by Clancy, Tom
When they were just one hundred yards from the northern shore, the men allowed the raft to drift with the forward momentum they had created. Even though there was shouting on the island, they could not chance that the rippling water would be heard.
A few minutes later, they were ashore. While Diamante tied the raft to an exposed banyan tree, Abreo crept ahead. The shack was about two hundred feet to the southeast. Abreo used the night-vision glasses to sweep the area. Everyone was engaged in getting off the island. It looked as if they were nearly ready to depart. There would not be a lot of time to pull this off.
There was no one watching the hut outside. There might be a guard inside. Or perhaps the priest was not there. Or maybe they simply were not expecting a rescue attempt out here in the swamp. Captain Abreo would have to explore each of those possibilities in turn.
There was definitely someone in there. Slivers of light came through the shutters and from cracks in the walls. They seemed brilliant in the night-vision glasses. He put the goggles back in the case hooked to his belt. He motioned for Sergeant Diamante to proceed. Both men drew their knives and unbuttoned the flaps of their holsters. If they encountered any Brush Vipers, they would kill them silently and move on. Crouching low, they began moving forward.
Their boots sank deep in the mud of the island. Each step was accompanied by a soft pop as they fought the suction. Geckos ran over and around their feet. But Abreo never took his eyes from the shack.
It took four minutes for the men to reach the back wall. The captain and the sergeant separated. They went around the sides and checked the front. No one was there. They came back to the rear window where Captain Abreo looked around for a small rock. He found one and tossed it up to the roof. Standard operating procedure for an incursion like this was to cause a sudden noise and see what sounds came from inside.
The stone clattered on the tin roof and rolled off the far side. Abreo heard nothing from inside. A captive might not react to the sound. However, sentries tended to be tense or at least curious. There were no footsteps from inside. No one went to the door and looked out. If the priest was inside, chances were good he was there alone.
The next move was a little trickier. Abreo stood. Standing well to the side of the window, he used the hilt of his knife to rap on the shutter. He knocked twice. He heard distinctive muffled sounds. A man with a gag.
Diamante and Abreo exchanged glances. Someone was in there, probably the priest. Abreo moved toward the window. Diamante sheathed his knife and removed his pistol.
The captain regarded the window. It had the kind of shutter that lifted straight up. The dead bolt was at the center bottom. He indicated to Diamante that he would raise the shutter. The sergeant would then scan the room from behind his pistol. If the shack were clean, they would go inside and get the prisoner.
Slowly, Abreo raised the dead bolt. Squatting to the side, he picked up a fallen branch. He used it to lift the shutter. If anyone shot at him, he would be out of the line of fire.
Abreo and Diamante waited. The muffled cries returned. Diamante looked at Abreo. The captain nodded for him to investigate. Diamante nodded back. He rose slowly behind his pistol.
Abreo unholstered his own weapon. If anything happened to the sergeant, he wanted to be ready to return fire.
Diamante stuck his head inside. He looked quickly to the left, then the right. After a moment, the sergeant ducked back down. Abreo lowered the shutter and crouched beside him.
“There’s a man in there, masked and tied to the bed,” the sergeant whispered. “The room is empty.”
“He’s masked?” Abreo said. “Then why is the lantern on?”
“Probably because they will be coming back for him soon,” Diamante suggested.
Abreo nodded. That made sense. In the haste of breaking camp, that would be one less thing to think about.
Now came the difficult part: the commit. If they could escape silently, they would. If not, they would escape any way possible. If that proved impossible, they would have to execute an exit plan that neither man wanted to use.
The soldiers had seen an old picture of Father Bradbury. They knew his age, that he was Caucasian, and that he spoke both English and Bantu. Still, the man in the bed was thinner, dirty, unkempt. He could be a decoy. The soldiers would not know until they went in and Diamante talked with him.
“Are you ready?” Abreo asked.
Diamante nodded.
Abreo dropped the stick and went to the shutter. He raised it. The priest was inside. He was gagged and bound spread-eagle on a cot. He was facing the window. He was just lying there. The captain climbed into the low window. Sergeant Diamante followed his commander in. The sergeant ran directly to the door and placed his ear against it.
Abreo took a quick look around in the light of the single lantern. There was no one else in the shack. He hurried to the cot.
The priest was facing away from him. He had a black hood over his head. His hands were tied behind his back. His clothes were filthy and torn. Abreo pulled off the hood. A gaunt, pale face looked up at him. He removed the cloth gag from the man’s mouth.
“Padre Bradbury?” Abreo asked.
“Yes,” said the man.
The captain studied him for a moment. He looked like a man who had been through hell. His eyes were soft. So were his hands. He was not a warrior or a laborer.
Abreo tossed the hood aside. Still holding his pistol in his right hand, he took out his knife and began cutting the bonds. First he freed the priest’s left hand, then his right. The priest sat up.
And then Captain Abreo heard it. A low, dull hiss coming from under the bed. Diamante heard it, too.
It was then that the captain noticed a wire attached to the priest’s right hand. It had been run down the headboard of the cot. Smoke began to pour from under the bed. That was why the priest had been hooded. So he could not tell them what had been done.
And Abreo realized, suddenly, why the lantern was still lit. When the tear gas was triggered, the African soldiers who came to investigate would be able to see just where the Spaniards were.
There was no time to finish freeing the priest. Already, yellow orange smoke obscured the window. Diamante was still at the door. They would have to go out that way.
Abreo yelled for the sergeant to open the door and get out. Gagging, Diamante pulled open the door. The captain ran out after him, feeling for the wall and the jamb. He found the door and ran out.
There were shouts. They were being ordered to stand down. Abreo did not have to understand the language to interpret the tone.
Abreo rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to clear the gas-induced blur. He turned to his left. He saw the edge of the shack. He had an instant to decide what course of action to pursue.
There appeared to be just one left.
The most important part of this mission was not simply to rescue the priest. It was to deprive the Vodunists of immunity from attack. As long as the Brush Vipers held Father Bradbury, the Botswanan military would not want to move against them. Vatican charities fed many Botswana villages. Gaborone would not want to risk that unless they had no choice. Not moving against them, they would be able to regroup somewhere else. They would continue to rebel against the government, to try and overthrow the Church. Above all, Abreo could not allow that to happen. It was a long shot, but they had to try. They had not become special forces soldiers to have things easy. The captain felt more completely alive in this moment than he had ever felt. He was almost giddy from the personal danger.
“Cover me!” Abreo yelled.
Diamante understood. He obeyed without question. The sergeant opened fire into the oncoming Brush Vipers. Abreo heard the fire fade to the west. The sergeant was trying to make his way around the shack. He would use the tear gas as cover to return to the water.
The captain also fired, then turned back toward the shack. Since he could not see, he would fire in the direction of the cot.
He never made
it. A bullet tore through his right thigh. He screamed from the pain and exhilaration. He had risked everything. The moment had come, and he had not run from it.
The bullet punched him forward, through the doorway. Abreo landed facedown and lost his pistol. To his left, he heard a scream. That had to have been Diamante. Mentally, Abreo saluted his loyal ally.
As bullets slashed the air above him, Abreo blinked hard. He tried to clear his vision and find his pistol. He spotted it a few feet ahead. The soldier attempted to crawl toward it, but his right leg refused to cooperate. It felt cold. To hell with it. He began pulling himself forward on his elbows.
The soldier moved ahead, but only for another foot or so. A fusillade from the doorway tore into the captain’s back and shoulder blades.
Abreo did not feel the punch of the hot bullets as they tore through flesh and muscle, shattered plates of bone. The young captain was dead before the impulses reached his brain, before his chin struck the floor.
A moment later, the gunfire stopped. All was still.
FIFTY-SEVEN
Makgadikgadi Pan, Botswana Friday, 11: 40 P.M.
Leon Seronga was tired. He was tired in body and also in spirit. What he had just heard took even more out of him.
The Brush Viper was riding in the truck alongside Njo Finn. They were following the Jeep through the dark plain. Seronga put them less than an hour from the rendezvous with Dhamballa. That was when the call came from the original camp in the Okavanga Swamp. Seronga’s hands were unsteady as he answered the radio. He did not want bad news.
As it turned out, the radio message from the decoy elements of Dhamballa’s camp was both welcome and disturbing.
The Brush Vipers who had remained behind to keep the Spaniards from following Dhamballa had been successful. The Botswanans had let the Spanish soldiers reach the island. They had allowed the Spaniards to get into the shack. They had rigged a canister of tear gas to a Caucasian Brush Viper standing in for Father Bradbury. The Brush Vipers would have taken the intruders prisoner if they had surrendered. Instead, the Spaniards chose to fight. Two Brush Vipers died in the exchange. Both Spaniards were also killed.
Leon Seronga welcomed the news. It was becoming increasingly clear to Seronga that Father Bradbury could be the key to their survival. Not as a hostage but as an advocate. Someone who had spoken with Dhamballa and knew that he was not a killer.
The news also disturbed Seronga because two of his men had fallen. Seronga had lost very few soldiers over the years. He did not know the individuals well, and he was troubled that he would not get to do so. One of the men had children and grandchildren. The other was just eighteen years old.
The priest and the Vodunists had moved out to join Dhamballa and the rest of his party. It would be up to the Americans to communicate that information to their superiors without providing his specific location. And their superiors would have to notify the Botswana military that Father Bradbury was still a hostage. Gaborone would have to negotiate rather than attack.
Seronga told Finn to catch up to the Jeep. They pulled alongside, and Seronga motioned for them to stop. He opened the door and told Aideen to get in. It would be easier to talk to her than to the others. All the while, Pavant kept his rifle trained on the occupants. As soon as she was inside, Seronga told the Jeep to drive on. Finn continued following them.
“You don’t look happy,” Aideen said.
“There has been a firefight,” Seronga told her.
“Between who?”
“My Brush Vipers encountered members of the elite Spanish force,” Seronga told her.
“Where?” she asked.
“Does it matter?” he replied with resignation.
The woman glared at Seronga for a moment. Then she swore. “You did it, didn’t you?”
Again, Seronga did not have to respond.
“You warned your camp that the soldiers were out there,” she yelled. “Why? That was not part of our arrangement.”
“My people had to be prepared,” Seronga replied.
“What your people had to do was move from the target area!” Aideen said. “They had to get away from the Botswanan helicopters. That was why we gave you the intel.”
“Dhamballa might have encountered the Spaniards en route,” Seronga pointed out. “The two soldiers who invaded our camp were traveling independent of the others.”
“That’s possible,” Aideen agreed. “At the very least, we should have been consulted about your plans.”
“If the Spaniards had not engaged us, you would never have known about this,” Seronga pointed out.
“If you had not kidnapped Father Bradbury, none of us would be in this situation!” Aideen snapped.
“That kind of lashing out is not going to help!” Seronga snapped back.
“You’re right,” Aideen admitted. “Let’s deal with this. Were there any injuries?”
“There were four fatalities,” Seronga told her. “Two of theirs and two of ours,” he said.
Seronga could see Aideen regarding him in the green glow of the dashboard. Her expression was cold.
“Stop the truck,” the woman said to Finn.
“What are you doing?” Seronga asked.
“I want out!” Aideen yelled. The woman turned in the cramped space of the cabin. She reached for the door handle. She reached out the window to open it from the outside.
Seronga reached across and grabbed her wrist.
“Let me go!” Aideen yelled. “I’m getting myself and my people out of here now.”
“Wait! Listen to me!” Seronga said angrily.
“You treat people like bugs,” she declared. “They bother you, you swat them. I won’t listen to you. We won’t be a party to that.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “The Spaniards came into our camp, armed for a fight. They tried to get away with Father Bradbury.”
Aideen turned back to him. “What?”
“They broke into the shack where he was staying,” Seronga said. “We cornered them with tear gas and attempted to apprehend them. We wanted to take them alive. If the Spaniards had surrendered, no one would have been hurt. They would have been held until it was feasible to set them free. Instead, they tried to shoot their way out.”
“You’re saying the Spaniards went ahead with a rescue attempt, even after we asked them to fall back?” she asked.
Seronga nodded.
“I can’t believe that,” she said.
“If you wish, you can speak to Father Bradbury yourself. He will tell you that he was removed and another was put in his place.” Seronga held the radio toward her.
“I wouldn’t know if it were really Father Bradbury or not,” she said.
“I anticipated that,” Seronga said. He took a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “I had my men provide me with the serial numbers of the Star 30PK pistols carried by the Spanish soldiers. You can relay those to your superiors. Have them check the numbers against the weapons that were issued to the soldiers. You will see I am telling the truth.”
Aideen accepted the paper. “I will. It still won’t prove your soldiers didn’t hunt the men down.”
“What did we have to gain?” Seronga asked. “We already had the priest. We did not need more hostages. We certainly did not need another reason for the Botswana military to move against us.”
“I don’t know about that,” Aideen said. “Maybe you and your leader are developing martyr complexes.”
“That is far from the case,” Seronga replied. “For me, it’s too late in life. And for Dhamballa, it is too early. He’s only just begun his ministry. Maybe that is why I’m being so protective. He does not yet have the kind of following that will afford him protection from retribution.”
“You might have told us all of this,” Aideen said. “You could have taken us into your confidence.”
“Sometimes people listen better after a thing is done,” Seronga told her. “What is most important now is not what happened. W
hat matters is what happens next. Dhamballa has left the swamp. That will leave the air patrol searching, but not for very long.”
“We must convince them you still have the priest and will not harm him,” Aideen said. “Will you turn him over, though?”
“That is for Dhamballa to say,” Seronga told her. “But if you can hold them off, I will do as I promised. I will find a peaceable solution to this crisis. But neither the Botswana military nor the Spanish must attack my people.”
“You were a soldier. Don’t you know any people in the military?” Aideen asked.
“Some,” he admitted.
“Can’t you talk to them?”
Seronga smiled sadly. “Dhamballa represents change. Even if I could talk to my old friends, they stand to lose a great deal under a new government. They are not idealists. They are policemen.”
“I understand,” Aideen said.
Seronga apologized again for having acted without consulting Aideen. Then he had Finn catch up to the Jeep. Aideen rejoined her team. The two vehicles continued toward the rendezvous point.
The Brush Viper did not know if a nonviolent resolution were possible. The Botswanans clearly had an agenda. Perhaps the Vatican did as well. That was the elimination of possible insurgents.
There was only one way they could succeed, and Seronga would not allow that to happen.
For that, he would gladly give up his life. Not as a martyr, as Aideen had suggested, but as what he had always been: a soldier.
FIFTY-EIGHT
Washington, D.C. Friday, 4: 41 P.M.
Paul Hood, Bob Herbert, and Mike Rodgers were still in Hood’s office, waiting for word from the field. Rodgers had spent the time studying computer files on the Botswana military. In case his people needed the information, Rodgers wanted to know the range, weapons configuration, and maneuvering capabilities of the helicopters. He also wanted to know how many men were on board each chopper. The answers were not encouraging. The Air Wing of the Botswana Defense Forces flew French Aerospatiale AS 332 Super Puma helicopters. They carried up to twenty-five troops each and could be configured to carry a variety of weapons. The choppers had a range of four hundred miles. That was enough to reach the swamp and then set out on a new search. If the squadron was traveling with a tanker ship, they could set off in another direction almost immediately.
