Sabotage

by C. G. Cooper

"Yeah," Karl wheezed, "Just went down the wrong pipe. I'm fine."

  Vince turned back to the boy, not giving the incident a second thought. Karl was glad for the distraction as he continued trying to push past the pain burning in his chest. It had been there since the crash landing. Well, to be truthful, it had been there before that, but worsened after the explosion. He rubbed his chest slowly and tried not to cough while Vince and Christian resumed the conversation.

  “You said a little birdie told you about Americans in a plane? Now that we're friends, would you mind telling me the identity of that birdie?"

  Christian looked to his grandfather again, and there was the same nod. "They don't really have a name, you understand," Christian said, "At least, not one really worth repeating. They're just one of the latest crop of mercenary entrepreneurs that take money to bully or kidnap." The way he said it made Karl think that the kid wasn't really concerned about the men who'd shot them down, like a bunch of local hoodlums that enjoyed talking tough without the ability to back it up. Karl doubted that though, considering that the same inconsequential thugs had just shot them out of the sky.

  "Look Christian, I don't think it's fair to get you and your grandfather mixed up in this. I'm sorry we barged in like we did. Maybe it's better if we just hit the road," Vince offered, already easing himself up from the ground.

  The old man waved his hands in the air and barked something at his grandson. "He says you should stay," Christian said. "He says he wants to help you."

  "I have to agree with my friend here," Karl said. "This puts you both in a lot of danger, and that's the last thing we want."

  More hurried words from the old man followed by a translation from Christian, "My grandfather says that the Americans have done much to help his country and to help his family. He means me of course. Without the scholarship I got through your State Department, I wouldn't be getting the education that I am today, so he says we're brothers."

  Karl could see that Vince was mulling it over. The CO didn't have any children, but he had a soft spot for the good ones. "If you have a phone, maybe we could just borrow it for a couple minutes,” Vince implored.

  Christian shook his head, "No phone out here— it's kind of—tradition, with my grandfather. He likes to rough it, as we say in America."

  The old man nodded appreciatively, bumping a fist against his chest.

  That was it, Karl knew, but there was still reluctance in Vince's voice when he said, "Okay, we'll take you up on your offer. Thank you, Christian; thank you, sir," he said nodding to the grandfather.

  The old man stood up from his cross-legged position and stepped in front of Vince, bent down, grabbed the sides of his head with his hands, tilted forward so that the two men were touching foreheads. He said something that Karl didn't understand. Christian was quick to translate, "My grandfather says that he sees good in you—that you're a good man—brave, a good fighter, and he is happy to help you. He would even lay down his life for you." The boy said it grandly, like he was the translator for a king, all seriousness with no shame in their openness. The old man let go of Vince and left the hut.

  "He’s going to prepare the boat," Christian said. "We might not be able to leave tonight because of the storm and the darkness, of course, but probably in the morning if that's okay with you."

  Vince nodded then asked, "Where are you taking us?"

  "The capital, if you wish, or maybe Camp Lemonnier if that would be better."

  Camp Lemonnier had been a former French Foreign Legion camp. After 9/11, it had been leased by Joint Task Force-Horn of Africa (JTF-HOA), and was led by Marines from Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Now it was a navy-run base and a key asset in the region. It was a perfect lily pad for the constant drone operations around the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf, in addition to providing a good staging area for Special Operations troops.

  “Let me think about that," Vince said. Karl wondered what there was to think about until he realized the dilemma. They weren't supposed to be in Djibouti. So while it might have been nice to walk onto an American base, there would be a lot of questions. The president had specifically told them to stay under the radar. Thus, that had to be taken into consideration; they could discuss that while they got dry and maybe had some food.

  Another question hit Karl as they were getting up from the floor. He was confused about the situation he and Vince found themselves in. All voodoo or shaman nonsense aside, why would Christian and his grandfather be so ready to assist them? Finally, he inquired, "Christian, how can you be so sure that those thugs won't come after you and your grandfather?"

  Christian smiled and pointed to where his grandfather had just left and asked, "Oh, did I forgot to mention that the President of Djibouti is my grandfather’s nephew?”

  Chapter 6

  The hotel room door opened, and a small brown form bolted through the door. Cal heard the curse on the other side and smiled as his seven-month old German short-haired Pointer, Liberty, bounded into the room. She was all legs, trailing her leather leash like a streamer. She didn't wait for an invitation before making a straight beeline to him.

  Rather than make a jump for his face, or jump on his lap, she immediately sat down right in front of him, eyes wide, with her tail thumping back and forth on the carpet.

  "How about the next time you leave her with me, you teach me how to get her to do that?" Johnny Powers asked from the door, his brother Jim right behind him.

  Cal ignored the comment, paused for a moment before saying, "Okay," and then he leaned down to hug his puppy. Her body was shaking furiously with excitement. She licked his face twice and looked up at him with expectations of a reward. "Sorry girl, no treats today."

  She cocked her head in dismay, but she didn’t whine. Then, after waiting another beat, just in case Cal changed his mind, she turned and sat adjacent to his right leg and faced the door, as if she was now prepared to protect her master.

  Cal kept his hand on her back, stroking her soothingly. "Did she give you any trouble?"

  Johnny shook his head, but there was a slight look of exasperation on his face. "No, not really, but man can that dog run! If you let her off her leash—” He made a sign with his hand like a jet taking off.

  His brother, a former Marine C-130 pilot, chuckled. "I don't even think I've ever seen my brother run that fast before. I should have gotten it on video."

  Of the two, Jim was the more conservative brother; he was quiet and reserved, while his brother was more gregarious. Maybe it was the Marine in him that kept him that way, while his brother was all Air Force, smooth and slick. They were a welcome addition to The Jefferson Group.

  "Did we miss the show?" Johnny asked.

  "No," Cal said, "They're patching him through in five. The other guys should be here by then."

  Daniel “Snake Eyes” Briggs was the first to arrive, walking in with only his customary nod to the three other men. Dr. Higgins entered without looking up from the paperback novel he was reading. The last to arrive were Top and Gaucho.

  "You're telling me that you can really make that much money off a food truck?” Trent was asking.

  Gaucho drew a cross over his heart and then pointed in the sky. "I swear on my mommy's grave," Gaucho said, "You should see how much money my cousin's pulling in and most of it is cash!”

  Trent shook his head and whistled. "Well, that sure is something to think about."

  "You thinking about making a career move, Top?” Johnny Powers asked.

  Trent grinned, “I don't know about you officer types, but us enlisted men are always planning for our retirement."

  Gaucho nodded in agreement.

  “Thirty seconds," Daniel announced, walking over to the TV and turning it on. When the screen flickered to life, he ensured the camera had them all in the picture.

  Cal hadn't even shared his concerns with Daniel. Earlier when he had called the president, his friend had politely put him off, seemingly unconcerned—no not unconcerned—guarded. Tha
t wasn't like Brandon Zimmer. The transparent relationship Cal shared with him was based on keeping no secrets from one another. Of course Cal didn't expect to know everything he was doing, but if he asked Zimmer a question, he expected an honest answer.

  Then there was the problem with Delta. Gaucho had made discreet inquiries to his former unit, and at every angle he approached, he’d been quietly rebuffed. However, that could have to do with the fact that Gaucho was technically no longer a member of the elite counter-terrorism force. Once you were out, you were out.

  But Cal couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something else was going on. When an operation goes bad, everything gets compartmentalized. Doors get shut, windows slammed, and either you're barricaded in or out. He felt like his team had been left out.

  In addition to the president’s uncharacteristic aloof response to Cal's concerns, the first levels of tripwires in his brain were starting to make imaginative leaps. He hoped those concerns would disappear once they talked to President Zimmer.

  The flat screen on the bureau flickered again. In the next moment, the president's face appeared, then the sound settled. The president was on Air Force One, and alone. He wasn't wearing a tie, and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows.

  "Cal. Gentlemen," he said formally. Cal detected a hint of disapproval from Zimmer, like he’d expected Cal to be the only one on the call, but instead he got the entire team. What the hell was going on? "I'm sorry I couldn't talk before, Cal. I had forgotten how election years wreak havoc on schedules."

  The lame excuse fell with a thud on Cal's deaf ears. "Mr. President, I'd like to know what happened to Vince Sweeney.”

  There was a moment of hesitation, and then the president asked conversationally, "Since when am I Mr. President to you, Cal?"

  "Since you started dodging my questions about two men who, for all we know, might be dead right now."

  Zimmer's eyes hardened. There were a few beats of awkward silence. Then Zimmer exhaled like he was suddenly tired, and rubbed a hand over his face. "How did you hear about them?" Zimmer asked.

  "Does it matter?" Cal said.

  Zimmer shook his head no and disclosed, "Look, this was supposed to be a discreet operation. That's why I called him in for the op personally. You, of all people, should understand that. How would you feel if you got called out of the blue, asking me about some secret operation?"

  "Oh, I don't know. Maybe about as uncomfortable as we feel, finding out that two of our friends disappeared and could be getting chopped to bits at this very second."

  Another awkward pause while the two men glared at each other; then Trent spoke up, "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Why don't we all start from the beginning? Let's not forget we're on the same team here."

  Still the glare continued between Zimmer and Cal. Daniel stepped forward and addressed the president, “Here’s what we know. Vince made a distress call. He said they might have gotten shot down and were on the run. Neil thought it came from somewhere in Africa, maybe Somalia or Ethiopia. He can't get a precise location.”

  The president nodded, "Cal, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get into this with you, and you're right, they are our friends. We all deserve to know the truth."

  "I'm sorry, too," Cal said, "Now can you tell us what's going on?"

  There was no hesitation now, like Zimmer figured the dam had been breached anyway. “Okay, I guess I should start at the beginning. It's been a few months. I was down in North Carolina and the boys at Bragg wanted to give me a debrief on a recent operation. It doesn't really matter what that was about because it has no bearing on this story. At one point, I got a couple of minutes alone with Vince, and we started chatting about China. Turns out that Colonel Sweeney is quite the subject matter expert on US-China relations. When you get a second ask him what he thinks about the South China Sea. Anyway, I asked him about Africa and the billions that are flowing from Beijing into the dark continent. He had his concerns, of course, like we all do.

  "It wasn't until I asked him about Djibouti and the Horn of Africa that his ears really perked up. Now I'm not sure how much you guys know about what China's been doing, but they are putting a lot of effort into this new Silk Road, hearkening back to the days when they did steady business with Europe, Africa, and the Middle East. They want to revive that. A big part of that plan means increased shipping port access in intercontinental travel. Well, Djibouti is a small country, but it's a big part of the silk road because of its strategic location. They’ve got direct access to the Red Sea, a straight shot to the Mediterranean, and all those lovely ports there and beyond. The country's doing more and more business with other nations wanting access to their ports. Recently China invested billions into a few megaprojects, refineries, ports, factories, and now we've got word that they want to establish a naval base. Their diplomats aren't copping to anything about the naval base, of course, but we know it’s in the works. That's what started Vincent's wheels spinning. I asked him bluntly what he thought I should do about it. He said the first thing any good commander would do is to get eyes on to determine what's happening.”

  "That's where we left it that day. It got me thinking, and after more troubling reports from my military and economic advisors, I had Vince flown up to D.C. for another chat. Apparently, he'd been thinking about it too, because he already had a plan."

  "Let me guess," Cal said, "He wanted to see it for himself and maybe take a friend along for the ride."

  The president nodded, "They went in with a good cover as oil investors looking for strategic partners in the region. As far as I knew, they had all their bases covered. The last I heard, they were on their way home, but then there was nothing. No word. No call. Then you called asking me point blank about an operation."

  "Is that it? That's the whole story?" Cal asked.

  "That's it." They were all quiet, digesting the news.

  Gaucho finally asked, "That doesn't explain Bragg, Mr. President. I couldn't get any word out of them. Some of those guys I've known for twenty-odd years."

  Cal answered for him, "That's their job. OPSEC is king. Brandon told them to keep their lips tight, so they did.”

  Zimmer nodded.

  "So what now?" Gaucho asked.

  "We're working on that," the president said, "The best we can hope for is that Vince and Karl can make it out on their own."

  “No offense sir, but that sure as hell sounds like they're getting the raw end of the deal. Leaving them out there like that. I know they're big boys but — “

  He held up a hand to cut off the rest of Gaucho’s coming remarks. “I know. I'm not saying we're doing nothing, but you've got to understand the position I'm in; there's a lot at stake here. The president of Djibouti is in a tenuous situation as well, despite the influx of foreign investment. They've been very obliging up to this point, but if they found out that we’re sending in soldiers to snoop on one of their biggest investors—that might not sit well.”

  Cal could see that Gaucho wanted to press. Hell, he wanted to press the president. No one would, though. That was one of the benefits of being a soldier. You rarely had to take politics into account. Since he'd met Brandon Zimmer, Cal had come to understand more fully how heavy the burden was when you truly had to take everyone's interests into account. Luckily that wasn’t Cal’s job.

  He was about to ask if they'd considered using any of the troops at Camp Lemonnier, maybe under the pretense of a training operation out in the boonies, but at that moment the president's head turned. He put up a finger for them to wait. He nodded to whomever had come in before saying, "Guys, I'm going to put you on mute for a second. Hold on."

  His head remained turned. Then Cal saw Zimmer's jaw tense. There was a curt nod, before he turned back to the screen. He unmuted the sound, his eyes hard now, and said, "Well it looks like the Chinese have made the decision for us. The Secretary of State just got an inquiry from the Chinese Ambassador asking why we have covert operatives conducting industrial espionage in Djibouti."


  Chapter 7

  Those eyes—those damn eyes—bloodshot and yellow like someone had dripped red food coloring into a bulbous egg yolk. They burned into him—accusing and shaming him. He tried to wriggle away, tried to slap the unseen face, but he couldn't. He was just a kid again, his hands too small, ineffectual against the man's body. He felt his throat constrict, and then he smelled it, that awful smell. Like stale wine and onions. He winced and tried to turn away, but he couldn’t. The eyes kept following him, and then just like that, they were gone.

  It took Congressman McKnight a moment to realize where he was. Why did he have that dream? The smell and the eyes were so familiar. It had been his father—the damned drunk. If there had been an international prize given for worst father of the century, Tony McKnight was confident his dad would have topped the list of contenders.

  But why the dream now? His father was dead. He had a clear conscience about what he'd done. He'd only been a kid, but the decision was easy and one he never second-guessed.