by Brad Taylor
The man named Chris, now on his knees with his own hands secured behind his back, said, “We’ve got a van and a couple of Toyota 4Runners.”
Knuckles turned from a window and said, “Street’s getting a little crowded. People are starting to shout for a police response to the looting. We need to leave.”
I nodded and squatted in front of Chris, saying, “What’s the plan now?”
“Andy’s talking to Colonel Armstrong. He’s landing in the next thirty minutes. The coup is done. He meets General Mosebo on the airfield and we leave.”
I said, “Mosebo’s dead, you dumb fuck. There is no Mosebo. Get with the program. What are you supposed to do?”
Chris’s face went slack at the news.
I said, “Wake the fuck up. What’s next?”
He said, “Andy’s going to call, and I take Johan with me to the airfield.” He glanced at Johan, the fear in his eyes, and said, “I was supposed to hand him to Lenatha. He’s going to be implicated in some bullshit with the coup. We fly out, and whatever happens here, happens.”
Johan said, “Not anymore, you shit.”
Chris nodded and said, “I know, I know. I want no part of this.”
He glanced at the bodies on the ground, some killed execution-style, and said, “This wasn’t part of the plan. I don’t murder for money.”
Johan said, “Yes, you do, you myopic fuck. You just did.”
Chris said, “What makes you so pure? You planned this entire thing.”
Johan looked at Pike and said, “I did. No doubt, I did. But I’m going to right my wrongs. The question is whether you’re willing to do the same.”
“How?”
Johan squatted down to Chris’s level and said, “You’re going to take me to the airport, just as planned.”
83
Seeing the skepticism on Clint’s face, Jennifer turned on the waterworks, saying, “He isn’t American, but he worked at the hospital. He just called me and said armed men were surrounding his house. They’re going to haul him away and kill him, just because he worked here. Apparently, they hate anything American.”
Clint said, “What the hell are you talking about, lady? This isn’t Rwanda. All that’s happening here is some looting. There aren’t any roaming death squads.”
“There’s clearly at least one. He just called me. They’re going to kill him and his family.”
Clint gave her the side-eye, clearly thinking she was overwrought, the harrowing ride with her wounded friend battering her fragile female sensitivities. After seeing the hospital and the lack of danger, he was sure she was imagining the threat.
Shoshana had had enough of Jennifer’s acting. She opened the door to their vehicle, leaned over the roof, and said, “Look, you shit. Get your men loaded up. If it’s nothing, it’s nothing.”
A smart-ass comment formed in Clint’s mouth but failed to escape. One look at Shoshana and it died, stillborn. He nodded and said, “You lead, like before?”
“Yeah, we’ll lead your team. You ride with us. It’s only about one kilometer away, but tell your men to be ready. You wanted a fight, and you’re about to get it.”
* * *
Like all the rest, Thomas was led out of the hut under the watchful eyes of the Lesotho Special Forces members. He saw the mercenary called Andy load up into one of the SUVs, then call for one of the Special Forces men. They held a brief conversation, and then the man came back. He said a few words to his team, then led the line of men behind the small Basotho hut and into an open field, toward a shallow stream at the back. Thomas realized Khosi was in front of him, his face swollen, the blood crusting beneath his nose.
Andy started up the SUV and the vehicle began to roll, passing the men marching in the field, then disappeared. They reached the edge of the stream, and the man who’d spoken to Andy screamed at them to get on their knees. Thomas did so, glancing at Khosi. He mouthed, I’m sorry.
Thomas hung his head in shame, waiting on the bullet.
* * *
His hands still shackled, Chris put down the hand mic and said, “They’ve got Thomas and his men. They’re dead, or about to be. Colonel Armstrong’s inbound. He’s landing in ten minutes with Makalo Lenatha. They’ve seized control of the airfield. It’s all in motion.”
I said, “Brett, find me a policeman who speaks English.”
He came out a minute later with a guy who looked like he was about to throw up, convinced we were going to torture him to death.
Because I was a smart-ass, I said, “You speak American?”
He looked at me quizzically, and I asked, “Where’s the captain of this place?”
He pointed to a body on the ground, one of the ones lined up and executed. I said, “Who’s the highest-ranking guy you have here? Still alive, I mean?”
He drew up and said, “That would be me. If you must kill again, kill me.”
I said, “As much as I appreciate the courage, I’m not going to kill you. I need the ranking man left alive.”
My words giving him courage, he said, “Why?”
I pointed at the body of the captain and said, “Because we’re about to arrest the man who did that.”
His mouth curled into a smile. He said, “It’s still me.”
* * *
Jennifer crested a hill, and two SUVs passed her, headed the other way. Shoshana said, “That was a Caucasian. The mercenary.”
Clint whipped his head to the rear, watching the SUVs disappear. He said, “Mercenary? What are you talking about?”
Jennifer said, “Shoshana, to the front. Look across the field.”
Clint turned his head back around, seeing a line of men on their knees, seven others standing behind them holding AK-47s. Something straight out of Rwanda.
Shoshana withdrew her ZEV Tech Glock, the RMR holosight and suppressor clearly showcasing the professional piece of weaponry it was, and Clint looked at her with new eyes. He said, “Who the fuck are you two?”
She ignored the question, saying to Jennifer, “Straight in. Go straight in.”
Jennifer nodded, saying, “Clint, call your men. Tell them to get ready.”
He attempted to do so, but she left the road, cutting straight into the field, the uneven ground causing the vehicle to begin bucking up and down. Clint said, “Jesus Christ, hang on a second. Let me get a plan together.”
Jennifer floored it, ignoring the protests of the suspension and the shouting from Clint.
They closed to within fifty meters before the men with the weapons reacted. The lead man raised his AK, firing the first shot of the battle. It hit the windshield between Jennifer and Shoshana, snapped by Clint’s head, and exited out the back of the vehicle. Clint dove down in the seat, shouting into his radio.
Shoshana opened the passenger door, stepped onto the running board of the SUV, and began shooting, knowing she wouldn’t hit anything but hoping to at least suppress the incoming fire.
Jennifer said, “Clint, get them to flank. Go north.”
Clint made the call, and the second SUV broke away from their line of march, streaking north through the field. Jennifer continued straight ahead, and all the soldiers began firing at her vehicle, spider-webbing her windshield.
Shoshana leapt off the running board, hitting the ground and rolling upright, squeezing the trigger as soon as she had a sight picture. The lead soldier of the line screamed, grabbing his shoulder. She broke the trigger again, and he dropped to the ground. The man behind him turned his aim from Jennifer’s vehicle to her, chewing up the ground around her. She dove flat and began scrambling to a depression.
Lying on the bench seat, Jennifer slammed on the brakes and screamed, “Get your guys in the fight!”
She heard Clint in the back shouting into a radio, withdrew her Glock, and rolled out of the vehicle, circling to the rear, the steel of the veh
icle pinging with incoming rounds. Clint joined her five seconds later, raising his M4 and putting down suppressive fire, ignoring the rounds impacting near him.
Jennifer said, “What about the team?”
Now calm, in his element, Clint took aim, fired, and said, “Stand by.”
Jennifer poked her head around the bumper and saw the second SUV had stopped, the men boiling out, all firing. The soldiers in the field had no focus, no command element controlling them, and they paid for the mistake. In seconds, all seven of them were dead.
They watched the team sweep through the kill zone, checking bodies and securing the prisoners. Clint got a call on the radio, looked at Jennifer, and said, “All clear.”
Ten minutes later they were fighting off the fawning of Thomas’s inner circle, Thomas himself looking bemused at the turn of events. The team completed searching the dead bodies, and Thomas said, “This is becoming a habit with you two.”
Clint said, “What’s he mean by that?”
Shoshana said, “Nothing.”
Clint had had enough. His voice rising, he said, “What the fuck is this all about? You said they were going to murder a friend that worked at the hospital. A friend, as in a single man. You said it was happening at his house.” Clint pointed at the abandoned hut and said, “That ain’t no fucking house.” He turned and pointed to the line of rescued men and said, “That ain’t no single man.”
He finished by stabbing a finger at Shoshana’s Glock. “And that ain’t no set of nail clippers. I know you didn’t bring it in your carry-on bag when you flew here for your bullshit missionary trip to Lesotho. Who the fuck are you?”
Shoshana said, “This might be the time. I won’t tell Pike.”
Clint glared and said, “What the hell does that mean?”
Jennifer said, “I think it would be best if you just went back to the hospital and provided security. Sort of forgot all this happened.”
84
I hung up my phone and, shouting over the wind, announced, “Jennifer and Shoshana were successful! Thomas is alive.”
Across from me, his feet splayed out, Aaron smiled and said, “Did you have any doubt?”
“Yeah, I did. Like I do for this ridiculous plan.”
We were racing to the airport with the team in the bed of a pickup, Chris driving and Johan in the passenger seat. I’d looked for something better, but the pickings at the police headquarters had been pretty slim. The back parking lot was full of SUVs and sedans, both marked and unmarked, but I needed something to hide the team.
Our new Lesotho police friend wanted to take the ones with official markings, but I was having none of that. We’d never get down the street without someone waving us over to stop a looting or prevent some other crime. The city was going a little nuts, the population not knowing for sure what was occurring but everyone understanding it wasn’t good, and it had been split between opportunists and dedicated citizens. The longer we remained at the police headquarters, the less likely we’d be able to drive out.
I’d surveyed the lot and said, “This isn’t going to work. We need a Trojan horse. Some way to get us all in undetected while showing Chris and Johan.”
I clicked on the net and said, “Veep, what the hell is taking you so long?”
Johan had told us he had a commercial drone in his ruck, and I’d sent Veep to go fetch it. I heard, “I’m here. At the front. Where are you?”
“Out back in the parking lot. Get that thing in motion.”
He appeared on the lot with a case about the size of a shoe box. I looked at Johan and said, “That drone can reach the airfield?”
He said, “Oh, yeah. It’s pretty good.”
No sooner had I said it than Veep—our millennial genius—had the drone in the air, a little spider-looking thing floating about, waiting on instructions.
Johan said, “You’ve only got about twenty-five minutes of air. Get it going.”
Veep did something with the controller, and the drone flew away, disappearing as quickly as a stone dropped off a cliff.
I said, “Okay, the one thing we know is they’re expecting Johan and Chris. Chris will drive, and Johan will be the prisoner.”
Johan said, “Well, I guess first things first.” He turned to Aaron, held out a set of flex-ties, and said, “Care to do the honors?”
Aaron took them and cinched his wrists together, saying, “I was wrong about you.”
Johan watched him work and said, “No, you weren’t. I’m not a good guy. I haven’t been one in a long, long time.”
Aaron took his knife and slit the attachment for the tie, so that Johan could break it with a simple twist. He held up the blade, letting Johan see it.
He said, “A knife can do both good and bad. It doesn’t understand the difference. You do. You will probably die on this mission. In fact, I can’t think of any way you won’t. Yet you choose to do it. A conscious decision. Before that happens, I just wanted you to know I forgive you.”
Taken aback, Johan said, “Thank you for that. I’m sorry for what I did to you.”
Aaron said, “Just get this done, and know that no thanks are necessary.”
Aaron released his wrists, then said, “But if you fuck this up, Shoshana will skin you alive. And she has every reason to do so.”
Johan gave a half-hearted laugh, wanting to be in on the joke, but unsure of what it was. Aaron looked him in the eyes and said, “That wasn’t humor.”
Veep said, “I’m over the airfield now. And it’s not looking good.”
We crowded around the screen, seeing immediately what he was talking about. The airfield was out by itself, with a two-lane road leading to the front of the building, the lone landing strip in the back. It was a single-story building without any Jetways or other modern airport conveniences. Basically, it had a drive on the front side for letting people off, and a runway on the back side for boarding a plane. It looked like an airport in 1960s Mississippi.
Veep said, “One checkpoint on the way in, sporadic security at the tarmac.”
I said, “Go back to the runway.”
He did, and we saw a C-130 on the tarmac, the ramp down and people loading.
I said, “So Armstrong’s on the ground. Which means the clock is ticking.”
Knuckles nodded and said, “What’s the plan?”
Chris’s radio squawked, and he answered it, looking at us, knowing any wrong word would seal his fate.
“This is Chris, go.”
“Bird’s on the ground. Armstrong’s here. Crew is loading up on a hot turnaround.”
Meaning the aircraft wasn’t even shutting down its engines. Chris said, “We’re supposed to be on it. Is it going to wait?”
“No. You bring Johan. The bird’s leaving without us. Don’t worry, Colonel Armstrong will get us out. Lenatha is happy with the reception. Feed these kaffirs a sacrifice and that’s all it takes.”
The words from the radio caused me to bristle. He was talking about Thomas. Chris said, “So you want me to come out now?”
“Yeah. Get moving. Armstrong’s talking to Lenatha about Johan. I think they want another sacrifice. Mosebo should be here soon. I’ve got his guys from the prime minister’s house holding the airfield. Turns out killing that fuck was a good decision, because we needed the manpower. Johan didn’t take into account the security required here. Either way, we’re about to knit this thing up.”
Chris looked at me, and I said, “Tell him you’re on the way but you don’t trust the guard force protecting the airfield. Tell him you want to be sure you can get in without being killed.”
He did so, and Andy answered, “Just get your ass here. The first vehicle we see is getting through. The next is getting toasted.”
Chris said, “Give me five minutes and we’re on the way.”
He dropped the mic and said,
“I did what I could.”
Johan said, “Let Chris take me alone. I’ll kill Armstrong, Lenatha, and Andy. I promise I can get all three before they stop me.”
Chris looked decidedly sick at the suggestion, because he knew he’d be in the middle of that firefight, forcing him to choose a side. I said, “That’s not going to cut it. As much as I’d like to see those fucks bleed, it’s still mission failure for my team.”
Veep said, “Drone’s coming back. I’m out of flight time.”
I racked my brain, trying to come up with something that would get us in. Every infiltration course of action was foiled by that one lone road leading to the airfield. I had no aircraft for a HALO op, no helicopters for a shock assault, no secret newspaper truck for a clandestine entry.
I said, “We need a Trojan horse.”
Knuckles said, “What about that pickup?”
He pointed to a beat-up Ford with more primer than paint. “We can get in the back and cover ourselves with something. Trojan horse.”
Brett said, “That’s the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard.”
I said, “Yeah, and it just might work. Veep, find us something to cover the bed. Everyone else, load up.”
Ten minutes later we were closing on the airport, and I’d gotten the word from Jennifer about Thomas. Knuckles said, “You going to get them rolling here?”
“Yeah. I’ll stage them with the police. Aaron, give Shoshana a heads-up. Tell her to coordinate with Veep.”
Driven by Veep, the SUV behind us was full of Lesotho police, which I was going to leave on the shoulder of the road at the intersection of the airport entrance. Needless to say, Veep wasn’t too keen on the babysitting task, but tough shit. It had to go to somebody I trusted. The intersection was about four hundred meters away from the airport, making it close enough to call them in waving badges when we won.
If we won.
Johan pounded on the glass of the rear window and held up a single finger.
I said, “One minute, one minute. Knuckles, pass to Veep.”
