Deadly Force (5 page)

“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 how 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.”

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.”

“Would the people support you? Could you foster a general uprising?”

“We have major support for our cause in the outlands, along the river communities. The farther away from Sierra City, the stronger our support. But out here the government has little control. Few of the four thousand soldiers seldom get far from Sierra City. Still, the very number of them is a problem for us.”

“One thing I know, I'm not used to this humid weather,” Adams said. “Would you have anything cold to drink on board?”

“Oh, damn. My responsibility as a host is plainly deficient. Yes, of course, we have three brands of American beer, Coke, and four other soft drinks for your enjoyment.”

“A cold Coke would be delightful. But we need to keep talking. I have to decide how I evaluate you by the time we get to your camp. You used the term camp, so I assume you are in the jungle somewhere up a tributary off this main river?”

“Quite right, Mr. Vice President. Nothing as primitive as you had to endure in Vietnam, but not the Hilton Hotel either.”

“You know I was in Nam?”

“Yes. When I heard you were coming to my country, I learned everything I could. A friend in Sierra City has the Web, and she brings reports to me at regular intervals that she downloads and prints out. It's amazing what you can learn there. I just hope that your wife and two girls are not traumatized by this side trip of yours. That's partly why I want you to talk to your office as quickly as you can. I would imagine that your aide has reported your detour to the White House already via the SATCOM they have at the embassy.”

Adams chuckled. “Mojombo, you are a highly organized
man who thoroughly researches his projects. Sierra Bijimi was added to my agenda only a week before we left. And that was less than a month ago.”

“The Internet and the Web are amazingly fast,” Mojombo said. “I also have several friends in Washington who e-mail me reports and will answer any questions I ask them.”

“Amazing. You are truly a talented young man, Mojombo Washington. It's taken me some time, but now I'm one jump ahead of you. I'm to be your pawn, your chip of great price that you can use to bargain with the United States for help in your crusade down here.”

Mojombo smiled, his dark eyes glistening with a sudden surge of emotion.

“Exactly right, Mr. Vice President. No President or Vice President of the United States has ever been, let's say, detained in a foreign nation before. It's historic. And it should be worth a lot of help from your Air Force, your Navy, and even your Marines. What do you think? Do I have a chance to get some military help down here to aid in my revolution?”

The Vice President smiled. “Mojombo, it's far better if the mouse does not know that he's the mouse in a cat-and-mouse game. I know. So how things go from here on will depend to a great degree what I say and how I say it on the SATCOM when we get to your camp. Are you going to tell me what to say with a .45 at my head?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Are you going to make a number of demands from the United States that must be met before I am returned?”

“Absolutely not at this time.”

“Do you think that the force of your personality is so great that you can convince me of your sincerity and your plans for your nation and that you can win me over to be a proponent of your cause during the rest of this short trip?”

“I believe that when you see my camp, and my army, and the people we are fighting for, that you will understand our cause and that you will soon be on our side. I understand that you were not pleased with your meeting with our illustrious President last night.”

“Not at all. He seems to be a drunk who enjoys watching young girls blow their brains out in a betting arena.”

A look of surprise and then disgust washed over Mojombo's face. “He took you there?”

“He did, and two men had to carry him out after the girl died. He wasn't faint with pity or remorse. He was stone-dead sloppy drunk and couldn't stand up or walk.”

“That's our boy, our glorious President. I also know that you were upset by the twelve million dollars his regime squandered and stole from the Farm Project.”

The Vice President chuckled again. “Mojombo, you don't miss much, do you? Yes, I'm still angry about that. Not a lot of money in terms of some of the massive foreign assistance programs we have, but to have him simply steal it is unforgivable.”

“Do you know that we no longer have a national school system? Each province is supposed to have an elected school board and to build and run schools. Six years ago, President Kolda withdrew all of the federal money from the school system. The entire education system failed and over two thousand schools closed.”

“Switzerland?”

“Probably that's where most of the stolen money goes. Or a half-dozen other safe-money countries.”

“Taxes. I'll bet Kolda's Administration is remarkably brilliant about levying and collecting taxes.”

This time it was Mojombo's turn to laugh, but it had a bitter edge to it. “Absolutely right, Mr. Vice President Adams. He bleeds every bit of money he can from the people, and rewards them by raising the tax rates again. Nobody has any idea how many millions of dollars this man and his cohorts have stolen from my country. We probably never will know.”

Mojombo went forward and spoke with the captain at the wheel a moment, then came back. He brought with him the SATCOM that had been in the limousine. “I bet you know how to work this, Mr. Vice President.”

“I've seen it done.”

“We have detailed and complete operating instructions on working the SATCOM. We got it off the Web straight
from the maker of the radio.” He grinned, clean white teeth flashing in his dark smile. “We try to be as efficient as possible.”

“I'm starting to believe you. We had a report that some terrorists attacked the city two days before we arrived. Stormed the Central Police Station and raided it for weapons, and then proceeded to slip into a large military post on the outskirts of town, where they stole two truckloads of weapons, ammunition, and food supplies.”

“You're correct, Mr. Vice President, with the exception that the raiders were not terrorists, they were Loyalists. We were highly efficient on that raid, and lucky at the same time. They still haven't realized that we are a solid military organization that won't go away. Those supplies are part of our lifeline.”

“Why hasn't that little general we met loaded up fifty boats and stormed up the river and wiped out everything that moved? He could do it with his twelve thousand troops.”

“General Assaba tried it two weeks ago, but he only brought fifty men in three boats. We had advance warning that he was coming. Our men were hiding in the trees along the river waiting for him. Fish in a barrel, Mr. Vice President. He tried to attack us, but we routed him with at least fifty-percent casualties. We had one man wounded in the leg, and no KIAs. He must have learned a lesson.”

“But could he come with a huge force?”

“Not with the boats he has now. He has no real Navy, and only six river patrol boats. He might move three hundred men if he was lucky. We could handle them, probably sink most of the boats with RPGs before he got within fifteen miles of our camp.”

“He knows that?”

“He should.”

Adams watched out the window, and saw that the boat turned into a tributary of the larger river. This one was much smaller, and the dense jungle grew down almost to the water's edge on both sides.

“In a setting like this you might recall the missions you ran for the Navy on the Nam rivers,” Mojombo said.

For a moment Commander Marshall Adams was back on a Black Navy killer boat on a Nam river and the rifle fire coming at them from the dense growth was murderous. Not even their .50-caliber cutting swaths through the jungle with the large-caliber bullets could slow down the Vietcong firing. More than once they had to turn downstream and race away from sudden death.

Adams looked at Mojombo Washington. “You won't tell me what to say on the SATCOM when I talk to the White House? You won't advise or pressure me in any way?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Good. How much farther to your camp?”

“Another hour, almost seven miles up this river.”

“It doesn't look that deep out there.”

“This is a water-jet-powered boat,” Mojombo said. “It can keep moving in less than a foot of water. No propeller to worry about, just a powerful jet of water rushing out the tubes in back.”

Adams watched the young man. He was confident, he was intelligent, and he evidently had some military training. But could he lead a ragtag bunch of citizen soldiers in a virtual revolution against the entrenched and powerful current government?

“You must have had some military training.”

Mojombo nodded. “Yes. Since I wasn't a citizen, I couldn't enroll in ROTC at college, but they allowed me to audit any courses that I wanted to. I took them all, so theoretically I'm at least a first lieutenant by now.”

“You do plan ahead, don't you?”

Vice President Adams heard shouting from the shore, and he looked out the window. There was a rickety dock along a strip of open land. He saw many fires and huts and one frame building.

The boat eased up to the dock. Mojombo went out of the cabin and shouted at the people. They shouted back and chanted something over and over again.

Adams went aft to see better. Quickly the people on shore brought baskets of goods to the boat and handed them on board. Mojombo spoke to the thirty people who had gathered at the landing. Most were men, but there were a
few women and children. Adams had a feeling that the whole village had turned out for the event.

After Mojombo spoke, he moved back a step on the boat and waved. Men on the dock cast off the lines and the engine revved up, and the boat edged back into the current, then powered upstream.

Mojombo came back into the cabin smiling. He carried two cold Cokes with him, and handed one to the Vice President.