Iron Gate

by Richard Herman

  ‘That was Martha Marshall, Little Matt’s nanny. She flew out to take him back home. I never remarried after I lost my wife, Shoshana.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She leaned back in her seat and gave him a bewitching look. ‘Your Martha is a very handsome woman. For a moment, I thought you were a man who preferred older women.’ They laughed together. Then she leaned forward, the low neckline of her dress falling open as her hand touched his knee, letting him see her body. He had guessed right about what was underneath the gown.

  ‘Matt’ — the way she said his name sent shivers down his back — ‘I am very fond of you.’

  The grin was back. ‘All things considered, I hope so.’

  She moved on to the seat beside him, her movements fluid and graceful as she touched his arm. Her hand was warm and she seemed to glow. Up close, she was even more beautiful and her lustrous brown eyes carried an unspoken promise. Her scent embraced him like a warm summer night’s breeze, making him think of his first love. Suddenly, his defenses were up. Why?

  She sensed his reaction and spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper. ‘Matt, we had our disagreements but don’t be afraid of me.’ She came into his arms.

  It was going to be a long flight to Cape Town.

  *

  Sunday, March 22

  Ysterplaat Air Base, Cape Town

  *

  The sun was setting when Pontowski walked into the COIC and found Waldo at his normal job as duty officer. The pudgy captain stood up and his mouth fell open when he saw the eagles on his shoulders. ‘Sir, I ... ah ... oh, shit.’

  ‘You got that right, Waldo,’ Pontowski told him. ‘It happens. Congress refused to confirm my promotion to brigadier.’

  ‘That’s not fair, sir. It’s just not fair.’

  ‘Life has never been fair,’ Pontowski said. ‘Where is everybody?’

  ‘The UN isn’t doing a thing so Colonel Kowalski stood us down.’ A worried look shot across his face. ‘Probably a smart thing ... things are pretty bad around here.’

  ‘Okay, Waldo. Spill it. What’s going on?’

  ‘Sir, you better talk to Colonel Kowalski. She’s still in her office.’

  ‘Is it that bad, Waldo?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  *

  Pontowski sat quietly while Kowalski paced back and forth in her office. ‘It all started when I submitted Colonel Leonard and Sergeant Perko for the Air Force Cross. Perko’s came back immediately — disapproved. After that, everyone split apart and pulled into their separate caves.’ She gave him a hard look as if he had been personally responsible. ‘It’s the trash hauler thing. We’re taking most of the casualties here and we’re getting dumped on, no promotion, no medals.’

  ‘Lydia,’ he said, his voice matter-of-fact, ‘we all get dumped on. I’ll sort the medals out. Now let’s get morale turned around.’

  She looked at the eagles on his shoulders. ‘I don’t know how to turn it around,’ she admitted.

  ‘Just like last time,’ he said. ‘Step number one, do something. Even if it’s wrong. We start by flying, that’s our job.’

  ‘But there’s no tasking.’

  ‘Then we train until we get tasking from the UN.’ He grinned at her. ‘Hell, they’re just like us, floundering in the dark. Get the schedulers in here. First training sorties launch at 0700.’

  ‘Sir, that’s only twelve hours away.’

  ‘0700, Lydia,’ he interrupted. ‘By the way, why is Waldo always duty officer?’

  ‘That’s an A-10 thing and he volunteers for it.’

  ‘Change that.’

  ‘He’s an A-10 driver. I can’t tell them what to do.’

  ‘The hell you can’t. You’ve got the wing.’ He smiled at the look on her face. ‘Supposedly, I’m still the vice commander and running air operations for the UN. Your orders come from me, right?’

  ‘But a wing commander ... that calls for a full bull or a B.G. I’m still a ...’ Her voice trailed off and she stared out the window.

  ‘Lieutenant colonel,’ he finished for her. ‘And my slot calls for a brigadier general. I’ll tell the Air Force and the UN to sort it out. While they fumble, we do it by the book — the highest ranking qualified officer gets the job. That’s you.’ He gave her an encouraging smile and left.

  Colonel Bouchard, de Royer’s aide-de-camp, was waiting for him outside Kowalski’s office. ‘Sir, I heard you had returned’ — he gaped at the eagles on Pontowski’s shoulders — ‘ah ... ah ... there is a message from the UN. Until General de Royer returns, you are in command.’

  ‘Doesn’t that beat all?’ Pontowski said.

  *

  Tuesday, March 24

  UN Headquarters, Constantia, Cape Town

  *

  The intercom on Pontowski’s desk buzzed. ‘Colonel,’ Piet van der Roos said, ‘there’s a Captain Stuart here to see you.’

  ‘Send him in,’ Pontowski told him. ‘And please ask Colonel Bouchard to step in.’ He stood up as Maggot came through the door. ‘Thanks for coming,’ he said, extending his hand. They shook hands.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Pontowski said, waving him to a couch. Maggot sat and listened as Pontowski described the problems he was facing. ‘Basically, I need a concept of tactical operations that ties everything we’re doing together. All I’ve got right now are pieces.’ Van der Roos interrupted, saying Bouchard was waiting outside. ‘Bouchard is one of the pieces I was talking about,’ Pontowski said. He introduced Maggot to Bouchard and Piet and motioned the three men to sit down.

  ‘Colonel Bouchard,’ Pontowski began, ‘I’m an old fighter jock who hasn’t got a clue about the way ground forces are employed. So until General de Royer comes back, I want you to be in command of the UN ground forces.’ His announcement was greeted with silence.

  ‘Sir,’ Bouchard finally replied, ‘of course I will do as you ask. But this is most unusual.’

  ‘The nice thing about being in charge,’ Pontowski said, ‘is that I can do unusual things.’ He turned to Maggot. ‘For example, I want a full up ACT program.’ ACT was air combat tactics — dogfighting to civilians. But the slow and ungainly Warthog had not been designed to engage other aircraft in air-to-air combat.

  ‘You got it,’ Maggot assured him.

  ‘What happened to Tango isn’t going to happen again to anyone,’ Pontowski told them. ‘I’m tired of getting our asses kicked around every time we do something. From now on, we’re the kickers and not the kickees. The problem is, we’re doing this operation on the cheap because no one really wants to get behind us with the support we need. So how do we do the job?’ For the next two hours, the men held a council of war.

  When they left, Pontowski sank back in his chair and thought about Maggot. Dwight Stuart was a changed man and had finally grown up. Has he lost his edge in the process? Pontowski wondered. Is he still the Maggot I need; the go-for-broke, fangs out, shoot — ’em-in-the-face, aerial assassin who knows how to fly and fight?

  Only time would tell.

  *

  Bouchard was waiting for Pontowski when he returned from lunch. ‘We have a problem,’ the Frenchman told him. ‘Pendulo is demanding to see General de Royer at the Defense Ministry. But as the General has not returned ...’

  ‘The ball is in my court,’ Pontowski said.

  ‘Madame Martine is with him,’ Bouchard said.

  ‘She knows de Royer isn’t here and I’m in command until he gets back ... or replaced.’ Pontowski grabbed his hat. ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d come with me.’

  The two men were kept waiting for over an hour before being escorted into the minister’s office. Pontowski masked his irritation at the delay and said nothing as he waited for Pendulo to finish talking on the telephone. Elena Martine was sitting in a comfortable chair, drinking tea. Pendulo finally hung up and looked at the two men.

  ‘Perhaps you remember,’ he began, ‘the unfortunate incident with the Afrikaner inspectors you ordered to leave the supply tents? As y
ou know, they were authorized by the UN Observer Mission to inspect all relief supplies before shipment. Further, Ysterplaat is a South African air base and falls under my jurisdiction. You exceeded your authority when you ordered them to leave the base and embarrassed my government.’

  ‘They will be allowed to return,’ Elena said, ‘and you must apologize to them. It has all been decided at the UN.’

  Pontowski clamped an iron clamp over what he wanted to say. Instead, ‘No way. They threatened to shoot down my aircraft and I always honor the threat.’

  ‘Nevertheless’ — Elena smiled — ‘you must apologize and assist them in every way. As I said, it has been decided.’

  ‘We have a problem,’ Bouchard said. ‘The inspectors are from the AWB. They are an armed group and have threatened the Americans with violence. Therefore, the UN in its peacekeeping role must separate the two factions. Since I am the ground commander in General de Royer’s absence, I will not allow anyone from the AWB to approach the American facility.’

  ‘You do not have that authority,’ Elena said, glaring at Bouchard.

  Bouchard’s face was frozen into a waxen mask. ‘Ah, but I do. If they disobey me, I will shoot them.’

  ‘Since I made Colonel Bouchard my ground commander,’ Pontowski said, ‘I must support him. Is there anything else?’

  A deep frown cut across Elena’s face as Pendulo shook his head. Bouchard held the door for Pontowski to leave. ‘Au revoir,’ he said, following Pontowski outside.

  ‘Whose side is she on?’ Pontowski asked in French.

  Bouchard gave a very Gallic shrug. ‘The UN must remain neutral at all times. But for the bureaucrats like Martine it becomes a game, keeping their impressive titles, enjoying their privileges, antagonizing no one, and accomplishing little.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Pontowski said, ‘thanks for saving my backside in there. I didn’t know a ground commander had that authority.’

  ‘I made it up,’ Bouchard told him.

  Pontowski shook his head. ‘I’ll be damned.’

  ‘Colonel, may I offer you advice?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Pontowski replied.

  ‘Stop sleeping with Martine.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’ Pontowski asked.

  ‘She expected your support in there,’ Bouchard answered. ‘When you opposed her, she was very angry. Martine is very calculating and all is for a reason. It is one of their games.’

  ‘I’m not sure I understand,’ Pontowski told him, still speaking in French.

  Bouchard looked at him with his one good eye. ‘She sleeps with you to gain control. You must look for connections.’

  Pontowski thought about it. They had made love on the 747 coming back from New York, three days ago. She had mentioned her mission to South Africa was being criticized for not being neutral. But if she knew about allowing the inspectors back on base, why didn’t she tell him then? Was she softening him up in advance? Were there other connections he had missed? Maybe there was something to the French way of thinking. ‘Is Elena French?’ he asked.

  ‘She is German.’

  *

  Thursday, March 26

  Bloemfontein, South Africa

  *

  Sam was awake early, researching a story lead, when Gordon returned to their suite in the Landdrost Hotel. She gave Sam a quick look and flopped into a chair near the big window. ‘I can smell him on you,’ Sam said. ‘Did you have to sleep with him?’

  Gordon gave her a mind-your-own-business look. ‘Is there any coffee?’ she asked. Sam moved over to the sideboard and poured her a cup. ‘He is the most unique man I’ve ever met,’ Gordon said.

  ‘He’s Hans Beckmann,’ Sam reminded her.

  ‘He’s not what you think,’ Gordon protested. ‘He’s so innocent ...’

  ‘Right,’ Sam interrupted.

  ‘... in some ways,’ Gordon finished. ‘He’s ... well ... he’s different.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re confused,’ Sam said, handing her the coffee.

  ‘Sam, this is good for my career. I can feel it in my bones.’

  ‘That’s not the only place you can feel it,’ Sam said. ‘Liz, you’ve got to quit sleeping around.’

  ‘Oh, Sam. How many men have I slept with?’

  ‘You don’t know?’

  ‘Sam, counting Hans, there’s only been four in the past ten years.’

  ‘That doesn’t match your reputation.’

  ‘I was pretty wild before AIDS came along,’ Gordon admitted. ‘It got me what I wanted.’

  ‘Well, I hope you’re practicing safe sex now.’

  Gordon sighed. ‘I’m not stupid. Besides, he did.’ She looked at Sam, feeling the need to explain. ‘When we were in bed ... I couldn’t think ... I was caught up ... I trusted him.’

  Sam sat down and propped her feet up on an ottoman. ‘How can you be so stupid?’ She immediately regretted saying it when she saw the hurt look on Gordon’s face. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Sam, this time it’s different. He’s so tender. The way he touched me and talked ... all I could do was close my eyes and listen.’ She closed her eyes, remembering. ‘I climaxed twice before he came. He knows me, Sam.’

  ‘It certainly sounds like it.’

  Gordon smiled. ‘Hans says there’s a story in Kimberley and we can scoop the other reporters. We’re booked on a flight this evening.’ She walked into her bedroom, shedding her clothes.

  After a few moments, Sam heard the shower start to run. She walked over to the window and looked out over the garden. ‘Oh, Liz,’ she murmured. ‘He’s using you.’

  *

  Thursday, March 26

  Durban, South Africa

  *

  MacKay was sitting alone on the veranda of the George Hotel overlooking Marine Parade. Clustered around him were tight little knots of white mercenaries, all searching for employment. Occasionally, one would shoot a curious or hostile glance his way, wondering what a black was doing in the midst of a group of men who wanted to kill Africans for money. But better judgment prevailed and he was left alone.

  MacKay folded his newspaper and studied the people walking by. He stifled the impatience that was eating at him. I’ve only been here thirty-six hours, he told himself. I’ve put out the bait like the Boys said. Now wait for the nibbles.

  He didn’t see the newcomer enter the veranda. The man searched the crowd until he found a mercenary who was bigger and taller than MacKay. Satisfied with his choice, he spoke to the mercenary who, like MacKay, wore a beard. The mercenary got up and walked over to MacKay.

  ‘Hey, nigger,’ he said, ‘time to get the fuck out’a here. You can tell time, right? Or you movin’ on fuckin’ African time?’

  MacKay looked up and motioned for a waiter. ‘Please sit down,’ he said. He pushed a chair back for the mercenary.

  The man kicked it over. ‘You stupid, nigger? I said it was time to leave. Maybe you’re hard of hearing.’ He reached over and flicked MacKay’s right ear with a snap of his forefinger and thumb. ‘That knock any wax out?’

  MacKay’s voice was controlled and polite. ‘No. Please sit down and let me buy you a beer. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’

  ‘What’cha gonna “axed” me,’ the man said, snarling the inner-city pronunciation of ‘asked’.

  MacKay saw the newcomer standing at the bar, watching him. The local recruiter, he decided, and this is press-to-test time. He leaned into the mercenary as if to share a confidence. ‘I was going to “axed” you to quit acting like a flaming ass-hole.’ The man blinked. ‘And ask why your fly is open?’ The man blinked again. A very bad mistake. MacKay grabbed his beard and jerked hard, slamming his chin down on to the table. He grabbed the mercenary’s hair with his other hand and lifted, only to jerk down again. MacKay set up a pile driver motion, repeatedly smashing the man’s chin on to the table.

  Another mercenary was coming at him to rescue his buddy. MacKay’s right foot shot out and dislocated
his kneecap. A third was moving, a switchblade in his hand. MacKay smiled at him. ‘You’re not that good.’

  ‘Enough,’ a voice from the bar said. It was the newcomer. He walked over and sat down. ‘Get these fools out of here,’ he said in a loud voice, pointing at the two men lying on the floor. ‘May we have some privacy?’ The bar quickly emptied and the two men were dragged out. ‘Clean up the blood,’ he ordered. A waiter scurried over with a wet towel to mop the floor.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ MacKay said.

  ‘They know me,’ the newcomer said, extending his hand and introducing himself. ‘Marius Kreiner.’

  MacKay shook his hand. ‘John Mills,’ he said, using his cover name from Bloemfontein.

  ‘Well, Mr Mills, I heard your speciality was security systems. But this is not what we had in mind.’

  You’re talking to me, MacKay thought, so it must be pretty damn close to what you had in mind. ‘I specialize in computer-based security systems. I used to work for Sicherheits Dienste in Germany and developed their system. It’s the best in the world.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ Kreiner said, working to contain his excitement at finding someone with those credentials. ‘I assume Sicherheits Dienste will vouch for you?’

  ‘Ask them,’ MacKay said.

  ‘I will, Mr Mills. I will.’ Kreiner stood up to leave.

  ‘Show them this,’ MacKay said. He threw an ID card on the table. It was like the card he had taken off the killer’s body in Johannesburg but it had his picture on it.

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Kreiner asked.

  ‘I made it.’

  ‘But how?’

  MacKay threw the original ID card on the table. ‘From this one. I had a disagreement with its owner just before Christmas.’

  ‘He’s one of ours,’ Kreiner told him.

  ‘Was one of yours,’ MacKay corrected. ‘Was. He was celebrating in Soweto ... something about finishing an assignment ... and wanted some action with my lady. He said he could afford the price.’

  ‘And?’ Kreiner urged, very interested.

  ‘He couldn’t afford the price,’ MacKay told him.