The Peacemakers (47 page)

Jill relaxed into her chair and cradled her wine glass in both hands. As always, Vermullen was the perfect host and the dinner superb. She was content to listen as the four men talked. They were an odd mixture; the small and wiry Toby, the scholarly and reserved Sutherland, the lanky and edgy Allston, and the dominating presence of Vermullen. There was no doubt they were a band of brothers, complementing each other, yet different. She looked up to see Sutherland studying her. “Major Sharp, there is something I’ve been wondering about. Why did you show me all this?”

She decided to go with the truth. “Two reasons. First, we need a friend at court. Second, I trust you.”

“What a nice compliment,” Sutherland replied. “Colonel Allston, you know General Richards and I need to get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. All your C-130s are sitting on the ground but you won’t release one. May I ask why?”

“Because we are going to need them,” Allston answered. He checked his watch. “If Colonel Vermullen’s plan is on schedule, it won’t be too long.”

“So we wait,” Sutherland said. He held out his wine glass to be refilled.

Allston’s communicator buzzed just after midnight. He glanced at his dinner companions as he listened. “They’re here,” he announced.

“At the risk of sounding very stupid,” Sutherland said, “I’m guessing your guests are Sudanese Army troops from Malakal demanding you evacuate them to safety.”

“Very good, Colonel,” Vermullen replied. “You have deduced our little plan.”

“May I make a suggestion?” Sutherland asked. “Reverend Person, it would be best if you disappeared at this point.”

“You are afraid our guests will not arrive safely at their destination?” Vermullen wondered.

“The thought has crossed my mind.”

“I did consider it,” Vermullen explained, “but this is better.”

“I’ve got to see this,” Sutherland said, now totally hooked.

“We better get going,” Allston said. Toby stayed behind as they piled into their trucks and drove for the airstrip.

A very agitated Major Waleed was waiting for them. He paced back and forth beside his silver-blue Mercedes Benz sedan. “Do you always ignore the presence of your superior officers?” he snarled.

“My apologies, Major,” Allston replied, ignoring Waleed’s arrogance. “But we were not notified you were coming and were entertaining our guest, Lieutenant Colonel Sutherland.” He went through the formal introductions. “How may I help you?” Allston asked.

“I have been ordered to report to Khartoum and require you fly me there immediately.”

Allston looked at the soldiers Waleed had brought with him for muscle. They were all armed and milling around the C-130s. If the Jungle Telegraph was correct, they were all that was left of the garrison. “Yes, of course we can do that. We can also take your men, if you require.”

“I demand it,” Waleed said. “And my car.”

“Yes, we can take your car,” Allston said. “But weight will be a problem. You must either leave some men behind or your heavy weapons and much of your baggage. I will let you decide who stays and you can give the appropriate orders to your men. We can start loading immediately.” Waleed’s left eye ticked nervously. His soldiers wanted out of Malakal as badly as he did and were not in any mood to be left behind, especially when they could argue the point with an assault rifle. Allston offered him a way out. “Perhaps it would be best to let us handle it. I’m sure everything will go smoothly as long as we get everyone on board. And of course, your car.”

“Yes, of course,” Waleed said, breathing much easier.

Allston made a show of issuing orders and the ramp exploded in activity as aircrews appeared and loadmasters quickly loaded the C-130s. Within minutes all the soldiers and the Mercedes were on board. The ramp was littered with bags, suitcases, machine guns, mortars, and ammunition. Allston escorted Waleed to the first aircraft and ushered him up the crew entrance steps. He made a big show of waving his right arm in a start engines motion before climbing on board as the last passenger.

Sutherland was worried. “Is it safe taking them to Khartoum? Waleed’s an arrogant bastard here, what’s he going to be like on his home turf?”

“Who said anything about Khartoum?” Vermullen replied. He laughed at the look on the lawyer’s face and gave in. “I don’t think Waleed will recognize Juba as long as it is still dark when they land.”

“I’ll be damned!” Sutherland roared. “You’re taking them to the South Sudanese. You clever bastards. I would love to see that.”

Vermullen motioned at the last C-130. “Please, be our guest.” The lawyer ran for the Hercules.

“He’s having a great adventure,” Jill said. She had read the lawyer right.

“Who will tell your General Richards?” Vermullen asked.

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

Vermullen appreciated the use of the famous movie line by Clark Gable. “Perhaps we should tell her in the morning.” Jill followed him to his Panhard and got in. He cocked an eyebrow at her.

“Blame Mother Nature,” she told him.

TWENTY-TWO

Mission Awana

T
he far off drone of C-130s woke Richards from a fitful sleep. For a moment, she was back in time when a C-130 had woken her that first morning in Malakal. But this wasn’t Malakal and she was sleeping on a chaise lounge on the veranda of the guesthouse at Mission Awana. She pulled on her boots as the sound grew louder. She stepped to the railing just as four C-130s passed overhead in formation, echeloned to the right and a thousand feet above the ground. The roar pounded at her. Her eyes narrowed as she followed the aircraft. They flew over the approach end of the runway and pitched out to the left, in sequence, circling to land at thirty-second intervals. She didn’t recognize the classic overhead recovery of aircraft returning from combat. She had no idea where they had been, but was certain where at least one was going in the very near future. She ran for Mission House and the Operations Center. She barged into the center and confronted a very tired Dick Lane. “Where’s Allston,” she demanded.

Lane posted the arrival times of the C-130s on the scheduling boards with a Magic Marker and marked them all O.R., operationally ready. “He just landed and should be here in about twenty minutes,” Lane told her. “Can I get you some coffee?”

“You can get me a plane to Addis Ababa,” she said, her voice low and threatening. Lane handed her a cup of coffee that she eagerly grasped without a word.

“Thank you, Major,” Lane said.

Richards glared at him and stepped outside on the veranda. She didn’t have to wait long. The first six-pac truck arrived from the airfield jammed with two aircrews. Hank Sutherland was with them. The lawyer was dead tired and trudged up the steps. “Where have you been?” she demanded.

“Juba,” the lawyer answered. “It was the damnedest thing.” He followed the smell of coffee into Mission House. “They pulled off one fantastic con job and I was there. Colonel Vermullen came up with a plan to scare the Sudanese Army into evacuating Malakal. Major Sharp rang me in on it.” Richards stiffened at hearing Jill’s name. The general had a few scores to settle and was going to terminate her career. “The SA commander,” Sutherland continued, “a Major Waleed … he was the most arrogant bastard alive … showed up around midnight and demanded airlift to fly him to safety at Khartoum. But Allston wouldn’t do it without taking all of his men. That was why they were holding the C-130s on the ground. They had to do it while it was still dark.”

Suddenly, Richards sensed an opening. “You said Waleed ‘was.’ Did they kill him? Throw him out of the airplane without a parachute?”

Sutherland tried to keep a straight face, but failed miserably. “Not a bad idea, but no, they didn’t. They flew Waleed and his men to Juba. Waleed didn’t have a clue where they were because it was still dark. You should have seen that arrogant ass deflate when he got off the plane and realized where they were. Allston turned Waleed and his troops over to the South Sudanese, lock stock and barrel. It turns out that the International Criminal Court in the Hague has issued a warrant for Waleed’s arrest. He’s got a history going back to the genocide in Darfur.” He smiled broadly. “The world is gonna love him when he goes on trial.”

Richards wouldn’t let it go. “Flying the Sudanese Army anywhere is a violation of the UN’s peacekeeping charter. Who authorized it?”

“Allston.”

“Got him!”

“I don’t think so, General. The International Criminal Court was created by the UN and Allston can argue that his job over here is to support the UN.”

Another truck arrived and Allston got out with the crew. He hadn’t slept in twenty-four hours, and his face was lined with fatigue. Richards went on the offensive and demanded a C-130 immediately fly her and Sutherland to Addis Ababa. “Let’s go see what’s available,” Allston said, trudging inside. Lane was waiting with a cup of coffee and handed it to him. “Thanks, Dick,” Allston said. He sipped the strong brew and studied the scheduling boards.

“They’re all operational,” Richards sneered. “Do you have any other excuses?”

“I’ve got one damn good reason. I only have two flight crews available to fly. All the rest, me included, are beyond our crew duty day and have to go into crew rest. Hopefully, those two crews will each fly four or five sorties in the next twelve hours. If we’re lucky, they can rescue another twelve to fifteen hundred Dinka and Nuer before it gets dark and we have to knock off. Unless you literally have a life or death reason for going to Addis Ababa, I’ll have a crew available twelve hours from now to fly you there.”

Richards was shouting. “You know damn good and well why we need to go to Addis!”

Allston deliberately pitched his voice to sound reasonable, egging on her anger. “No, I don’t.”

Richards lost it. “You expect me to believe that bitch didn’t tell you!”

“Which bitch tell me what?”

“General,” Sutherland counseled, “we need to discuss this, outside, in private.” Richards stalked out. Sutherland turned to Allston. “Do you have any idea why we need airlift?”

“Not a clue,” Allston told him.

Sutherland wasn’t upset in the least. “A flight this evening will be fine. I can use the time to make some phone calls and send a few e-mails. By the way, Colonel, that was one fine piece of work last night. Thanks for letting me go along. “

“You’re more than welcome,” Allston said. “Major Lane here will make sure you get everything you need. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna hit the sack.”

“Not to worry, Boss,” Lane said. “I got it here.”