Clancy, Tom - Op Center 09 - Mission of Honor

by Mission of Honor [lit]

  The helicopter came lower, then hovered. A searchlight was turned on. They would spot the men in the boulders.

  "Dhamballa, we must get you out of here," Maria said urgently. "You and the priest."

  "Yes, you must go," Seronga agreed.

  Dhamballa regarded his lieutenant. "What will you do? Fight?"

  "No," he vowed. "I will lead the helicopters away."

  "How?" Dhamballa asked.

  "I don't have time to answer," Seronga said. "Maria, will you take them from here?"

  "Yes," she said.

  The Brush Viper regarded Dhamballa. "Sir, maybe we could have done things differently. All of us. Perhaps we took on too big a challenge. Or perhaps the faith was meant to stay underground. I don't know. But I do know one thing. You must continue what was very nearly begun here. You must carry it to others. You must live to speak of it."

  "And pray for us, sir," Pavant added, his eyes on the sky. "Please do that as well."

  Dhamballa nodded silently, sadly. "I will do all of those things." He looked at Seronga. "In the end, we must consider the future, not the past."

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  Maria stepped around Seronga. She reached into the van, her hand extended toward Dhamballa. He hesitated. Then he accepted her hand and stepped into the night.

  "I'll bring the Jeep around," Battat said.

  A gentle wind stirred from Seronga's left, from the west. It did not come from the rotor of the chopper. Dhamballa turned his face toward it. There was something poignant about the moment. The Vodun leader seemed to be saying good-bye and looking ahead at the same time.

  Aideen took Father Bradbury by the arm and led him toward the Jeep. Pavant and Arrons left to join the other men. Only Maria was left. She turned her back on the men but did not leave.

  Dhamballa kissed Seronga lightly on both cheeks. Then he pressed his left index and middle fingers to the Brush Viper's forehead. He drew the finger down along the bridge of Seronga's nose to his nostrils.

  "May the gods look down and preserve you," Dhamballa said. He put a palm over his own eyes. "May they also forgive you."

  "Thank you," Seronga said.

  Dhamballa lowered his hand. He held it out, palm up, and exchanged a knowing look with Seronga. Then he turned and left with Maria. Seronga walked after Pavant. He stopped and turned back.

  "Maria!" he shouted.

  "Here!" she called back.

  "Get home safely," he said. "All of you. And thank you."

  "We will meet again, I hope," she replied.

  The Brush Viper continued after Pavant. He did not believe that he would ever see Dhamballa or the others again. The helicopter spotlight was playing across the terrain, picking out the rock formations and studying them. The crew had to have seen the Brush Vipers.

  Seronga would lead them away in a few minutes. Part of him hoped the helicopter followed. He did believe in Dhamballa and his work. He believed in it because he believed in

  **%

  Botswana. In Africa. In the people among whom he had lived

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  and fought and laughed. He could not have asked for a more fulfilling life. Or, if it came to that, a more fulfilling death.

  Prince Leon Seronga moved from one small group to the next. He told the men to get back into the vehicles and head north. He told them to move in different directions to make pursuit more difficult.

  "What do we do if we are fired upon?" Arrons asked.

  "I would prefer that you stay hidden and escape when you can," Seronga replied. "If necessary, fight back. If it is absolutely necessary, surrender."

  "What will you do?" Pavant asked.

  Seronga thought before answering. "I must clean the black magic from Dhamballa's hand," he replied.

  "The killings?" Pavant asked.

  "Yes."

  "How can that be done?" Pavant asked.

  Seronga smiled. "By me, and me alone. I want you to join the others before the helicopters arrive."

  Pavant lingered for a moment. He saluted his commander with a sharp, clean snap. It was the first time that Seronga could remember Pavant saluting. Then he turned and ran into the darkness. Soon, all Seronga heard was the beat of the helicopter rotor and the growl of the engines as the trucks and vans slipped away.

  He hunkered down beside one of the boulders. But he did not pick up any of the weapons. He simply watched the helicopter. And he made sure it saw him for a moment. Soon, other lights appeared in the distance. The squadron was corning. One of the helicopters would have to land to make sure this area was cleared of Brush Vipers.

  It would be, very nearly.

  Seronga unholstered his pistol and thought about the land. He thought about the night and about his life.

  Seronga had no regrets. In fact, he felt surprisingly at peace. When all of this was done, his body would still be a part of this great continent. His spirit would be part of an eternal collective.

  In the end, that was the most anyone could ask for.

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  After a few minutes, the scout helicopter landed. Troops emerged. They were fast-moving silhouettes in the bright searchlights mounted to the side of the chopper.

  Seronga counted ten of them. The men went from rock to rock, securing each position. They were good, these kids. They moved well. He wondered how he would have fared if he were their age, competing with them.

  Then the soldiers noticed the tracks of the vans. The men pointed to the north and northwest.

  Eventually, the soldiers headed toward his position.

  Seronga fired at the nearest soldiers. Not to kill. Not to wound. Simply to delay. They hit the ground, rolled behind the boulders, took shelter while they covered one another. These kids were very good. They belly-crawled to new positions so they could triangulate fire on the rock.

  After a few minutes, it became clear that Seronga could delay no longer. He did not know if they would take him alive. He did know they would probably beat him for information. Or perhaps drug him. Only the latter scared him. He also knew what his fate would be for murdering the two deacons.

  With gratitude for the life he had lived, Prince Leon Seronga put the barrel of the pistol to his temple.

  He fired.

  SIXTY-ONE

  Washington, B.C. Friday, 6:19 P.M.

  The tension in the office was not like anything Paul Hood had ever experienced. Hood, Rodgers, Herbert, and McCaskey sat in their chairs, waiting. Lowell Coffey had joined them. No one was talking because there was nothing to talk about. There had been no further word about the Japanese or the Europeans. Everyone was focused on the situation in Botswana.

  Hood could tell that Herbert was not comfortable with the silence. It was not in the man's gregarious nature to be silent among friends. After shifting in his wheelchair several times, Herbert finally spoke.

  "When I was a kid, I saw a movie called Sink the Bismarck'' the intelligence chief said. "I don't remember whether the movie was accurate or not, but there was this one scene that really stuck in my mind. The commander of the British naval forces was running the search-and-destroy operation from his underground HQ in London. After he gets word that the Bismarck has gone down, he looks at his watch. It's six o'clock. He's been working for days straight. He goes out for dinner and realizes it's actually six A.M. Time got totally screwed up for him down in the bunker."

  Everyone was silent for a long moment.

  "Are you saying that you're totally screwed up, Bob?" Lowell Coffey finally asked.

  "No," Herbert said. "What I'm saying is that perceptions get warped when you're in a crisis situation. We're sitting here, cut off from other stimuli. No windows. No news about the

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  world. No phone calls from friends or family. I don't know if that's a good thing."

  "Whether it is or isn't, what choice do we have?" Coffey asked.


  "I don't know, but we should talk to Liz about that," Herbert replied. "She should come up with some sort of activity or music or some feng shui decor that helps us keep perspective."

  "Like floral pattern wallpaper," Hood said.

  "I wouldn't go that far," Herbert cautioned.

  "I tried taking my mind off things once by playing blackjack against the computer," Hood said. "I lost. It didn't make me feel any better."

  "Losing at anything is not supposed to make a person feel good," Herbert pointed out.

  "You did have one consolation, though," Rodgers said.

  "What was that?" Hood asked.

  "There was a Reset button on the game," Rodgers said. There was a whisper of bitterness in his voice.

  "I don't think any of this is relevant," McCaskey said. "We have perspective, and we have direction and resources. What we don't have is a goddamn resolution. That's what makes a person nuts."

  While McCaskey was speaking, Rodgers's cell phone beeped. He punched it on and simultaneously glanced at his watch. As he did so, Rodgers carefully noted the time.

  "Yes?" Rodgers said.

  "Good news," Aideen said, "we've got the priest, and we're on our way back to Maun. Dhamballa is also with us."

  "That's great!" Rodgers said. "How is the team?"

  The general saw McCaskey lean forward intently. meCaskey briefly put his forehead against his folded hands. Then he leaned back and looked over at Mike Rodgers.

  "Everyone is fine here," Aideen told him.

  Rodgers felt his chest grow lighter. He gave McCaskey a thumbs-up. The FBI liaison shut his eyes, threw back his head, and laughed.

  "We just heard shots," Aideen went on. "We can only as-

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  sume it's Leon Seronga. He stayed behind to cover our retreat."

  "What about Father Bradbury?" Rodgers asked.

  "He's a little shaky and says he could use a bath, but we think he's okay," Aideen replied.

  "Did Dhamballa come willingly?" Rodgers asked.

  That brought a surprised look from the others.

  "He's with them?" Herbert muttered.

  Rodgers nodded.

  "Seronga convinced him that he had to leave," Aideen said. "I don't know what Dhamballa's plans are, though."

  "Do you think Dhamballa will seek immunity?" Rodgers asked. He snapped his fingers at Coffey.

  "I think he wants to stay here and try to relaunch his crusade," the woman replied.

  "Just in case, I'll put Lowell on it," Rodgers said. "We'll have the process in motion."

  Coffey nodded. He got out his cell phone.

  "What is the status of the Brush Vipers?" Rodgers asked.

  "When we left, they intended to go deeper into the salt pan," Aideen told him. "The idea was to lead the helicopters away from us."

  Rodgers glanced over at NRO image on the computer. "Radar still has them moving north," he said.

  "I'm glad to hear that," Aideen said. "We'll reach Maun well before the sun is up. Once we do that, we'll be in the clear."

  "Aideen," Rodgers said, "we're all pulling for you. You've all done an amazing job over there, all of you. Thanks."

  "We're kind of happy right now," she admitted.

  •Tell Maria I love her," McCaskey said softly.

  "Aideen? Is Maria available?" Rodgers asked.

  "Yes, she is."

  "Tell Maria her husband would like to speak with her," Rodgers said. He looked at his watch. He and Aideen had been on the phone just over a minute. Rodgers shot McCaskey a look. "He would like to speak with her for thirty seconds, tops," Rodgers added.

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  McCaskey got up quickly, and Rodgers tossed him the cell phone. McCaskey took it into the hall.

  "That was nice," Hood said. "Thanks."

  Herbert was visibly impatient. He was not usually sentimental. He was less so during a crisis. "Mike, what's happening out there?"

  As Rodgers briefed the others, McCaskey returned. He lay a hand on Rodgers's shoulder and gently squeezed as he walked past. For a moment, all seemed right with the world.

  Suddenly, Herbert glanced at the computer screen.

  "Shit. They're changing course," the intelligence chief said.

  The others gathered around Herbert's computer.

  "See these two?" Herbert said. He pointed at a pair of blips. "They're moving southwest. That's the direction our people are headed."

  "It could be just an exploratory thing," Coffey said.

  "We could also have had the line open a little too long," Herbert said. 'They may have triangulated the call."

  It was possible. They had gotten sloppy and complacent. McCaskey might have stayed on just a few seconds too long.

  "There aren't a lot of vehicles out there at night," Herbert said. "And our guys don't have a big head start."

  Rodgers took the phone from McCaskey.

  "Ideas, anyone?" Hood asked.

  "If the military catches our people with Dhamballa, they're going to be screwed," Coffey said. "Abetting a revolutionary is not going to play well in a Botswana court."

  "They can't be caught," McCaskey said.

  "They won't be," Rodgers said. He called Aideen.

  "What are you thinking?" Hood asked.

  "I'm thinking we can get this to work in our favor," Rodgers replied.

  SIXTY-TWO

  Makgadikgadi Pan, Botswana Saturday, 1:56 A.M.

  Aideen Marley was sitting between Father Bradbury and Dhamballa in the backseat of the Jeep. Battat was behind the wheel, and Maria was beside him. They were thumping across the terrain at a rapid pace. They had stopped just once, briefly, to fill the tank from the gas can in the back.

  The fog lamps threw wide, bright circles of light across the immediate landscape to the front and forward sides. The brilliant lights blanched the dirt and shrubs. They looked almost like black-and-white photographs.

  Aideen was surprised when the cell phone beeped again. She prayed that nothing was wrong. The last call had run a little longer than the others. Not long enough for it to be triangulated, she hoped.

  "Hello!" she said.

  "We think you've been spotted," Mike Rodgers said.

  Aideen covered her open ear with her palm. The Jeep was making a lot of noise as it slammed across the uneven terrain. She wanted to make sure she heard that correctly.

  "Repeat?" she said.

  "Several choppers are headed in your direction," Rodgers said.

  "Intent?" she asked.

  "Unknown but unlikely to be moderate," Rodgers replied. "I think I have a solution."

  "Go ahead!" Aideen shouted.

  "Your team and Dhamballa must exit the Jeep," Rodgers told her. "Let Father Bradbury have it. Do you understand?"

  "Yes," she said.

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  "When the Botswana army finds him, he must tell them he escaped," Rodgers went on. "He cannot say anything about you or Dhamballa. The rented Jeep won't be traceable. Elements of the Spanish army will probably get the credit."

  "They can have it," Aideen said. She looked behind her. She thought she saw three stars moving slightly. They might be satellites. Or small planes.

  Or they could be helicopters.

  "You'll have to find some other way out of the salt pan," Rodgers said. "We'll see what we can do from this end."

  "We'll figure something out," Aideen said. "I'll let you know what we're doing."

  "Good luck," Rodgers said.

  Aideen hung up. She tapped Battat on the shoulder and told him to stop at once. He did. He also killed the engine and the lights. The world grew dark. The sound of the nocturnal insects was strangely threatening. Aideen looked behind her. The movement of the lights were the same as the single helicopter had been earlier. She listened.

  "What's wrong?" Battat asked.

  "Do you hear that?" Aideen asked.

  "Cicadas," Battat sai
d.

  "No, from the sky," Aideen said.

  The woman heard a faint drumming sound droning far, far away. It had to be coming from the lights. They had to be helicopters. They were about twenty minutes away.

  Quickly, Aideen explained the situation to the others. When she was done, she looked at Father Bradbury.

  "Will you do it?" she pressed. "Will you leave us and take the Jeep?"

  The priest looked at Dhamballa. "Will you swear to me on your gods that you had nothing to do with the death of my deacons?" Father Bradbury asked.

  "Killing is against my beliefs. It is contrary to the white arts," Dhamballa replied. "I would never authorize such a thing."

  "Then I will do what you ask," Father Bradbury said, looking at Aideen. . -*

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  Aideen thanked him and got out of the Jeep. Dhamballa followed the woman out.

  "How are we going to make sure we aren't killed ourselves?" Bat tat asked. "I was looking around as I drove. There were big eyes glowing behind foliage. A lot of them."

  "I'll make sure you are all right," Dhamballa said.

  "How?" Battat asked.

  "Do you have a flashlight?" Dhamballa asked.

  "Yes," Battat said.

  He pulled one from the glove compartment, switched it on, and handed it to Dhamballa.

  "We will use petrol," the Vodun leader said.

  "For what?" Battat asked.

  While the others climbed from the Jeep, Dhamballa went to the back. He reached into the open storage compartment behind the full-size spare tire. He removed the three-gallon tank of gasoline and unscrewed the top.

  "Predators do not like the scent," Dhamballa informed him. "It resembles rotting meat. If you put some under your arms and along the front of your thighs, all but the carrion feeders will move on. And they are cowardly. You will be able to scare them off."

  Aideen came over. "By shouting and that sort of thing?" she asked.

  "Just so," Dhamballa said. He went over to Battat. "You will only need a little under the arms and inside the thighs."

  Battat pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. He wadded it then allowed Dhamballa to splash on gasoline. He dabbed some where the Vodun leader had instructed. Aideen was next. She looked over at Maria, who was standing at the side of the Jeep.