Oath of Honor

by Matthew Betley

  More pieces on the board were advancing, but Gang and Namir were still several moves ahead, even as the Americans raced to catch up. Try as they might, Namir knew they wouldn’t succeed with what Gang had in store for Sudan’s newest visitors.

  CHAPTER 21

  Khartoum International Airport

  1030 Local Time, Three Days to Zero Hour

  A man in his midforties with a shaggy head of black hair scanned the arrival terminal with perceptive eyes that looked deceptively vacant. He’d been briefed by the chief of station as to what the three “IT contractors” looked like—as well as their cover identities—and he’d spotted them immediately as they searched for their bags in a luggage pile the porters had hastily created in the corner of the terminal.

  The scene inside the arrival area was one of loosely organized chaos. Sudanese nationals jostled one another as bags were thrown aside in impatient searching. Blue smoke wafted through the air as young Sudanese taxi drivers puffed away in defiance of the No Smoking signs near the exit, waiting to be hired by arriving passengers in need of a ride in one of their endless supply of mostly white, late-model Toyota Corollas, a staple of the Khartoum taxi trade. A Spanish national was pulled out of line, protesting loudly, as security opened a suitcase full of clothes and two laptops, the local security suspicious of all electronic equipment.

  It never changes, the man thought, amused as he walked toward his human cargo.

  As he approached, one of the men, a man in his thirties with slicked-back dark hair, spotted him and said something to his two traveling companions. The other two men, black duffel bags now in hand, turned toward him as he reached their position.

  The man smiled, displaying a row of neat, white teeth. “Misters Davis, Johnson, and Greene, I presume,” he said, using their cover identities, “welcome to Khartoum. I’m David Cross, with the embassy’s information systems security office. We’ve been expecting you.”

  Mr. Davis—in reality, Cole Matthews—nodded, recognizing the undercover CIA officer from a photograph he’d been provided the previous night. He reached out and shook the man’s hand. “Mr. Cross, it’s nice to meet you. We appreciate you picking us up. Saves us navigating the city ourselves. Having been here before, I know how hectic local travel can be.”

  The other two men nodded, and the man with a faint scar down the left side of his face quickly looked around the terminal. Probably attempting to spot any countersurveillance, but we’ve already got that covered. We’re good, David thought.

  “Gentlemen, I know you’re eager to get started. The system is still down,” he added for any government eavesdroppers. “So if you’d please follow me, my SUV is parked out front in what passes for a parking lot around here.”

  “Sounds like a plan, Mr. Cross. Please, lead the way,” Cole said as the four men weaved in and out of the bustling travelers that served as a human obstacle course.

  As they exited the terminal and emerged into the December morning heat of Khartoum, John said, “Jesus, is it always like this?”

  “Wait till you see what traffic’s like,” David said, and grinned at John. “It’ll make this look like an Evening Parade at Eighth and I,” he said, referring to the Marine Corps’s legendary and perfectly synchronized parades at the Commandant’s Barracks in Southeast DC each Friday evening during the summer.

  Logan spoke up, his interest piqued. “How would you know about those? A former life, perhaps?” he asked in a playfully incriminating manner.

  “Something like that, Mr. Greene. We all have our pasts,” David said, grinning. He turned and pointed to a white Range Rover parked two rows from the door. “Come on. That’s our ride.”

  None of them spotted the dark pair of eyes that followed them across the parking lot.

  ———

  “Wow,” John exclaimed, staring out the back passenger seat. “You weren’t kidding. This place makes rush hour in DC look like a speedway. We could’ve crawled on our hands and knees to the embassy by now.”

  “We’ve got a little more than a mile to go. You get used to it, unfortunately, as you do with a lot of things in a place like this,” David responded.

  Not sure I agree with that, Logan thought, momentarily reflecting on a previous tour he and John had done in Somalia—the poverty, the violence, the children desperately begging for any handout possible. Corrupt governments, rampant diseases, and violence of epic proportions were commonplace in too many countries on this continent. Africa was not a good place to be these days.

  The Range Rover battled its way forward as David tried to merge with three lanes of traffic from their left. Logan turned around from the right rear passenger seat and saw a sea of cars. Several Sudanese men and women weaved in and out of traffic on foot as other drivers honked furiously at them. Not a bad choice, he thought, easing back into the seat.

  He stared out the window and watched the scenery change as the Range Rover approached a large cemetery full of white headstones on the right side of the road. Logan opened his mouth to ask about it when a sudden shrill chirping erupted from a compartment in the middle console. David slid the panel up and pulled out an Iridium satellite phone.

  “Hello?” he asked as all three passengers heard a muffled voice coming from the handset.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got them now. We’ll be at the embassy shortly,” David said. A pause. “Okay. Here he is.”

  David turned in the driver’s seat and shoved the satellite phone toward Logan. “It’s for you. It’s Deputy Director Benson. It’s encrypted, and this vehicle has technical countersurveillance measures—as well as armor—installed. So you don’t have to worry about what you’re saying.”

  Logan and John exchanged glances as Logan accepted the handset. John mouthed, Fancy setup. Logan only nodded and lifted the handset to his ear.

  “Hey, Mike. What’s up? Isn’t it like four in the morning there?”

  “It is, but I’m going to be up for quite some time. I’ve got HRT meeting me at Dulles as soon as I hang up. We’re heading to Las Vegas for—”

  “Vegas?” Logan interrupted. “Taking a trip in the middle of a crisis? That’s not very responsible for a deputy director of the FBI, is it?”

  “Fuck you,” Mike said.

  “Is it the gambling? I wouldn’t know. That wasn’t my problem. I’m a recovering alcoholic. But remember, always bet on black,” Logan quipped as John gave him a perplexed look across the backseat.

  “You’re an idiot, and I’m going to ignore the lousy Wesley Snipes reference. What I was trying to say is that the Vegas PD received a phone call last week from a local resident, one Mrs. Chambers, an elderly Caucasian woman in a working-class neighborhood who was concerned about her neighbors. She had a history of making complaints against all of them. Apparently, her neighborhood had become a cultural melting pot of immigrant workers, and she didn’t like it. Turns out her complaints were usually against African-American or Hispanic families, and they never amounted to anything.”

  “Sounds like a lovely person,” Logan injected.

  “Exactly,” Mike responded. “Unfortunately for us, she was the Old Lady Who Cried Wolf. Her last complaint was about four Chinese brothers with the last name of Chang who moved into the house across the street from her six months ago. They told neighbors they were here on work visas and all worked at their uncle’s restaurant. Nobody pressed them for details because they stuck to themselves.”

  Logan stiffened in his seat. “Chinese? I’m not liking where this is going.”

  “You and me both, brother,” Mike said. “It gets worse. She told the PD they were up at all hours of the night, working on something in their garage. She also told police she thought she saw one of them with a pistol, but she wasn’t sure. The on-duty officer took the report, but because of her history and the fact that the Changs had clean records, at least according to ICE, it got moved to the bottom of the list as a noise complaint. When Vegas PD finally responded to investigate it—this was yesterday—
they went to knock on the door. There was no answer, but when the officer looked inside, he noticed that the place looked abandoned, as if they’d left in a hurry. He didn’t see anything else suspicious. So he decided to stop by Mrs. Chambers’s home and tell her. She didn’t answer, but he heard a howling coming from upstairs. Something about the noise set off alarm bells with this cop, and he broke the door down.”

  “Sounds like a smart officer following his instincts,” Logan said.

  “Luckily for us,” Mike responded. “He found Mrs. Chambers shot to death in her bedroom, locked inside with her cat, which had been making the racket. It looked like she’d been dead for at least two days.”

  “Good Christ . . . They must’ve caught her spying on them, which means whatever they’re up to is important enough to kill for.”

  “Exactly. When the Vegas PD broke into the Changs’ home, they found several chemicals in the basement used to make homemade explosives. They also canvassed the neighborhood, and the guy who lives behind them overheard them talking about Africa while he was taking his dog out. They didn’t know he was there because of the fence, and he thought it was weird since they’re Chinese but talking about Africa. It was a few days ago, and he didn’t catch any specifics. He didn’t think about it again until the PD knocked on his door.”

  “Go figure,” Logan said.

  “So I figured since these guys are Chinese and you’re now investigating Chinese intelligence agents in Sudan, we have to operate under the assumption that this is not a coincidence. I’ve got a forensics team tearing their house apart, but these guys were pros. They didn’t leave a lot to work with. We’ve put out an APB on these guys and are going to release their photos to the press.”

  “You’ve got to be right. Something’s definitely going down, and we still don’t have the full picture. Everything we do have seems to point directly at the Chinese government. It wouldn’t be the first time the Chinese have had help from the Russians or North Koreans. We just need to figure out what their endgame is, although with the ONERING in play, it could be anything. If we get something on our end, you’ll be the first to know.” He looked out the window. The Range Rover had progressed only another thirty yards since he’d been on the phone. “We’ll be at the embassy shortly.”

  “Sounds good. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume you’re working. Once I’m in Vegas, I’ll let you know when I have more information.”

  “Thanks, brother. Stay safe,” Logan said.

  “Hey, you’re not here, which means no one will be trying to blow me up or shoot me.”

  “That’s very true.” Logan laughed. “I do have a way of bringing out the best in people.”

  “That you do. Okay. Enough chitchat. Happy hunting. Talk to you soon, brother. Take care and out here.”

  “Roger. Good luck in Vegas,” Logan said, and hung up the phone. He handed it back to Cole in the front seat.

  “So what’s up?” John asked.

  “Four Chinese suspects claiming to be brothers—although I’d bet they’re not really related—are on the loose in Vegas with weapons and explosives. They murdered their neighbor, and Mike doesn’t think it’s a coincidence. I agree. It has to be connected. There are too many moves being made by the Chinese at one time not to be connected. He’s on his way—”

  A sudden loud crunch! interrupted his explanation.

  A white Toyota Land Cruiser had slammed into the front left quarter panel of the Range Rover, which was shoved into the side of a white bus edging its way along the dirt shoulder.

  Logan’s initial thought as he was jerked toward the middle of the backseat was that some careless, crazy Sudanese driver had miscalculated in the vehicular bedlam.

  Both vehicles came to a sudden stop, and Logan opened his mouth to speak when David yelled, “Guns!”

  Logan’s mind automatically switched into overdrive as he recovered from the initial impact and searched for the threat.

  The white Land Cruiser had the Range Rover pinned against the bus. More alarming, two Chinese men armed with Type 05 silenced submachine guns stood next to the vehicle, weapons aimed at the driver’s window. A third man aimed a weapon across the hood from the driver’s side of the SUV, taking direction from the Toyota’s driver, who remained behind the wheel.

  They shouted in Chinese, motioning with their weapons for everyone to get out of the vehicle. This isn’t good at all, Logan thought.

  “I don’t think they’re here to escort us to the embassy,” John stated drily, staring into the muzzle of one of the submachine guns. He smiled and waved at the gunman through the window, turned to David, and said, “Get us the fuck out of here, please.”

  “I don’t think he liked your attempt at diplomacy,” Logan muttered as the attacker screamed louder at John and tried to open the back door.

  “Hold on!” David screamed, and slammed the Range Rover into reverse. The vehicle shot backward, but only made it a few feet before striking the vehicle behind them.

  We’re boxed in. This was well planned, Logan thought. He turned around and looked through the back of the SUV into the grille of a truck that had nowhere to go.

  “There’s no way out back here!” Logan screamed. “Find another way!”

  “Hit ’em!” Cole shouted from the front seat, but David was already ahead of him.

  The Range Rover rocketed forward, the supercharged 510-horsepower engine roaring to life. Even in the confined space, it gained enough momentum that it struck the passenger side of the Toyota and lifted it into the air.

  For a moment, Logan thought it’d be enough. But then the Toyota came crashing back down, the passenger side grinding on top of the front end of the Range Rover as if trying to meld the two vehicles together.

  “Brace yourselves!” John said suddenly as he watched one of the attackers throw a dark rectangular object under the front of the Range Rover. Even as he shouted “IED!” the small explosive detonated.

  BOOM!

  The front of the Range Rover was lifted into the air, separating from the Toyota with a metal-rendering scrreeeech! The vehicle slammed back to the ground, the engine destroyed by the blast. The instrument panel went dark, and smoke from under the dashboard quickly filled the vehicle.

  Logan’s head rang from the explosion. He shook it from side to side to clear the buzzing sensation. He looked over to see John doing the same. We have to get out of here.

  David and Cole had taken the brunt of the blast in the front seats. David was slumped against the driver’s side door, and Cole leaned against the headrest, his head tilted backward.

  Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Spiderwebs appeared on the windshield as the Chinese attackers opened fire.

  The gunfire shook loose the remaining cobwebs from Logan’s head, and he saw Cole staring at their attackers, awake, but still dazed.

  Now we’re really out of time. He looked around and realized there was only one option left. Better than dying in place, he thought as he unlocked his door and pushed it open halfway before striking the side of the minibus.

  The thick smoke inside impaired his vision, and he couldn’t see to the front of the vehicle. Hopefully, they can’t see us either.

  “This way!” Logan shouted, his hearing still affected by the explosion. He scrambled out and crouched down behind the rear quarter panel as bullets continued to pepper the SUV amid the shouts in Chinese. John stumbled out behind him, turned around, and reached back inside.

  Logan heard shouting from inside the vehicle as he watched the rear of the Range Rover for more Chinese attackers. Lucky so far . . . We have to go, go, go.

  “What’s taking so long?” Logan shouted.

  Moments later, John yelled, “He’s still out!” and Logan turned to see John pulling David’s unconscious form from the vehicle. Oh, no . . .

  “John, we have about ten seconds. We have to move now!”

  Cole finally emerged from the smoking vehicle, coughing but giving a thumbs-up gesture as
he stood next to them.

  John bent over, pulled David into a sitting position, and picked him up in a fireman’s carry, hoisting him across his shoulders.

  Logan looked at John and nodded. “Cole, up here with me. We’ll run point. Let’s try to get as much distance as we can between them and us. Let’s go.”

  He turned back around, even as he realized the gunfire had finally stopped. Damn. They know we’re out of the SUV, and they don’t want to risk hitting us. If they were willing to shoot, it means they knew we had bulletproof glass. He realized a moment later what their attackers were doing—they’re herding us.

  Still crouched, Logan moved forward until he reached the rear of the minibus. He peeked around the corner—only to be greeted by another attacker thrusting a Taser toward him.

  He reacted instinctively, dodged, and grabbed the man’s arm. Logan leaned back and pulled the attacker’s arm toward him, using the corner of the minibus as a fulcrum.

  Crack! The man’s arm snapped. As he screamed in pain, he reflexively dropped the Taser. Logan deftly snatched it out of midair and redirected it into its owner’s torso, delivering an initial shock of fifty thousand volts. The man immediately stiffened and fell to the pavement face-first with a loud smack.

  Logan glanced around the corner of the bus again as he heard footsteps from the front of the Range Rover. The immediate area was clear of additional attackers. He dropped the Taser, knowing it was a one-shot weapon. He didn’t have time to search his attacker for extra cartridges.

  “Let’s go. Be prepared for anything.” He moved as quickly and quietly as he could, eyes searching the environment in front of him.

  He reached the back of the bus near the dirt shoulder of the road. Moving forward wasn’t an option since their attackers were in that direction. In front of him was the war cemetery he’d spotted what now seemed like eons ago. Lots of tombstones, some trees, a square building in the center—not a lot of cover. To the right was an endless sea of traffic. Neither were good options. Or they could try to work their way backward toward the airport. This fucking sucks.