The Peacemakers

by Jim Roberts

  It was common knowledge that Zimbala had broken down into anarchy in the past few months. But the news of Olympus's arrival had just hit the airwaves and CNN had the latest.

  "It appears that a major development has just occurred in the Civil War affecting the people of Zimbala," an English accented reporter spoke quickly over scenes of street warfare in the capitol city of Sadoma, "The mysterious Private Military dubbed Olympus has made an extraordinary landing in the city of Sadoma, claiming it is under contract by President David Musabe to retain order of the city from the rebel factions fighting to overthrow his regime. Although outside reporters have not been allowed entrance into the city, this footage comes to us through a highly placed source within the city itself."

  There was going to be a shitstorm in Washington tomorrow, thought Walsh as he made his way over to Yune's desk. He placed a hand on the Doctor's chair and leaned down to look at the main monitor screen.

  He assumed the highly placed source they were referring to was the intrepid Miss Sarah Anders. During his time waiting for Yune to complete the deryption, Walsh had pulled up a detailed dossier on the young reporter.

  Sarah Anders, 31, born in Boston, Massachusetts. Top grades in economics and political science from the University of Boston. Worked as a CNN field correspondent for the past five years. Covered wars in Syria, Afghanistan and now Zimbala, Africa. She had made a reputation as a fairly ambitious and sometimes reckless journalist in dangerous zones of conflict.

  The woman was an unknown to Walsh. He hadn't yet guessed her game, but he was looking forward to finding out.

  Yune pushed his octagonal rimmed glasses up on his face. The four monitor setup that comprised the Doctor's main work area was overflowing with all manner of gadgets, including several Macbooks, a Nintendo 3DS, an arc welder, multiple copies of Popular Mechanics and several biographies of John Wayne. Yune had definitely made himself at home in the past six months aboard the Barbarian.

  "Whatever that woman told you was completely true," Yune said, leaning back as the noclist finished decrypting, "It was an unusual variation of the Latin alphabet, utilized by a so-called Brotherhood of Orpheus, a group of Roman assassins from the second century. A very eclectic choice of an encryption base for Olympus to use."

  Krieger rolled across the floor on a wheeled chair, grasping a takeout box of wontons in one hand, a pair of chopsticks in the other. He peered at the screen, than bopped the Doctor on the arm with his meaty fist.

  "Ha! The little Doc finally does it! Why can't you do same thing with the Code disc?"

  Yune gave the Russian a slightly annoyed look, "Because that Code disc is encrypted with near space age technology. I've estimated it contains close to three terabytes of malicious malware and encryption anti-hacks. If I made a single mistake, it could damage the device irrevocably."

  "Oh." Krieger said, sheepishly. He popped a wonton into his mouth and sat munching in silence.

  "Lets' see..." Yune said, reading the data that was coming from the small USB device plugged into the port on the side of his PC. "Hmm, not very much so far. Multiple files dealing with logistic management of capital investments, some rather benign data about third world weaponry demands..."

  Walsh gripped the back of the chair Yune was sitting at, his eyes fixated on the screen; searching for anything that could help them.

  "It's a noclist isn't it?" Walsh said after several minutes of fruitless searching through the files, "Where are the lists?"

  "Nothing yet," Yune skimmed the data for a few seconds, trying to make sense of the decryption. "Oh my..."

  "What?" Walsh asked.

  "There are detailed files on weapon systems designed by dummy corporations Olympus has been funding. I have specs here on Cerberus drones, as well as several other drone and cyber tech Olympus is creating!"

  Walsh clapped the doc on the shoulder. "Any info is good info Doc. We'll go through it after, but first, try to find the personnel lists."

  Krieger chewed a wanton loudly. Both Walsh and Yune shot him withering looks. The Russian sighed and tossed the takeout box into the trash, dusting his hands.

  "Wait, here it is!" Yune pointed at a small grouping of files one of the folders of the noclist.

  -Payment plans #Code Development Staff from 2010 through to 2017

  Walsh stared at the words, trying to make sense of them. "Punch that list up, will you?"

  Yune obliged. A small list of half a dozen names came up.

  *Roman Krasnov - Unknown - $5.2 Million

  *Rolandas Masiulis - Vilnius, Lithuania - $4.1 Million

  *Bernard Dupuis - Paris, France - $3.2 Million

  *Alexi Kiselyov - Unknown - $2.2 Million

  *Gustav Herdejürgen - Berlin, Germany - $3.2 Million

  *Dr. Hans Mobus - Unknown - $6.2 Million

  Yune jerked forward in his chair suddenly as he read the names.

  "What is it Doc?" Walsh asked.

  "I recognize some of these men!" Yune pushed Krieger out of the way and moved to the keyboard on the far right of his setup. After a few seconds of typing, the monitor flashed on to the Huffington Post website.

  "Doc what is−"

  Yune cut the Colonel off as he read from his monitor display, "Doctor Bernard Dupuis, French computer engineer, one of the original minds in the creation of the internet. He was found two days ago in his mansion in Paris, stabbed to death, along with five of his home security personnel. The Doctor's head was discovered impaled on the top of the gates at the Doctor's home. Then yesterday, Gustav Herdejürgen, professor emeritus of Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, was found eviscerated in his bed."

  Krieger grimaced. "Kind of savage for Olympus, is it not?"

  Walsh stood up, smoothing his moustache. "We should have expected this. Olympus knows we have the noclist. It only makes sense that they would start crossing off the names of the most important people on there before we could get them."

  Krieger frowned, trying to make sense of the turn of events, "Well, there is little to be done. We are here, they are there."

  At that moment, the cell phone rang. Walsh looked at the two men, "Call everyone up. Get the techs here, find Brick and Isabella and get a hold of Joe and Danny."

  "What are you going to do sir?" Yune asked.

  "Kick some asses in CIA and get us clearance to take this Unit to a whole new level."

  * * *

  WALSH HIT the 'Send' button of the cell phone just as he cleared the Barbarian's exit ramp.

  "This is Walsh."

  "Do you believe me know, Colonel?"

  "Where is my son, Miss Anders?"

  "I don't know, but I know he is alive. I can give you everything I have, but you must send your unit to Zimbala."

  "What do you expect my Unit can do in the middle of a civil war, Miss Anders?"

  "I've been living with URAF rebels for the past year, covering the civil war. Since they have arrived, Olympus has been working on some sort of covert project codenamed Prometheus. I can supply you with what I know about both your son and this project if you agree to aid in getting the truth about the Olympus invasion out."

  "And what would that entail, Miss Anders?"

  "Get me out of Sadoma. 99.9% of the remaining citizens in the city are Zimbalan. I'm not kidding when I say that I am one of perhaps four or five white people in the entire city. Musabe knows I am here and has been looking for me for months. I can't leave the city without being captured by the President's forces."

  Walsh left the hanger and stepped into the cold Maryland night. The airfield was quiet, with most operations having slowed or ceased altogether until early morning.

  "The Peacemakers operate outside the normal slate of operations. They are all deniable resources. These men are valuable Miss Anders. I want to destroy Olympus same as you, but I only have a half dozen or so operators. That won't make much of a difference in a war."

  "What I am about to ask would only require a few good men, Colonel."

 
"Spit it out, Miss Anders."

  "The Olympus Contract is dependent on David Musabe, the President. Without him, there is no deal and Olympus would have to withdraw their forces. I have been in contact with the leader of the rebel forces, Donald Muzenda. He has offered the US complete and total cooperation should they aid in the downfall of David Musabe."

  The Colonel wasn't a fool to know what the journalist was insinuating.

  "Ma'am, all the tears in the world can't make a bad situation right. Even if we succeed, it may only just postpone the inevitable."

  "If this country falls, Colonel, Olympus will spread to other third world countries. The other nations wishing to control their people through fear will have the best excuse possible to open their doors to Olympus. You know this. Please. I promise, if you help, I will tell you anything you want to know about your son and project Prometheus."

  Walsh gripped the phone tight, his powerful hand threatening to break the piece of plastic. "Miss Anders," Walsh spoke with ice in his tone, "I don't like being coerced."

  "If you could see what it was like here Colonel, you would understand. Please. If you get me out and let me go public with what I know, I promise, I will tell you everything you want about your son. You have my word."

  Walsh was silent for a whole minute. He admired the woman's fire, but it would take a veritable miracle to get the CIA twerps off their asses and reactivate the Peacemakers.

  My boy may be alive.

  Walsh nodded unconsciously, "Alright Miss Anders. Let me see if I have this right. You're asking me to fly my boys halfway around the world into a civil war to pick up a reporter who is known by many as an untrustworthy maverick. Explain to me how I sell this whole cockamamie plan to the CIA bigwigs in charge of my funding."

  "You have to trust me Colonel."

  "Trust is earned, Miss Anders. You've given me some information, it's true, but that's not to say my team wouldn't have broken it anyway. Why should I trust you?"

  "Colonel...your son told me something he'd never told anyone before; that only you would know of this. He told me your last words to him before he left on his assignment was 'Trust your gut...belief and seeing are both often wrong."

  Walsh's mouth went dry.

  How did she know that?

  It took Walsh a few long seconds before he could speak, "Alright Miss Anders. You have a deal. I'll pitch the idea to my bosses. If they agree, I send my Unit out there to help, and you provide me with the intel on Olympus and where my son is, deal?"

  "Deal. Thank you Colonel."

  "Good," Walsh said, making his way towards the parked SUV. It was a half hour drive, give or take to CIA Headquarters and he needed to hurry. Walsh knew the DD/CIA was not going to be happy being dragged out of bed.

  Tough shit.

  "Here's what you're going to do Miss Anders. Do you have access to the internet?"

  "No, the government has put a black out on all media in and out of the country."

  "That's fine. I'm going to give you a phone number which will be our primary contact number from now on. You will give me every bit of information regarding Olympus's tactical position in the city, that you know of. He will also supply a location where my men will meet with you. Is that understood?"

  "Yes Colonel." The voice sounded ecstatic.

  "Good. The number is 779-443-9012, got it?"

  "Got it."

  "From now on you will be dealing with one of my people. I will see you when my Unit has extracted you, is that fair?"

  "That's fair Colonel. Thank you!"

  "Don't thank me yet Miss Anders. To get you out of there will require nothing short of an act of God."

  He hung up the phone. Everything was moving at what felt like warp speed. The Colonel's tactical mind had already drummed up a plan that he hoped the DCI would accept.

  Walsh would make him accept it.

  My boy may be alive.

  * * *

  CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  "Well Colonel, somebody up there likes you after all."

  Chris McLusky, Deputy Director of Counter Intelligence of the CIA looked exceptionally tired as he peered down the mahogany conference room table at Colonel Walsh. The old soldier was alert as ever. It had only taken an hour to roust the upper echelon of CIA to an emergency meeting, with the subject being the United States' interests in Zimbala. Walsh was aching for a smoke, but things were moving so quickly now, he hadn't had a chance. Besides, he'd been coughing too much these days. He had to try and kick the habit sometime.

  As soon as news that Olympus had launched its battle against the Zimbala Insurgency, the DD had called in several high level chiefs within the CIA to discuss options. Sitting with Walsh and the Deputy Director was Paul Hinton, Director of the National Clandestine Service; a younger man with the heady smell of bureaucratic horseshit on him.

  "Yes Colonel, your team may actually be of some use again."

  Walsh knew Hinton had, until now, been the biggest critic of the Peacemakers' role in foreign intervention as far as Private Militaries went. After his tirade after the Pakistan operation, it gave Walsh great pleasure to watch the young sod eat a can of crow by admitting he was wrong.

  On the opposite side of the DD/CIA, was Brian Davidson, head of Strategic Resource Investment. A numbers man all the way, with slicked black hair, and thin-rimmed glasses perched on his bird nose. The man controlled the budget of nearly all of the CIA's clandestine operations within the nearest decimal point. Davidson had said little so far in the meeting, being more inclined to chew the cap of a ballpoint pen and scrutinize the Colonel with his bleary eyes.

  McKlusky, however, was the real mover of the meeting. Late fifties, heavyset heart attack man; his hefty bulk belied a nature that was calculating in the extreme. Having run covert ops in Afghanistan, Iraq, Mozambique and Egypt for the past five years, Walsh knew he was not one to be underestimated.

  McKlusky closed the manila folder in front of him that held the early morning briefing, "News from the wire states that Olympus just signed a six-billion dollar contract with Zimbala, one of the largest third world private military contracts in history."

  "You've been oddly fortuitous, Colonel," Hinton added, "American interests have been limited in Zimbala, but recent events have rekindled them, so to speak. If what you have told us is true, and Donald Muzenda is truly interested in forming a relationship with us after he ousts Musabe, we think it's only right to give him a little aid."

  The Colonel almost chuckled at that one. Two hours ago, you guys didn't give two shits about that country. Now you're starting to talk alliance and appeasement. Typical company BS.

  "From what my contact tells me," Walsh said, leaning forward in his chair, "The contract Olympus has signed gives immutable support to Musabe. But, only for as long as Musabe is in power."

  The DD/CIA knew exactly where Walsh was going with this. "Without Musabe, there is no Olympus deal."

  Walsh nodded, "Exactly."

  Davidson tossed the chewed pen onto the table, finally realizing what he was doing, "So what do you want from us Colonel?"

  "One thing right off the bat. Reactivate the Peacemakers. Once done, I'll take my unit to Zimbala and extract Miss Anders. From what she told me, her intel will put a major black eye on Olympus in the public's perception. After she is safe, I send in a squad to hunt down and kill Musabe."

  McKlusky eyed the legendary soldier. "That sounds insane, Colonel−even for your men."

  "My men are beyond insane, Director. This is what they live for. But anyway, I'm not finished," Walsh shifted in his seat, readying to lay his cards on the table, "My unit has been operating at severely limited levels for the past several months. I want an upgrade in funding, access to the CIA's Black Ops R+D, as well as permission to take the two soldiers I've been requesting for the past three weeks, Corporal Rourke and Private Yuanza."

  Hinton went red in the face. He turned to the bossman himself. "You can't allow this! We're under the mic
roscope already for expenditures. What this man is asking is beyond−"

  The DD/CIA lifted a hand, the simple gesture silencing the ranting CIA head chief.

  "You like playing hardball, don't you Colonel?" McKlusky asked.

  "It's the only game I know how to play, mister Director." Walsh replied, looking the Director straight in the eye.

  McKlusky thought it over for a few seconds before nodding, "Fine. Whatever you need, you'll get it. But you need to move quick on this Colonel. We need to be sure Musabe is in a body bag by next week. UN forces in South Africa are already assembling on the border. Things are about to get very hairy there. This needs to be taken care of quick."

  Walsh stood up, buttoning his long coat. "Then I'd better get started." He turned to leave, then remembered something else. "Oh, one last little thing: I'm going to need another aircraft. Something a bit faster..."

  Chapter 8

  Unleashed

  Sadoma Airport, Zimbala, November 21st

  A bullet tore through the pavement in front of Falco, spraying asphalt in his face. Blood from a cut on his forehead began to seep into his good eye, momentarily blinding him. The Olympus Commander pulled back for a moment, desperately trying to clear his vision. He reloaded the fully automatic Glock 17 he carried in his right hand. His Ultimax 100 Mark 5 machine gun had been damaged by a lucky rebel bullet. Now he was down to his sidearm and katana.

  The Olympus veteran knew if didn't change his position soon, the URAF rebels guarding the entryway to the airport from the south entrance would have a perfect firing solution on him. He'd be sent straight to hell, high tech body armor or no.

  Falco, having been charged by his young ward to retake the airport from the URAF rebels, had bitten off far too much for his two small platoons of Centurions to defeat on their own. Over the past day, he'd waged an intense battle for the airport that had cost the Olympus force much. All three Cerberus drones assigned to his strike force had been destroyed on the first day, thanks to several lucky shots by rebel anti-tank fire.