Mission of Honor (46 page)

The woman glared at Seronga for a moment. Then she swore. “You did it, didn’t you?”

Again, Seronga did not have to respond.

“You warned your camp that the soldiers were out there,” she yelled. “Why? That was not part of our arrangement.”

“My people had to be prepared,” Seronga replied.

“What your people had to do was move from the target area!” Aideen said. “They had to get away from the Botswanan helicopters. That was why we gave you the intel.”

“Dhamballa might have encountered the Spaniards en route,” Seronga pointed out. “The two soldiers who invaded our camp were traveling independent of the others.”

“That’s possible,” Aideen agreed. “At the very least, we should have been consulted about your plans.”

“If the Spaniards had not engaged us, you would never have known about this,” Seronga pointed out.

“If you had not kidnapped Father Bradbury, none of us would be in this situation!” Aideen snapped. *

“That kind of lashing out is not going to help!” Seronga snapped back.

“You’re right,” Aideen admitted. “Let’s deal with this. Were there any injuries?”

“There were four fatalities,” Seronga told her. “Two of theirs and two of ours,” he said.

Seronga could see Aideen regarding him in the green glow of the dashboard. Her expression was cold.

“Stop the truck,” the woman said to Finn.

“What are you doing?” Seronga asked.

“I want out!” Aideen yelled. The woman turned in the cramped space of the cabin. She reached for the door handle. She reached out the window to open it from the outside.

Seronga reached across and grabbed her wrist.

“Let me go!” Aideen yelled. “I’m getting myself and my people out of here now.”

“Wait! Listen to me!” Seronga said angrily.

“You treat people like bugs,” she declared. “They bother you, you swat them. I won’t listen to you. We won’t be a party to that.”

“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “The Spaniards came into our camp, armed for a fight. They tried to get away with Father Bradbury.”

Aideen turned back to him. “What?”

“They broke into the shack where he was staying,” Seronga said. “We cornered them with tear gas and attempted to apprehend them. We wanted to take them alive. If the Spaniards had surrendered, no one would have been hurt. They would have been held until it was feasible to set them free. Instead, they tried to shoot their way out.”

“You’re saying the Spaniards went ahead with a rescue attempt, even after we asked them to fall back?” she asked.

Seronga nodded.

“I can’t believe that,” she said.

“If you wish, you can speak to Father Bradbury yourself. He will tell you that he was removed and another was put in his place.” Seronga held the radio toward her.

“I wouldn’t know if it were really Father Bradbury or not,” she said.

“I anticipated that,” Seronga said. He took a scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “I had my men provide me with the serial numbers of the Star 30PK pistols carried by the Spanish soldiers. You can relay those to your superiors. Have them check the numbers against the weapons that were issued to the soldiers. You will see I am telling the truth.”

Aideen accepted the paper. “I will. It still won’t prove your soldiers didn’t hunt the men down.”

“What did we have to gain?” Seronga asked. “We already had the priest. We did not need more hostages. We certainly did not need another reason for the Botswana military to move against us.”

“I don’t know about that,” Aideen said. “Maybe you and your leader are developing martyr complexes.”

“That is far from the case,” Seronga replied. “For me, it’s too late in life. And for Dhamballa, it is too early. He’s only just begun his ministry. Maybe that is why I’m being so protective. He does not yet have the kind of following that will afford him protection from retribution.”

“You might have told us all of this,” Aideen said. “You could have taken us into your confidence.”

“Sometimes people listen better after a thing is done,” Seronga told her. “What is most important now is not what happened. What matters is what happens next. Dhamballa has left the swamp. That will leave the air patrol searching, but not for very long.”

“We must convince them you still have the priest and will not harm him,” Aideen said. “Will you turn him over, though?”

“That is for Dhamballa to say,” Seronga told her. “But if you can hold them off, I will do as I promised. I will find a peaceable solution to this crisis. But neither the Botswana military nor the Spanish must attack my people.”

“You were a soldier. Don’t you know any people in the military?” Aideen asked.

“Some,” he admitted.

“Can’t you talk to them?”

Seronga smiled sadly. “Dhamballa represents change. Even if I could talk to my old friends, they stand to lose a great deal under a new government. They are not idealists. They are policemen.”

“I understand,” Aideen said.

Seronga apologized again for having acted without consulting Aideen. Then he had Finn catch up to the Jeep. Aideen rejoined her team. The two vehicles continued toward the rendezvous point.

The Brush Viper did not know if a nonviolent resolution were possible. The Botswanans clearly had an agenda. Perhaps the Vatican did as well. That was the elimination of possible insurgents.

There was only one way they could succeed, and Seronga would not allow that to happen.

For that, he would gladly give up his life. Not as a martyr, as Aideen had suggested, but as what he had always been: a soldier.

Washington, D.C. Friday, 4:41 P.M.

Paul Hood, Bob Herbert, and Mike Rodgers were still in Hood’s office, waiting for word from the field. Rodgers had spent the time studying computer files on the Botswana military. In case his people needed the information, Rodgers wanted to know the range, weapons configuration, and maneuvering capabilities of the helicopters. He also wanted to know how many men were on board each chopper. The answers were not encouraging. The Air Wing of the Botswana Defense Forces flew French Aerospatiale AS 332 Super Puma helicopters. They carried up to twenty-five troops each and could be configured to carry a variety of weapons. The choppers had a range of four hundred miles. That was enough to reach the swamp and then set out on a new search. If the squadron was traveling with a tanker ship, they could set off in another direction almost immediately.

Hood was on the phone with the president’s national security adviser. Now that Americans were in a potential war zone, it was time to brief the White House.

“Where are the helicopters now?” Hood asked after giving the president an overview of the situation.

Herbert was looking at a radar feed into his wheelchair computer. “The choppers are holding their position at the edge of the swamp,” he replied. “I’m guessing they were surprised by Dhamballa’s change of plans.”

“Mike, does that mean they’ll have to turn back?” Hood asked.

“Not necessarily,” Rodgers replied. 

The general told him about the strengths and limitations of the aircraft the Botswanans were using. Hood passed the information to the president. Hood told the commander in chief he would report back as soon as he had any news. Then he hung up and exhaled loudly.

“How did he take it?” Herbert asked.

“He does not want any of our people firing a shot,” Hood said. “If for some reason they get snagged by the Botswanans, they’re to go quietly.”

“Go quietly and stay in prison so the Botswanans don’t lose face,” Herbert said. “Then, if we’re lucky, Gaborone will believe they were tourists who got off track somehow.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Hood said.

“Are you going to tell Aideen that?” Rodgers asked.

“What would you do?” Hood asked. “It’s your operation.”

“I’d tell them to do whatever is necessary to survive and exit,” Rodgers replied. “I certainly wouldn’t leave them defenseless.”

“I agree,” Hood said. “Aideen won’t use violence unless it’s absolutely necessary. And if that becomes necessary, the U.S. will have to deal with whatever happens.”

“We all agree,” Herbert said. ” ‘Out of chaos does come order.’

“Or worse chaos,” Rodgers said. “That’s something 
Nietzsche
 and I never agreed on.”

Herbert’s mouth twisted, and he pondered that as Darrell McCaskey joined them.

“What’s new on the Japanese front?” Hood asked him.

“Something that may or may not have any bearing on what’s going on in Botswana,” McCaskey said.

McCaskey appeared to have regained some of the old G-man steel. Rodgers was glad to see it.

“A group of Japanese tourists was stopped at customs in Gaborone three days ago,” McCaskey said. “They were bringing all kinds of electronics into the country. The Botswanans let them in. According to the hotel records, two of the tourists never checked in. I tried to run them down but could not find them. However, two Japanese tourists did show up, renting a car in Maun. There was no record of those two having entered the country.”

“You think they’re the same people?” Hood asked.

“The timing works if they took the afternoon bus from Gaborone to Maun,” McCaskey said.

McCaskey fell silent as Rodgers’s phone beeped. The general answered immediately.

“Yes?” Rodgers said.

“It’s Aideen,” said the caller. “Two Spanish soldiers tried to rescue someone they thought was Father Bradbury. They were killed.”

“Oh Jesus,” Rodgers said.

The other men looked at him.

“The Vodunists lost two men,” Aideen added. “The priest is still with Dhamballa.”

“When did this happen?” Rodgers asked.

He noticed a crack in McCaskey’s tough expression. Rodgers felt bad for him, but he could explain that nothing had happened to his wife. Not yet.

“The attack came at about eleven-thirty, local time,” Aideen replied.

“After we called Kline,” Rodgers said.

“That’s right,” Aideen said. “Seronga had left the priest and several men behind as decoys. The Spaniards went for it. I have serial numbers for the weapons they were carrying as proof.”

Aideen gave Rodgers the serial numbers. He wrote them down. Rodgers immediately recognized the PK prefix as belonging to the Star pistols carried by the Spanish military. He confirmed to Aideen that, apparently, they had gone in. Rodgers covered the mouthpiece. He asked Hood to get Edgar Kline on the line.

“What is it?” Herbert pressed.

Hood held up a finger as Aideen continued.

“The Vodunists will allow the Botswana military or the VSO to talk to Father Bradbury, to prove that they have him,” Aideen went on. “We are very much trying to find a nonviolent way out of this.”

“Do you need to be involved in that?” Rodgers asked.

“I don’t think Seronga can do it alone,” Aideen said. “If the Botswana military shows up, my sense is that they’ll shoot first and justify it later. But if they know that Father Bradbury is here and we are here“

“Understood. How much time do you need?” Rodgers asked.

“About two hours,” Aideen replied.

“I’ll try to get that for you,” Rodgers assured her.

“We should be linking up with Dhamballa in less than an hour,” Aideen said. “Father Bradbury will arrive shortly after that. We will call you on this phone. You’ll have to put him through to the authorities, convince them that he is well. If we can delay the attack, we can also prove that the Brush Vipers had nothing to do with the death of Bishop Max.”

“I like it,” Rodgers said. “What we don’t know is whether that will satisfy Gaborone’s needs.”

“I’m hoping we can also get the Brush Vipers to disband,” Aideen said. “I spoke with Seronga. I think they’ve had enough.”

“All right,” Rodgers said. “We’ll work it on this end. Meanwhile, is everyone all right?”

“So far,” she replied.

“Good,” Rodgers said. “Hang in. I’ll get word to Kline. And Aideen?”

“Yes?”

“If we can’t pull this off and it gets hairy, you bail,” Rodgers said. “All of you.”

“We will,” she promised.

Rodgers clicked off. He looked at McCaskey. “They’re all right,” Rodgers told him.

The former FBI agent eased visibly.

Rodgers looked at Hood. “Have you got him on the line?”

“He’s coming,” Hood said.

Rodgers asked Hood to put the phone on speaker. Rodgers briefed the others while he waited. He was just finishing when Kline picked up.

“What is it, Paul?” Kline said.

“No, this is Mike Rodgers. Mr. Kline, about forty-five minutes ago, two members of the Unidad Especial tried to take Father Bradbury by force,” Rodgers told him.

“Are you sure?” Kline asked.

“Yes,” Rodgers replied. “They were killed. So were two Brush Vipers.”

“Bloody hell,” Kline said.

“It must have been,” Rodgers agreed.

“General Rodgers, you must believe me; I had no knowledge about the Spanish soldiers,” Kline said. “They were ordered to stand down. The message we sent was received and acknowledged. I don’t know what happened in the field. Perhaps the Brush Vipers were the aggressors.”

“That isn’t the story I was told, but it is not important at this moment,” Rodgers said. “What I need you to do is keep the Spanish and the Botswana military away. You know we have people on site. They need two hours. They think the Brush Vipers can be persuaded to disband.”

“General, I obviously didn’t have a lot of pull with our people. I certainly don’t have a lot of sway with Gaborone,” Kline said. “None of us does. That was why we had to go to Spain in the first place. I also don’t know if the Botswana government will accept a delay or even the surrender of Dhamballa. This isn’t only about justice anymore. It’s about seeming to appear weak. They can’t afford that, especially if the Brush Vipers did in fact kill those Spanish soldiers.”

“I understand,” Rodgers said. “Which is why you have to convince Gaborone that if they attack, Father Bradbury will die. So will my people. Maybe it will help if you tell them that they are three American tourists who were picked up by the Brush Vipers.”

Herbert shook his head vigorously. “Gaborone could use that kind of standoff for publicity,” the intelligence chief said. “They may want to show off their hostage negotiating skills.”