by Clancy, Tom
“Eliminating the need for them to rendezvous with our people,” Herbert pointed out.
“That’s not the bad part,” Rodgers said. “Our guys will still be heading for the swamp with Seronga. I’ve got a map of Botswana in front of me. If my calculations are even roughly correct, they should get there just about the time the Botswana Air Force arrives.”
Rodgers grabbed the phone on Hood’s desk. He called the embassy in Gaborone and asked to be patched through to Aideen Marley.
At once.
FIFTY-FOUR
Maun, Botswana Friday, 10:31 P.M.
Aideen Marley and David Battat had decided to remain hidden for now. They would let Maria handle the approach. She was the most experienced of the three. She was the one on the inside.
Battat and Aideen had left the Jeep when they saw the approaching headlights. They were lying belly down on a threeor four-yard-high dirt rise several dozen yards beyond it. They could not rule out the possibility that Seronga would strafe the vehicle with gunfire before approaching. Of course, the two knew they would probably not be much safer lost in the wilderness, at night, without transportation. They had no idea what predators might be about. Still, not knowing Seronga’s state of mind, this seemed like a reasonable precaution.
Aideen and Battat lay side by side as Maria and two men left the cab of the truck. Cautiously, the three approached the Jeep. They were silhouetted by the headlights, so Aideen could not see many details, but it looked as though one of the men had a gun. He appeared to be pointing it at Maria, who was walking several yards ahead. Aideen tried to read Maria’s body language. The woman was striding as she had in Spain. As though nothing intimidated her. If she were in immediate danger, she did not show it.
“Hello!” Maria said at last. “Are you there?”
Aideen could not see David. The two had worked out a series of taps to communicate. She felt him rub the back of her hand. That meant he thought they should stay where they were. She agreed and rubbed him back.
The trio came closer.
“I am here with Leon Seronga and Mr. Finn,” Maria said in a strong, steady voice. “There is another man in the back of the truck. No one will harm you. We all need to talk.”
Aideen knew Maria’s voice. The tone in the woman’s voice put Aideen at ease. She believed the woman was telling the truth. Aideen tapped the back of Battat’s hand. That meant she wanted to speak. Battat hesitated. Then he tapped the back of her hand in agreement. Slowly, Aideen rose.
“I’m here,” Aideen said. She extended her hands to the side as she walked forward. “I’m not armed.”
“Do you have any news for us?” Maria asked.
“Yes,” Aideen said. “There are Spanish soldiers at least an hour behind you, possibly more. We need to split into two groups. One group will lead them away from Dhamballa’s camp. The other will head toward it.”
“Why?” a man shouted from the distance.
Aideen assumed this was Leon Seronga.
“We believe that the only way to prevent a shooting war is for the Vodunists to release Father Bradbury,” Aideen said. She rounded the Jeep. The three were less than fifty yards from her.
“Who are ‘we’?” Seronga asked.
“I’ve already explained to Mr. Seronga that we are not going to discuss our identities,” Maria said.
Aideen had no intention of doing so. But she was glad Maria took the initiative. That gave her a little room to play good cop.
“There is no reason to discuss who we are, only what we want to do,” Aideen said. “And that is to save lives.”
“I believe you,” Seronga said. “But I can’t afford to trust you. You won’t even tell me who you are.”
“If something were to happen to you, we would not want that information to get out,” Aideen said.
“You mean, if I were caught and tortured,” Seronga said.
“Yes,” Aideen said.
“What do you think this is, some primitive, degenerate society?” he asked.
“No. But these are dangerous times,” she replied bluntly. “People do excessive things.”
“They even kidnap people,” Battat said as he came up behind her. “I will say this, though. The chances of something happening are greater the longer we stand here talking.”
Seronga’s group stopped a few yards from the Jeep. The leader of the Brush Vipers regarded Aideen and Battat.
Suddenly, there was a faint beeping.
“What’s that?” Seronga asked.
“My cell phone,” Aideen replied. She was surprised. Only the embassy could reach her out here. “I’m going to answer it,” she said. She removed it from the pouch on her belt.
“Give it to me,” Seronga said. He held out his left hand.
“I have to answer it first,” she replied. “If I don’t give them the code, they’ll hang up.” That was a lie, but Aideen did not want to hand over the phone. Not until she found out who was calling and why. She flipped it open. “This is Barley,” she said. She chose a word that sounded enough like Marley so that the caller would simply think it was a glitch in the connection.
“Aideen?” said the caller.
“Yes.”
“This is Mike Rodgers,” said the caller. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Are you free to speak?” he asked.
“Not really,” she replied.
Seronga strode over. He motioned for the phone as he approached.
“I am giving you over to Leon Seronga,” Aideen said.
“No!” Rodgers said. “Are Maria and David with you?”
“Yes,” Aideen said. She backed away and motioned Seronga back.
The Brush Viper pointed the gun at her. She did not stop moving. The woman was driven by purpose, not personal security.
Battat came between them. “Let the lady talk,” he said. “We’re here to help you.”
Seronga did not lower the gun. But he did not fire nor did he advance.
Aideen continued her conversation. “Do you need them for something?” she asked.
“No,” Rodgers told her. “What I need is for the three of you to abort this mission now.”
“Why?” Aideen asked.
Seronga must have caught the concern in her tone. He stepped forward.
“We believe the Botswana Air Force is en route to the Vodun camp in the Okavanga Swamp,” Rodgers told her. “You are to stay away from there. Do you copy?”
“Yes,” Aideen replied.
“What is going on?” Seronga demanded.
Aideen did not answer.
“The Botswana military is probably monitoring the airwaves, so I’m signing off before this call can be traced,” Rodgers said. “I don’t want this order questioned or second-guessed. Get out. Now.”
Seronga pushed Battat aside and walked toward her. “I asked you a question!” he snapped.
Battat grabbed the Brush Viper’s arm as he moved past. A shot kicked up dirt and pebbles near Battat’s feet. It came from the truck.
“If there is a next shot it will be through your heart!” a voice warned from that direction.
Battat released Seronga and stepped back. Seronga grabbed the phone from Aideen. He put it to his ear.
“Hello,” Seronga said. “Hello!” After a moment he glared at Aideen. “No one is there.”
“No,” Aideen said. “My superior did not want the Botswana Air Force tracing the call.”
“The air force? Why would they?” Seronga asked.
“Apparently, they found your camp in the Okavanga Swamp and are on their way,” she said.
Seronga stood very still for a moment. Then he turned and yelled to the man in the truck. “Get the radio from the dashboard and call the camp,” Seronga said. “Find out what the situation is.”
The man in the truck acknowledged the order. Seronga turned back to the others.
“What else do you know?” Seronga demanded.
“Just that,” Aide
en replied.
Seronga waved his pistol at Aideen, Battat, and Maria. “Get in your Jeep, all of you.”
“Why?” Battat asked.
“We are going to the camp,” Seronga said.
“To do what?” Battat asked.
“If there is some kind of attack, we must make certain it is stopped,” Seronga replied.
“How?” Battat asked.
“You two are Americans, I think,” Seronga said. “We will contact the Botswana military and let them know you are there. They will be less inclined to attack if you are at risk.”
“We cannot tell anyone we are here,” Battat said.
“Why?” Seronga asked.
“Because officially, we are not here,” Battat said.
“But you are here, and lives are at risk,” Seronga said. “Your legal status is a ridiculous point.”
“Not when it comes to Gaborone stopping Dhamballa,” Battat said.
“But this woman knows we did not kill the bishop—” Seronga said.
“That will be irrelevant, unless you release the priest,” Battat warned him. “I have a feeling that if the army attacks, they’ll find him dead in the rubble of your camp.”
Just hearing that gave Aideen chills. It was conceivable. It truly was.
“I have raised the camp!” the man in the truck shouted. “They see no sign of an aircraft!”
“Where are they now?” Seronga asked.
“They are out of the swamp and moving toward the diamond mine,” the man in the truck answered. His voice sounded flat and mute by the echoless expanse of plain.
“Tell them they must change their course and come toward us,” Seronga said. “I will give them the coordinates in a minute.”
“What if they won’t listen?” the man in the truck asked.
“Then they will die!” Seronga said. “This is no longer about a rally but about survival. Tell them that!”
“I will!” the man shouted.
Seronga turned back to Aideen. As he did, his eyes caught a gleam of the truck headlights. They glinted bright, narrow, ferocious.
“You don’t know when the attack is due?” Seronga pressed.
“I do not,” she answered.
“Do you swear this?” Seronga demanded.
“I don’t want any deaths on my conscience,” Aideen replied flatly.
Seronga seemed to accept that. He looked around as if he were searching for answers, for inspiration.
“They must be using helicopters,” he said after a moment. “Jets would have trouble spotting them through the trees.”
“Can’t they land?” Aideen asked.
“Not if they think we are still in the swamp,” Battat said. “There’s nowhere to set down.”
“What if they know Dhamballa has left?” Aideen asked.
“We can still scatter and hide if we have to,” Seronga told her. “And we can fire back. My soldiers are accustomed to working in small groups as well as independently.”
“Something just occurred to me,” Maria said. “What if the Spaniards are going in first?”
Seronga looked at her. So did Aideen.
“Explain yourself,” Seronga said.
“We have to assume the Spanish soldiers were also given this information,” Maria said. “In that case, they may not be coming here. They might have been picked up at the Maun airfield.”
“You’re right. The Spaniards could have leapfrogged over us,” Aideen said. “By now they might have reached the camp, infiltrated it, and rescued Father Bradbury.”
“Wouldn’t Mike have told us if something like that were going on?” Battat asked.
“Probably, if he knew,” Aideen said.
“The Spanish are not very open about the conducting of military maneuvers,” Maria told him. “In Spain, separatist factions could use that information to plan acts of terror.”
Seronga came toward Maria with the gun. “Get in the Jeep, all of you,” he said urgently.
“Why?” Battat asked.
“We are going to join my group,” Seronga said.
“Like hell—” Battat said.
“Now!” Seronga yelled. “I don’t care whether you three are here officially or not. You are now my hostages. Your government will be informed. That will buy us time.”
“I have a better idea,” Aideen said.
“I don’t have time to debate!” Seronga said.
“You’re doing all the talking,” Aideen yelled back. “Mr. Seronga, I need my phone.”
“What are you going to do?” the Brush Viper asked.
“I’m going to call my people and ask them to put out fake intel,” Aideen replied. “Something that will stall the Botswanans.”
“What kind of information?” Seronga asked.
“I don’t know,” Aideen told him. “I’ll figure it out. Look, you’re wasting time. Whatever I do cannot be worse than what’s already happening,” the woman pointed out.
Seronga hesitated, but only for a moment. He handed her the phone. “Make your call from the Jeep. I’m returning to the truck. I want to be with my people as soon as possible.”
Aideen looked at Battat. She could not see him well. But she could see him shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot. She could not decide if he were going to go along with this or try to disarm Seronga.
But there was one decision Aideen could make. She turned and strode toward the Jeep. “I’m going to join the Vodunists,” she announced.
Battat hesitated.
So did Maria, but only for a moment. She followed Aideen. She stopped as she passed Battat.
“Aideen is right,” Maria said. “If Op-Center can delay the attack, we might find a way to stop this. If we leave, many will die.” She cocked her head toward the sniper on the truck. “Including us, perhaps.”
Maria continued toward the Jeep. She grabbed the roll bar, hopped over the door, and sat in the backseat. “Are you coming?” she asked Battat.
Battat glared at the truck.
Aideen had already reached the Jeep. She punched in the number of the embassy in Gaborone and was looking back. She saw Seronga lower his pistol and walk toward the truck. It was a gesture, nothing more, since the man in the truck still probably had his rifle trained on them. But it was a smart move.
Battat finally turned and walked toward the Jeep. Maria sat on the back passenger’s-side seat, her head on the roll bar support. Her eyes were shut. Aideen was holding the phone to her ear. The night operator at the embassy had answered. Aideen had asked to be put through to Terminal 82401. While the woman waited to be connected, Battat climbed behind the wheel.
“It needed to be said,” Battat told her defensively.
“You needed to say it,” Aideen replied.
“All right. I needed it,” Battat said in a harsh whisper. “I don’t know if I agree with what you’re doing. If we do stay with Seronga, we cannot afford to be identified. You understand that.”
“I do,” Aideen told him.
“Then why don’t you stay out here?” Maria asked. “We’ll send someone to get you.”
“Because it isn’t a question of my own security,” Battat snapped. “We’re in this deeper than we were ever supposed to be. We don’t have the approval of the Congressional Intelligence Oversight Committee. Or the president. We’re completely exposed, and the repercussions for Op-Center could be disastrous. Especially if we’re caught helping rebels.”
“You are right,” Maria replied. “But this work, our work, is about risk. I don’t mean just physical danger but political fallout. The United States will survive whatever we do. My primary concern is about the people who may not survive if we abandon them.”
“That’s why I’m going with you,” Battat said. “If I’m going to do the wrong thing, I want to do it for the right reasons.”
Aideen was not sure she agreed this was wrong. But she did not have time to think about it.
A moment later, Mike Rodgers was on the line.
>
FIFTY-FIVE
Washington, D.C. Friday, 3:13 P.M.
Not long after Bob Herbert got off the phone with Hotchkiss at the Vatican mission bookstore, Edgar Kline called Paul Hood. Kline did so not because Bob Herbert had effectively threatened to kill him. He did it, he said, because he did not want to do what Hood and Herbert had done. Edgar Kline said that he wanted to tell the truth.
Mike Rodgers, Bob Herbert, and Paul Hood had remained in Hood’s office after contacting the Vatican mission. They were seated around the desk when the call came through. The Op-Center director put Kline on speakerphone.
“Edgar—it’s Paul,” Hood said. “Bob and Mike are here as well.”
“I got your message, Bob,” Kline said.
“Good, you prick.”
“Edgar, we all seem to be pressed for time,” Hood said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, but I was not at liberty to reveal what was happening,” he said. “We did not want it to get back to Seronga. Someone there might have told one of your field personnel—”
“My feelings aren’t hurt, and explanations don’t matter now,” Hood said. “Just tell me where we are.”
“Father Bradbury managed to get a cell phone and call the archdiocese in Cape Town,” he said. “During the brief call, Bradbury described the general direction and duration of their trip, as well as descriptions of the site itself. There was enough detail to give the Botswana military a good idea where Dhamballa is located. He was afraid to stay on the phone any longer for fear that Dhamballa would notice the phone was missing or see the on light on the console. The decision to go in after him was that of the Botswanans, not ours,” Kline added.
“What if Dhamballa was not responsible for the death of the bishop?” Hood asked.
“Dhamballa cannot prove he wasn’t involved in that,” Kline said.
“Buy us the time to check,” Hood suggested.
“Paul, I wish I could,” Kline said. “If it were up to us, we would let the Unidad Especial handle this. All we want from this is the safe return of Father Bradbury and a restoration of order in Botswana.”
“Edgar,” Herbert interjected, “while you’re busy coming clean, where are the Spanish soldiers?”
