The Peacemakers (41 page)

Allston’s communicator buzzed at him. It was Malone with the news that he had discovered how the Janjaweed had gotten inside the mission compound. “On my way.” He broke the connection. “Thanks, Toby.” Another thought came to him. “Do you have a casualty count?”

“All told, nine killed, twenty-five wounded, two seriously who I don’t expect to make it.”

“What about the Janjaweed?”

“Eight of the dead and sixteen of the wounded were Janjaweed. One Dinka was killed and five were wounded. Only four of your troops were wounded, none seriously. It could have been worse, much worse. The jungle telegraph says this was a disaster for them. Sergeant Malone and his cops did a great job.”

“I’ll relay that to Malone. What about the Janjaweed I shot?”

“He’ll make it. The wound was far from fatal.”

For a reason he didn’t understand, Allston felt better. “Thanks again.” He walked to the bunker Malone used for his command center. His left shin throbbed as he hobbled along. Before long, a group of children surrounded him and followed along. One little girl held his hand as two boys mimicked the way he walked. Malone was waiting for him and chased the kids away after passing out some hard rock candy he had received from home. “Whatcha got?” Allston asked.

Malone led him inside where a security cop and a maintenance crew chief were waiting. “This is Sergeant Lee Ford, one of my flight commanders,” Malone said, “and Sergeant Wayne Byers from Maintenance. They were teamed last night and posted out for guard duty.” He tapped a wall chart that showed the numerous defensive fire positions the security police were digging on the mission’s perimeter. “They were assigned to the DFP nearest the river. They fell asleep and the Janjaweed forded the river and slipped past them.”

“Who reported they fell asleep?” Allston asked.

“I did,” Ford, the security cop, replied.

“Ah, shit,” Allston moaned. He sat down, his leg hurting even more. “Call Colonel Malaby. We need to sort this out.”

“She’s on the way,” Malone said. As Byers was assigned to Maintenance as a crew chief, Malone had anticipated Allston would want her involved. As usual, the hyper lieutenant colonel arrived in overdrive. She listened impatiently as Malone repeated how the Janjaweed were able to attack because the two men had fallen asleep on guard duty.

Allston told Ford and Byers to wait outside and out of earshot. They double-timed out. “What do you recommend I do?”

“Nothing,” Malaby said. “Look, my people have not let up since we got here. They’re turning aircraft, digging foxholes, filling sandbags, and then standing guard duty. They’re dropping in their tracks. Just how much more do you expect of them, Colonel?”

“It’s the same with my cops,” Malone said.

Allston pulled into himself. He was pushing his people to the limit and then asking for more. What right did he have to demand the impossible? How much more could they give? “Call them in,” he told Malone. The two men marched in and stood at attention. “I don’t have to tell you how serious this is,” Allston began. “I also know there are extenuating circumstances, and that we got lucky with only four of our troops wounded. But an innocent Dinka was killed and five were wounded because of you. In your favor, you came forward and blew the whistle, even though that meant incriminating yourselves. Is there anything else you want me to consider in your defense?” He waited to hear what they had to say.

Ford gulped. He came to attention. “No excuse, sir. I’m learning to speak a little Dinka … I’ll take any punishment you give me … just don’t send me home.”

“Same for me, sir,” Byers said.

“Why should I keep you here?” Allston asked.

The cop’s answer surprised Allston. “Because my buddies are here and I won’t let them down again.”

“Same for me, sir,” Byers said. He was a man of limited vocabulary but he spoke to C-130s with a rare understanding.

“Give ‘em to me, sir,” Malone said. “They’ll wish you had court-martialed their sorry asses instead.”

“Colonel Malaby?” Allston asked.

“Okay by me. I got more crew chiefs than I need, which, by the way, we need to talk about.”

“Sergeant Malone, “ Allston said, “you got ‘em.” He stood and hobbled outside, his leg feeling much better. Malaby was right behind him.

“Colonel Allston,” she called. He waited for her to catch up, which given her normal state of hustle, took two seconds. “Sir, thank you.” Before he could ask what for, she said, “Do you have an extra hat?”

Allston couldn’t believe it. “Is mine okay?” He held out his bush hat. She ripped off her blue beret and jammed the bush hat on her short-cropped hair. “Why?”

“That was the right call in there.” Her words were matter-of-fact but the way she held her head said it all. “We flew over two thousand Dinkas to safety yesterday. For the first time in my career, I’m doing something that really matters.”

“Welcome to the Irregulars, Colonel Malaby.” He saluted her.

Allston sat in Toby’s office and flipped through the after action report detailing the raid and what they had learned. It was the second time he had read it and was looking for a specific item. He found it. “Excellent work, Major Sharp. Get this on the wires ASAP.” He handed the report to her. “There is one thing that I want to be sure I’ve got right. You shot and killed the three Janjaweed who made the mistake of breaking into the guesthouse.” She only nodded, not wanting to discuss it. “Okay, one last question. Where did you learn to handle a weapon like that?”

Jill’s chin came up and she fixed him with a determined look. “Sir, I can’t answer that.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked. She didn’t respond and he tried to stare her into talking. It didn’t work. “Let’s start over,” he finally said. “You took out three of the eight bastards we morted. Further, you fired six times and all six bullets found a target. You did this in near dark conditions.” His eyes blinked as he connected the dots. I can’t believe I’m so stupid, he thought. “And you are able to run around with the locals all by yourself as if you were a native.”

“I do speak Swahili, sir. And I am picking up a little Nuer.” The last was an understatement.

“True,” Allston conceded. “And you know things. According to Colonel Vermullen, you’re wired into the jungle telegraph. You may well be, but I think there is a better reason.” He waited for her response. Again, he was greeted with silence. “Major Sharp, I think you know people.” Again, no reply, and his frustration level ratcheted up a notch. “There are obviously things I don’t know about you and what you are doing that can affect our mission here. I need to know and it’s time you came clean.”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

He didn’t know what to do. She was a vital member of his staff and he doubted that he could replace her with anyone half as competent. But did he completely trust her? He didn’t have an answer and needed to think about it. When he was completely honest with himself, he did like her. But that had little to do with his job. Or did it? “Major Sharp, you puzzle me, and that’s a problem. Dismissed.” She spun around and rushed out of the room.

She stopped in the hallway, her back to him. Just as quickly, she returned and shut the door. She stood in front of him as tears coursed down her cheeks. “Five years ago, I was recruited by the Boys in the Basement as a special agent.” Allston had heard of the Boys and suspected they had a connection to Special Operations and Intelligence. “Part of my training,” she continued, “involved extensive weapons training. I was recruited primarily based on my language skills … and for other reasons …” She took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “African men find my type of figure appealing.” She was brutally honest. “Sexually.” She paused, her face now hard as stone. “For two years, I was on special assignment in Nairobi.”

An inner voice warned Allston to drop the subject, which, like a fool, he disregarded. “You were engaged in humint?” Humint is human intelligence or old-fashioned spying. A little nod answered him. “A Kenyan?” Her eyes said yes. Then he knew. “Why are you telling me all this?”

“Because, I …” her voice trailed off. Then, very firmly, “Because I’m ashamed of what I did. I seduced a nice man with a lovely family. Like an idiot, he talked too much, trying to impress me. He was taking kickbacks from OPEC and Iran, supposedly for his tribe. But instead of funneling the money to his tribe, he used most of it to buy off rival tribes so they would cooperate with him in the national government. It was a very dangerous game if his tribe discovered what he was doing. I reported everything he told me. The CIA picked it up … I was sent home.”

“And the prime minister ended up dead,” Allston said. The Kenyan press had reported it as a suicide but there were many rumors to the contrary.

“Then his clan butchered his family.” Her voice was shaking. “Because of the money.”

Allston didn’t know what to say. He managed a lame, “It wasn’t your fault.”

Jill stood there, now dry-eyed and composed. “Yes, it was. Will there be anything else, sir?”

For the first time, he saw her for what she was, a very attractive, intelligent, and competent woman who got caught up in a situation beyond her control, and was now paying the price for it. For her, responsibility came with the job. “Thank you for your candor, Major Sharp. I hope we can still work together.” She spun around and walked out, leaving him alone. “Damn,” he muttered. Why did she tell me all that? he thought.