Adams shook his head. “I know this sort of thing happens in the Orient. I’ve never heard of it here. Oh, it’s going to happen, all right. With all that betting there would be a bloody riot if the event wasn’t concluded.”
The music blared again, and the girl took the revolver and spun the cylinder. She kept spinning it for a complete rotation of the stage. Again the music stopped. A gentle, sympathetic voice came over speakers, and the girl turned toward the red carpet listening. The voice crooned stronger and more hypnotic, and Adams wished desperately that he could understand the Wolof words.
Slowly the naked girl lifted the weapon and put the muzzle over her heart. Screams and yells erupted from the audience, then trailed off when she moved the gun. She held it easily in her right hand, lifted it, and put the muzzle against the side of her head. The voice continued as if directing her. The screams came from the audience. She moved the weapon again, staring hard at the black hole of the muzzle. Then she opened her mouth and pushed the barrel two inches inside.
Silence throbbed through the arena. The girl reached up with her left hand and spun the cylinder again. Then she closed her eyes. The voice came strongly, ending in a scream.
Adams couldn’t see the girl pull the trigger, but she must have. A second after the scream the weapon went off and the bullet exploded out of the back of the naked girl’s skull. Her head flopped over the back of the chair and the audience stared in agonizing silence. Then the screaming exploded in earnest as the bettors who had won charged the clerks, who had appeared around the stage, which had stopped rotating.
“We leave now,” the interpreter said. They stood, and were escorted quickly out a side stage-level door they hadn’t seen. Two men had to help President Kolda. Adams saw that the man was so drunk he couldn’t walk.
Wally touched the interpreter’s shoulder. “Take us to our hotel at once. The Vice President isn’t feeling well. Can you get us back to the hotel quickly?”
The interpreter smiled. “Is he ill, or is it just his soft-hearted feelings for the girl? Those girls get paid well. One pulled the trigger fifteen times and was never scratched. She retired with more than four million of your dollars. Some like the girl tonight lose the bet on their first try.” He nodded. “It is show business. Entertainment, no? Now I will get you back to your hotel.”
Twenty minutes later Vice President Adams sat heavily on the bed in the Presidential Suite in the Engaffe Hotel, the best in Sierra City, and tried to relax.
“I still can’t believe it. Those men bet whether she would live or die. She killed herself, and it was sanctioned by the highest elected official in this backward nation. There must have been three hundred people there screaming at the spectacle. That their President could know about such a terrible event is criminal. That he was there slopping down drink after drink and enjoying the thrill of seeing a young girl in a life-or-death exhibition is totally disgusting. How can we ever deal with these people again?”
Wally held a sheaf of papers he had picked up when they arrived at the hotel. He had started to speak, but let the Vice President have his say. Now he took his turn. “Some more bad news about President Kolda and his regime here. Our ambassador says that the country is in a shambles. That the President and every official the ambassador has investigated is hip deep in graft, corruption, and shows a cavalier abuse of power. One small item. Earlier this year we sent them twelve million dollars of hard currency, which was to be used to build houses and upgrade the buildings and farming technique in one area a half hour outside the capital with rich fertile land.
“The ambassador tells me that only one small building has been constructed and that the Farm Fund, as it was called, is down to a seven-thousand-dollar balance. Everyone is pointing fingers at everyone else.”
Vice President Adams shook his head. “Did you see how those animals were screaming for the girl to pull the trigger? They were death merchants, most hoping that she would live since it was a safer bet, but the rest were bellowing and braying for her blood.” He shook his head and washed his hands over his face. “Sweet Mother of God, I’ll never forget the expression on that girl’s face just before she pulled the trigger. I’ll never get it blasted out of my memory for as long as I live.”
He took another deep breath. “What more do we have to do with these people? I’d like to cut out right now and fly to the next stop, but I know we can’t do that.”
“We have that tour tomorrow. We should see where they didn’t spend the money on the farming area.”
“So we cut them off at the pockets,” the Vice President said.
“There’s not much we can do, Mr. Vice President, about getting the lost money back. It’s probably in some Swiss bank account. We can make them aware that we know they stole the money and that there won’t be a cent more coming their way until they do what they promised they would.”
“Sounds good to me, Wally. I’ve got to have a long hot shower and see if I can wash some of that filth off my back. I’ll never forget that poor girl’s face. She must have been on drugs. High on coke probably. Did that interpreter say one girl survived fifteen sessions like that? What a mental nightmare that must be, knowing that your odds are one out of six that you’re dead. Damn, how do they find women to do that? Maybe they get druggers who are down and out and almost dead on the streets. Yeah, that must be where they get the girls.” He looked at his watch. “Is it eleven o’clock already? What’s for tomorrow? That tour?”
“The ambassador has arranged for us to visit several centers here. A ballet school, an industrial arts complex, something else, and the farm center where our foreign aid money was squandered. The head man of the army, General Kiffa Assaba, warned me that there could be trouble in that outlying area. It’s only twenty miles from the edge of town, but he said there had been vicious rebel murderers in that section from time to time. He suggested another place to visit in town. I told him we have been given specific instructions to visit that farmland. If he’s worried about our safety, he should send trucks filled with armed troops ahead and behind our two-car convoy. There will be one car filled with newspaper and media people right behind our limo.”
“Good, Wally. I want to see where this twelve million was not spent. Later I’ll throw it up at him by asking President Kolda where our foreign aid money went and demand an answer. If he’s sobered up by then. I smelled alcohol on his breath when he first shook my hand at the airport. Man, was he sloshed tonight.”
The Vice President pulled off his shirt and stared at Wally. “Do you think there’s any real danger out there in the farming country, or is President Kolda just trying to protect his rear end?”
“Oh, a protection ploy for damn sure. He might find some way to detour us around the farm place yet. Danger? I’d bet there’s not a bad guy within fifty miles. It’s just his story to scare us off so we don’t find out for sure that he stole the aid money.”
* * *
The next morning an armed “honor” guard escorted the Vice President, the ambassador, and their party of six to the three venues they were set to visit. Adams showed the proper admiration and pleasure at the displays, and then settled into the backseat of the heavy Lincoln stretch limo for the ride out to the farm area.
General Assaba came just before they started. Vice President Adams saw that he was a small man, maybe five-five, slender, with a wolfish face and thick black hair. His large eyes seemed to bulge from his head over a short, sturdy nose. His body was in constant motion, and he often raised upward, standing on his toes for ten or fifteen seconds at a time. Adams guessed it was a nervous movement that the small man did unconsciously to give him a taller stature.
Like the President, General Assaba said he spoke no English, and a student interpreted for him.
“The general says he is seriously considering preventing you from making this trip to the Estalante farming area. He reminds you that it is highly dangerous.”
The Vice President nodded. “Ask the general h
ow many men or women have been killed there in the past six months.”
The general frowned when the student asked the question in his native Wolof language. Assaba began calmly, but before he finished he shouted in anger, then turned and walked away.
“The general says that he is displeased that you want to take this trip. Diplomatically he can’t stop you, but at the same time that releases him from any responsibility for the safety of your party. He will send soldiers with you, but you are being foolish going into this dangerous area.”
Vice President Adams grinned. “Yeah, the old boy got his dander up, I’d say. We’re going, so let’s get moving.”
The honor guard changed now. The six soldiers in the jeep in front of the limo were combat-ready, with rifles, web belts, and jungle-print cammies. Six more men similarly outfitted rode in another vehicle behind the second civilian car, which held six members of the press who had been traveling with the Vice President.
The first few miles led them through the city of more than 200,000. Soon the buildings gave way to the strip of farmland along the river and its valley. Then the blacktopped highway ended and they rolled along a gravel road.
Vice President Adams wanted to lower the window to have a better look, but he knew it was an armored limo and the windows wouldn’t budge. He saw more signs of cultivation and an occasional group of buildings.
Another five miles and the convoy stopped. The driver, who had been with the Vice President since his days as governor of Michigan, turned.
“Mr. Vice President, there’s a problem ahead. Looks like a tree has fallen across the road.”
Almost at once the Vice President heard rifle fire jolt into the calm afternoon. The five people in the limo could see the soldiers leaping out of the jeep ahead of them. Two died before they made it. The other four died at the side of the road before they could find cover.
In the limo, they heard more fire coming from behind. Then there was an ominous silence. The two Secret Service men inside the limo had their Ingram submachine guns lifted from where they hung by cords around their necks.
“Easy, take it easy,” the Vice President said. “No rounds hit our vehicle. They seem to be targeting only the military.”
They waited a few minutes more. Then a figure appeared outside the door. The black man in civilian clothes held up both hands to show he was unarmed. He motioned for the door to be opened.
“Don’t go out there,” the lead Secret Service man said. “We’re safe in here, Mr. Vice President. The limo protects us.”
“He has no weapon,” Adams said. “He looks friendly. I’m going out.”
The second Secret Service man grabbed his arm. “No, sir. I’ll go see what he wants.” The man slid to the near door, opened it, and stepped out. His Ingram was hidden under his jacket. He left quickly and closed the door, which automatically locked.
Adams watched the two men through the window. Both looked calm, talking with no hand gestures. A minute later the Secret Service man signaled, and his partner inside the limo opened the door and the outside man stepped inside and closed the door.
“The man says his name is Mojombo Washington. He says he’s the leader of the Bijimi Loyalist Party fighting the corrupt central government. He wants to show you how they squandered and stole the money due to these poor farmers. He has no weapons. He said his men were careful to attack only the federal soldiers. No one in either our car or the press car was hurt in any way. He says he has no wish to harm any of our party. He just wants to plead his case against the government.”
Adams rubbed his jaw, then looked at his top advisor. Wally lifted his brows. “Sir, that’s what we came here to find out. This man sounds like he knows the facts we need to uncover.”
Vice President Adams nodded. “Seems to be the way to go. Let’s get out. Keep your weapons ready if we need them.” He hesitated, then waved at the Secret Service men. “Let’s get out of here and do some investigating.”
One Secret Service man went out first, followed by the Vice President and the other Secret Service man.
Mojombo Washington stood outside the limo. The Vice President saw that he was a medium-sized man, a head shorter than the VP, with curly black hair, wide-set eyes, and a flat nose. His smile lit up the landscape.
“Mr. Vice President Adams, so good to meet you. First a bit of business. Secret Service men, please lift your hands away from your Ingram submachine guns. I have expert marksmen who have you sighted in with three rifles on each of you. Any move toward your weapons and you will die instantly. I want no violence here. Lift your hands at once.”
The men dedicated to protecting their Vice President hesitated, then looked at the bodies of the soldiers dead on the roadway. A rifle snarled some distance away, and a bullet tore into the ground three feet from one of the Secret Service men. They both flinched, then looked at each other and slowly lifted their hands. Two armed men in cammies darted around the limo and checked inside. Then the driver was pulled out.
Mojombo smiled. “Yes, this is good. I wish to hurt no one from your nation, or the press. Now it’s time to leave. Mr. Vice President Adams, please step into the limo. We will be leaving, and the rest of your party will be taken back to the city. Don’t worry. We have no wish to harm you or your people in any way. Please, inside.”
Adams looked at his Secret Service men for advice, but they stared straight ahead. They had been outguessed, outmaneuvered, and outgunned.
The Vice President stepped into the limo, followed by Mojombo Washington. An African driver moved in behind the wheel, and he drove the big limo smoothly around the stalled jeep and past three bodies before it came back on the road and rolled forward.
The Vice President leaned back in the seat and studied the man next to him. An African who spoke English as well as he did. Obviously educated, a leader of some group. Highly selective in the violence he used, killing only the Army escort. No one in his group or any of the journalists was harmed. That spoke well for the young man. Young. The Vice President decided that this Mojombo Washington must be about thirty years old.
He turned to his captor. “Now, Mr. Washington, that you have kidnapped me, what ransom are you going to demand for my freedom?”
Mojombo looked at the man beside him and smiled. “Mr. Vice President Marshall Adams. You will learn that in time. But I assure you it is going to be a tremendously stiff price indeed.”
5
The Amunbo River
Vice President Marshall Adams settled back in the cushioned chair in the sleek twenty-four-foot cabin cruiser’s small cabin and watched the man who called himself Mojombo Washington.
The well-built young man watched the Vice President. He smiled. “As I have told you several times, you have nothing to fear from us. We are the good guys here. We are the Bijimi Loyalist Party, dedicated to throwing out the criminal government of Sierra Bijimi and replacing it with a freely elected democratic government. First my name. You reacted when I said my last name is Washington. Most people do. Actually I renamed myself after the father of your great country, George Washington.”
Adams smiled. “That’s a good start, young man. Now I hope you will follow through and be the great leader and patriot for your nation that old George was for ours.”
“That’s my intention, Mr. Vice President Adams, and I hope that after you hear my story, you will help my country.” He waved around at the boat. His ten soldiers were sitting around wherever they found space. “This boat was a gift of a generous official in Sierra City. He didn’t know he was giving it to us, but we appreciate it just as much. Yes, at times we must take what we want and what we need. It is for the eventual good of our nation. After all, George Washington did do serious damage to that cherry tree.” They both laughed.
“How big an army do you have?” Adams asked.
“Not large, and not well equipped yet. We feel somewhat the way George must have felt that winter in Valley Forge. At least we don’t have the snow or the bitter
cold to contend with. To answer your question, I have roughly a hundred and fifty men I can put into a pitched battle. Which is why I will avoid that type of combat at all costs. We are a strike-and-vanish guerrilla operation, and we can be tremendously effective.”
“I’m sure you are. My main concern now is that my government in Washington, D.C., will be worried. Perhaps worried to the extent of sending in an overwhelmingly large, deadly task force to rescue me.”
“We’ll take care of that as soon as we come to our camp. I brought along the SATCOM from your limousine. You’ll be free to contact anyone you wish with the radio and talk as long as you want to. I won’t guide you or insist on what you say. I want you to be a friend by that time, not a captive, but a friend.”
“That could take some doing, Mojombo. I was impressed by the way you stopped our cars and did not harm any of our people or the correspondents.”
“Mr. Vice President Adams. I know the value of the press. We use them whenever we can, but the government controls the only large newspaper in the country. You were surprised how well I speak your language. I’ve had lots of practice. I took my B.A. degree at Manley University in Washington, D.C., and my master’s in political science at Georgetown, also there in the district. I know about the Beltway politics. I studied intently your Constitution and Declaration of Independence and the three branches of government. The new constitution of Sierra Bijimi will be much like your own. I returned to my homeland to help dig it out of the maze of graft, corruption, misuse of power, and official murder that it has degenerated into.”
Adams nodded slowly. “Yes, I can see how your ideals would be shattered returning to this kind of a situation. But couldn’t you do it by the ballot?”
Mojombo laughed softly. “You must remember that the government here has absolute power. We have little personal freedom. The criminals run the elections. They count the ballots they wish to count and burn the rest. They adjust the vote count the way they want it to be and if anyone complains or challenges them, that person or persons suffer fatal accidents within a day of their protest. This has been going on in every election for almost ten years, and there is no one who can solve the problem, except a number of men with submachine guns, rifles, and RPGs.”
Deadly Force sts-18 Page 5
