throw themselves into this environment. Not everyone can do it."
She blushed and looked down at her desk.
Bishop had already seen her photo attached to her intel file. He knew Jess looked pretty, but in person she was even more so. Dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and a white medical jacket, her long brown hair in a ponytail, she looked utterly desirable. Grey eyes, wide full lips, a roundish face and a button nose; not the sort of woman he usually pursued, but definitely highly attractive.
"I wanted to talk to you about your dealings with South Sudanese fighters."
"What about them?" The coy embarrassment disappeared from her face and her soft features hardened.
"I take it that a number of the groups bring their wounded here."
"This is Africa, Aden. I see a lot of war wounded. Not all of them are fighters." She crossed her arms across her chest.
"Of course. I apologize if I've thrown you a little." He pulled a card from his shirt and handed it across. "I'm from an independent US organization. We want to inject aid into South Sudan."
Jess examined the card suspiciously. Christians In Africa: C.I.A.
Aden certainly fit the mold of a US Government operative: well-built, bearded, the obligatory khaki shirt and baseball cap. No doubt he was also carrying a pistol.
"So what do you want from me?" Jess asked as she pocketed the card. "I'm guessing you're not looking to spend money on my hospital."
He shrugged. "Don't be so quick to write off the possibility. I'm sure there are a lot of things I can get you that can't be got here." He took a pen and pad out of his jeans and pushed it across the table. "You should write me a list."
Jess raised her eyebrows. She paused a second before writing some of the hospital's key deficiencies on the pad. "And what would you want in return?"
"Not much: just an introduction."
Jess stopped writing. "To who?"
"I've heard rumors of a newly formed group, the Southern Freedom Fighters. I've also heard they're led by a former American soldier. I'd like you to arrange a meeting with this man."
Jess finished the list and pushed the pad across the table.
"I haven't heard of any Americans but I will make some enquiries."
"I would be most obliged, Jess."
"How will I contact you if can arrange the meeting?"
"I'll be around tomorrow to drop off some of these things. Perhaps after that we could go and meet him together." He pocketed the notepad. "If you need me before then, my number is on the card."
Bishop rose from the table and made his way to the door. As he opened it, he thanked her again.
Jess sat at her desk for a moment, her mind racing. The CIA in Juba! She had heard rumors but nothing concrete. This could be the support Garang was looking for, but what if it was a trap? What if the CIA wanted to arrest him and take him back to the US? She took her cell phone from her jeans and started to type a text message. Garang would know what to do.
Chapter 18
10km North of Juba, South Sudan
Bishop guided the Bowler slowly up a dirt track. At low revs the engine was barely discernible over the hissing sound of grass rubbing against the side of the four-wheel drive. Fresh tire tracks indicated that vehicles had passed through in the last few hours. The path was not worn enough to indicate it was used regularly.
Mirza sat in the back, his AK on his lap, ready to deal with any potential threats. Jess sat in the passenger seat. They had dropped off supplies at the clinic and picked her up. She had directed them out of town and now they were headed north on a sandy track.
"If you're cold there's a jacket in the back." Bishop kept his eye on the track. "Mirza, can you give Jess my puff jacket?"
The sun had only just crept over the horizon and the air was still cool. The wind flowing into the Wildcat through the open sides had a bite to it. Mirza handed the jacket forward and Jess draped it over her legs.
"Thank you." She smiled gratefully.
"So what brought you to the Sudan, Jess?" asked Bishop. "And an airplane is not an acceptable answer."
She laughed. "I guess I wanted to make a difference. The idea of working in California didn't appeal to me. I wanted to do more than treat bunions and cankers so I hooked up with an NGO and here I am."
"Wow, big leap from California to here. Lots of sun but no beaches."
"I do miss that, but like I said I wanted to make a difference. What about you, Aden? Have you always worked for the Agency?"
"Spent a bit of time in the Army. I've always been in this line of work. The opposite to what you do, I guess."
"But equally as important."
Bishop shot her a questioning glance. "Not many doctors would have that view, especially ones that work for NGOs."
Jess brushed her hair from her face. "I'm not naive, Aden. My dad was a soldier. He had a favourite quote: George
Orwell, if I remember correctly. Something about resting safe in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night to inflict violence on those who would do us harm."
"One of my favorites."
Jess laughed. "Of course it is, because you're one of them, Aden. The rough men that keep us safe."
They drove in silence for a few minutes before the Wildcat's GPS computer buzzed.
"We should be pretty close, yeah?" asked Bishop. "We're almost on top of the coords you gave us."
"Nearly there," said Jess.
They dipped down into a dry creek bed and Bishop gunned the engine slightly to propel them up the other side. As they crested, the track hooked to the right revealing a barricade of wood held together with barbed wire.
The cobbled together barrier was manned by two Africans armed with AK47s. They waved for the vehicle to stop and waited as the Wildcat pulled over to the side of the road.
One of the men covered the vehicle with his weapon while the other walked up to the passenger side, his AK held casually in one hand. As he got closer he recognized Jess. "Ah, Doctor Hutton, how are you?"
"I'm good David. How are you? We are here to see Garang. These men are friends."
"You are the CIA, yes?" the African asked.
Mirza looked at Bishop who shrugged. "Yeah that's us."
"That is good. We have been told to let you through. But the truck stays here."
Bishop nodded, unlatched the door and alighted from the vehicle. The guard said nothing as the PRIMAL operative snapped on his chest rig and slung an AK over his shoulder. Weapons were an every day part of life in this part of the world.
Jess walked to the other guard at the checkpoint. He smiled and slung his rifle across his back before hugging her.
"Which one has the medical supplies?" asked Mirza as he reached into the back of the truck.
"This one." Bishop slung the backpack over his shoulder whilst Mirza grabbed his shoulder satchel and rifle. The backpack contained a full trauma kit, a small gift to show Jess and the SFF they were serious.
"Don't touch the truck or it will explode." Mirza told the two men as he aimed a remote at the Bowler. It emitted a beep and flashed its lights. The guards stepped away from it.
As they continued up the track Bishop turned to his partner. "Did Mitch rig the vehicle?"
"Not really," said Mirza. "I lied!"
It was only a few hundred meters to the meeting location. Jess led them towards a cluster of huts. Smoke drifted and they could smell something cooking.
A guard waved them forward to a farmyard. Grass roofed mud huts surrounded an open patch of bare earth. Tall trees offered shade from the sun. A battered UNIMOG truck was parked behind the huts next to an old Hilux pickup. Two men sat around a low campfire.
The PRIMAL operatives lay their weapons against a log at the edge of the clearing. A small gesture in a game of subterfuge.
Jess greeted the men at the fire. They were dressed as Bishop would expect of resistance fighters; battered boots, torn camouflage pants and t-shirts. Both carried basic AK47s, the weapons worn but well-maintained.
Jess spoke first. "Mirza, Aden, this is Garang and Jonjo. They are representatives of the Southern Freedom Fighters."
Bishop sized up Garang as he grasped the man's hand. He was tall, muscular and handsome, a seemingly confident man with a firm handshake. His face was bruised and battered but he stood tall. Whoever had given him a beating had not broken his spirit.
Bishop moved on to the younger man as Mirza shook Garang's hand. Jonjo was still really only a boy, tall and lightly built. He moved with the awkwardness of someone not yet confident in their own abilities but his handshake was firm. Bishop locked eyes with him, the kid already had the stare of someone who had faced and dealt death.
"Come. Sit." Garang invited them to the fire. They sat on logs as Jonjo stirred a pot of tea.
Bishop handed the backpack to Garang as he took a seat. "Just a small token of appreciation for this meeting. It's a combat medical kit. I thought the doctor might find it useful to help your men."
"I was under the impression you wanted to help us with our fight," Garang said. "Weapons and ammunition would be more useful."
"I'm not the sort of guy who brings guns to a first meeting. Sorry."
Garang nodded. "That's fair. Thank you." He handed the medical kit to Jess, saying, "This is men's business. Perhaps you could wait for us at the vehicles." Garang missed the angry look his girlfriend gave him as she picked up the heavy medical kit and struggled with it towards the Hilux. One of the guards came across and helped her.
Once she was out of earshot the SFF commander continued. "Doctor Hutton tells me you are looking to support us in our battle against the oppression of Khartoum."
"Yes, we represent an organization that wishes to bring peace to South Sudan."
Garang laughed. "The US doesn't want peace. You want to reduce Chinese power and gain control of the oil fields."
Bishop nodded. "And you want to bring peace and prosperity to your people by denying Khartoum control of your lands. I see these two goals as being aligned."
Garang considered the statement. "So why has the US ignored us until now?"
"The situation is complex. Needless to say any support provided to South Sudan needs to be completely deniable and strictly controlled. You and your group provide us with a unique opportunity."
"You assume that we want your help."
"We offer weapons, ammunition and training."
"What type of weapons?" interrupted Jonjo.
"What do you need?" asked Mirza.
"RPGs, AKs, PKMs, explosives, grenades and... one Dragunov sniper rifle."
"Only one?" Mirza feigned surprise. He stood and walked over to where they had left their assault rifles. Methodically he removed the magazine from the modified AK and cleared the action. He walked back to the fire and handed it to Jonjo. "I find that with the correct attachments the AK104 is a superior weapon to both the 47 and the Dragunov."
Jonjo took the weapon in his hands. The AK104 was a modern version of the AK47 but it felt nothing like his own battered weapon. The woodwork had been replaced with tough black plastic. Rails had been attached on either side of the barrel and a short stubby suppressor was screwed on where the flash suppressor used to be. He grasped the front grip and lifted the weapon to his shoulder. The sight on top was nothing like the iron sights he was used to; it had a glowing red chevron with little markings to allow for different ranges. The magnification was minimal but the sight picture was crystal clear. The weapon was a masterpiece: reliable, tough, deadly. He made to pass it back.
"No, you can keep it," said Mirza. "I can get another one."
Jonjo's jaw dropped and he turned to Garang eagerly.
The SFF leader considered the two men for a moment and then nodded. "The only question I have is can I trust you?"
Mirza stood up from the log. "I think I will leave you two to talk details. Jonjo, if it's OK with your boss I would like to show you how to use the sighting system on that rifle."
Garang gave the young soldier a nod and Jonjo jumped up with the weapon in his hands. He and Mirza walked through the clearing into the scrub behind the huts. The SFF leader waved one of the guards after them. The other stayed near the vehicle with Jess.
"So, what exactly is it that you want from us, Mr…?"
"Aden, it's just Aden."
"OK, what exactly do you want from us, Aden."
"Being completely honest, I want you to destroy the Janjaweed raiders and protect the South Sudanese people and land from being eaten up by Khartoum. I want South Sudanese wealth in the hands of the rightful landowners and if China happens to lose a little influence in the mix, so be it."
Garang looked thoughtful. "As a show of faith, I would like you to deliver a number of things for us."
Bishop pulled a notepad from his pocket.
"We need all of the things Jonjo mentioned, mostly RPG rockets, PKMs and ammun
ition, but also something special. We also need Stingers."
Bishop jotted a few notes on the pad. "I can provide all of the weapons—and do better than Stingers! In addition Mirza and I would also like to provide training and other assistance where we can."
"If you deliver what we need, you will be more than welcome to train and fight with us. How long will it take for the weapons to be ready? Weeks or months?"
"Neither. We can make delivery tomorrow afternoon."
"That soon?"
"The quicker I get you weapons, the quicker we can stop those murdering bastards killing innocent women and children. Will delivery at your base be acceptable?"
"I can give you a grid."
Bishop handed Garang the notepad. The African pulled a GPS from his pocket and copied a set of coordinates from the screen.
"My men and I will be heading north tonight. We will meet you at these coordinates and you can deliver the weapons. I expect to see only the two of you."
"There will be a third person in my team. The man responsible for bringing the weapons."
"That's fine, just make sure there are no surprises."
"I expect the same from your end." Bishop took a satellite phone from his pocket. "This is a secure phone and it will be the only means I use to contact you." He handed the phone over and spent a minute to show the SFF leader how to operate it.
Both men looked up as Jonjo and Mirza walked back into the clearing. The PRIMAL operative and the young soldier were engaged in an animated conversation, the AK tucked under the latter's arm. Mirza was telling a story and the guard trailing them was also grinning as he listened in.
"I was just telling Jonjo about the time in Sierra Leone when you nearly got me killed."
Bishop rolled his eyes and Jonjo laughed. "You two have been working together for a long time, yes?"
"Far, far too long," said Bishop. "But don't believe everything he says, Jonjo. I've saved his bacon more times than he'll admit."
With the mood of the meeting lightened Garang waved Jess back to sit with them. Both PRIMAL operatives noticed the tension between the couple. She did not appreciate being sidelined from the discussions.
PRIMAL Vengeance (3) Page 8
