Under Siege (22 page)

“I agree,” Murdock said. “The three capitals of the country. Bloemfontein is closest to Durban, only three hundred miles away. Then there is Pretoria, about three hundred and fifty miles away. Four prime locations.”

“He wouldn’t go back to Cape Town,” Mahanani said. “Too far.”

“Stroh?” Murdock asked.

“My guess is the two capitals to the north and Durban.
He might mess with us and come back to Port Elizabeth. So we cover those four spots. The jet can drop off teams. We’ll have to establish telephone setup so we can stay in contact without a SATCOM.”

“We need civvies,” Jaybird said. “With our cammies anyone at the drop site can spot us a mile away.”

Murdock looked at Stroh. The CIA man shrugged. “Give me your pants and shirt sizes. Jaybird you gather the sizes. I’ll find a store somewhere and buy them out. Who goes where, Murdock?”

Jaybird began writing down each man’s sizes.

“J.G., you take three men and get out to Pretoria as soon as you get your new pants. DeWitt, you grab three men and the jet will drop you off at Bloemfontein on the way to Pretoria. The jet comes back to the coast to Durban where I’ll have Jaybird, Lam, and Howard. Stroh, you get command of Port Elizabeth. Everyone choose up sides.”

“We’re skins,” Jaybird said.

Howard punched him on the shoulder and Jaybird fell down wailing in pseudo pain. Nobody laughed.

Don Stroh took the sizes and hurried out the door.

“Weapons?” Gardner asked.

“Handguns, one MP-5 per team. Keep it concealed in a box or a bag. I’ve got a hunch we’ll do a hell of a lot more running and watching than shooting. Let’s get this operation in motion.”

Durban, South Africa

Eleanor Hardesty sat in the hotel room watching TV. The reception wasn’t the best, but Hollywood Western from the sixties was coming through. She had the sound turned down so low she couldn’t hear part of the conversations. Badri sat at the small desk working with a pen and pad of paper. He had scrapped half a dozen sheets so far.

Tuesday evening. She wondered what was going on at the White House tonight. Something was always happening.
She didn’t have to go to every event, thank goodness. She knew that Badri was working out the arrangements to pick up the two suitcases stuffed with five million dollars each. How to pick them up and vanish without getting caught was his big problem.

For just a moment she thought about
The Ransom of Red Chief.
She forgot who wrote it. About a little devil of a twelve-year-old boy some ne’er-do-wells kidnapped. The kid gave the kidnappers such a bad time that they kept lowering the ransom. At last they agreed that if the father would come and grab the boy and hold him until the kidnappers could get away, they would give the father $20.

Maybe she could be a Red Chief to Badri? She decided it wouldn’t work. He’d just shoot her and end the game.

She had noticed at once that this room had twin beds. She wouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. She went into the bathroom, locked the door, and had a shower. It was worth it even if she did have to put the same clothes back on. She felt better when she came out.

“You still working on your delivery plan?”

Badri looked up. “You want to help me?”

“Oh, no, you’re so much better at being sneaky and underhanded than I am.”

He scowled at her and went back to his writing. She looked at her watch. “Incidentally, your four hours are up and Washington hasn’t called you.”

“Good. I’m not ready for them.”

“You’ll never be ready for them. You realize you’re taking on the whole might of the United States of America? That’s over three hundred million people, all who are mad at you right now. Your puny little country must not have fifty million. We could swallow you up and not even burp. I saw on the news about the Iran-Iraq war, the new one that started last week, about the time you kidnapped me. Any connection, buster? You don’t seem like you’re trying very hard to get that ransom. More like a stall. Are you trying to
divert attention from your country’s use of anthrax in your invasion of Iraq? You know the close ties the U.S. has had with Iraq since we liberated that country from Saddam Hussein. Close. Close enough so that we used our jet fighter-bombers to wreck about a thousand of your tanks. It’s all on the news. Haven’t you been watching any of the news?”

“Shut up, you pig! Shut up, you slut with ears. Just shut your mouth and let me think. I’ve got to get this just right, then I’ll live anywhere I want to with more money than I’ll ever need. Don’t you get it yet? I don’t care about the damn war. I just want the money!” He was panting when he finished. His face was red again and she was afraid he was going to reach for his gun. He didn’t. At last he turned to the small desk and his pad of paper.

She looked back to the TV. She shouldn’t antagonize him, she told herself. He was so easy to get all furious and red-faced. No, she had to maintain and overcome and stay alive. Her big job, to stay alive. Badri kept working and throwing away papers. The First Lady dozed. When she woke up the ten o’clock news was over. Badri stood and grinned.

“Done,” he said. “I’m calling Washington.”

He got a response on his first try.

“Washington, good to hear from you. Is the package ready?”

“It is, ten million in one hundred dollar bills packed into two canvas bags tied together. Going with an armed guard on UPS Air with a pickup in an hour and a half at six
P.M.
local time.”

“Good. Send it to the Three Star Hotel in Pretoria, South Africa. It’s on Easterside Street. Take it to the office, where the office manager will give the delivery man new directions. That’s all you get to know right now.”

“When will you release Mrs. Hardesty? As soon as you get the money?”

“That will depend if you’ve called off your military
detachment that’s been tracking me. Get rid of them, or get a First Lady finger.” He switched the set off immediately.

Mrs. Hardesty frowned. “Badri, that doesn’t sound very sneaky to me.”

“We’re just getting started, Mrs. President. Just the first little hint of what’s to come.”

Port Elizabeth, South Africa

It was nearly 2330 when the SATCOM came on. Stroh had been waiting for it and sat up on his bunk. When the transmission by Badri finished, he frowned. Deliver it to a hotel in Pretoria. Only not deliver it, there they would give more delivery instructions. Would there be a new delivery site for UPS to handle?

Three hours before, Stroh had seen the other SEALs board the Coast Guard jet and take off. All had on civvies, mostly khaki or blue pants and shirts. He had grabbed them quickly. Now he checked the phone network they had set up. He had two phones in the barracks. He called J.G. Gardner in Pretoria, who had been dropped off second. He had set up in a small hotel and established the phone number and called Stroh.

“Yeah, they’re coming here first,” J.G. said. “But you said it’s just a forwarding location? That the UPS guys are going to take the cash somewhere else?”

“That’s what it sounded like. Check out that hotel and see what they know about it. We figure it could take twenty-four to thirty-six hours to get there.”

“We’ll be waiting.”

Stroh tried to call DeWitt in Bloemfontein. He had been dropped off first but evidently hadn’t set up in a hotel yet. He was supposed to call in with a hot number as soon as he was situated. No rush. The cash couldn’t get there for some time.

Just after 0030, Stroh’s phone rang in the barracks. He had drifted off.

“Murdock here in Durban. We’re set.” He gave Stroh the phone number. “I also have a SATCOM. So far nothing on the DC channel. We can talk on some other channel if you want.”

“For now the phone sounds safer.”

“Nobody said how long it would take to get the goods there,” Murdock said. “Any idea?”

“Could be twenty-four to thirty-six hours, but that could be off by a day or two. It’s watch and wait. How are the new duds?”

“Hey, you did good. They almost fit. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Don Stroh hung up the phone. What time was it in DC? They were seven hours behind South African time. Just after midnight here, that would make it after five
P.M.
in Washington. Might catch the boss in. He flipped the SATCOM to the CIA channel and called.

“This is South Africa calling. Anyone home?”

There was some dead air. Then the word came back.

“Just about out the door, Stroh. You have your men set up?”

“Right. We’re in four major cities where he might forward the package. Any idea when delivery might be?”

“We have a small change in plans. UPS wouldn’t take the package. Too much liability in case of loss. So we’re sending a pair of F-15s to Pretoria on a Friendship Fly-in. We’ve already cleared it with State and they have talked to the embassy down there and it’s a go. Makes a difference time-wise. The planes will be taking off in about a half hour. They move quickly, over sixteen hundred miles an hour at altitude. Can jump over two thousand miles without a drink. We’re plotting their route now out of Andrews. My planners tell me it’s about a sixteen-thousand-mile jaunt. So with two midair refuelings, the run should take about twelve hours to Pretoria.”

“It’s midnight here now, so that would get them into Pretoria about noon tomorrow. Sounds good. Have you told Badri yet?”

“About to do that. Listen in on that channel. This is one we can’t fail on, Stroh. That’s the First Lady we’re trying to save out there.”

“We’re all too aware of that Mr. Director. We’ll do everything we can, and we will get her free and catch this maniac.”

“Oh, and save the ten million if you can. I’m out of here.”

Stroh changed channels to get on the number four that Badri used to talk to Washington. The set spoke three minutes later.

“Badri, I hope you’re listening. We’ve had a change in delivery plans.”

There was no response. Stroh stared at the SATCOM willing it to bring word from Badri. The director made the call twice more, then waited. Stroh tried to figure out what the next step would be from Pretoria, but he had no idea. The two packages could be sent anywhere by air, or rail, or even a Volkswagen bus.

Five minutes later the SATCOM spoke again, with the director’s call to Badri. This time he responded.

“CIfuckingA. What do you mean a change in delivery plans? I spelled it out. No changes possible.”

“You didn’t check with UPS first, Badri. They don’t transport cash, diamonds, or bearer bonds. Too much of a risk factor. So, we’re flying the packages out today. It’s about 5:30
P.M.
here. Two Air Force F-15 fighters will arrive in Pretoria about twelve hours later and hire a taxi to make the delivery to the hotel. Best we can do.”

There was dead air space.

“Badri, do you copy?”

“Yes, I got it. That will work for me. They should be at the hotel with the items at one
P.M.
tomorrow. Have you pulled back your military hit men yet?”

“They have orders to disengage and return to the States.”

“Sounds good, if true. Just get the damn money here on
time. When I have it, and your military is long gone, then we talk about releasing the First Lady. I’m through here.”

Stroh left the set on RECEIVE and used the telephone to call J.G. Gardner in Pretoria. He laid out the new delivery schedule.

“We’ll be ready. We have two rooms at the hotel. We’ll have it covered front, back, and all the windows. Wherever that cash goes from here, we’ll be astraddle it but not holding it back. Hope we can call you with the where as soon as we find out.”

“The hotel manager know why you’re there?”

“Yes, and he’s cooperating. Someone there has to know the new directions before the package arrives. We hope that he’ll tell us so we can get a jump on the next leg of the delivery.”

“Sounds good. I’ve got to tell the others about the new schedule. Keep up the good work.”

Stroh alerted the other two elements about the changes, then tried to get Murdock in Durban. He said he’d heard the word on the SATCOM. Stroh told him to get some sleep. The CIA man lay there on his bunk near the four SEALs. He usually didn’t get this involved in the field, but he was glad he was here. He could help. He could pave the way, coordinate, and hopefully bring this mission to a successful conclusion. The more he thought about it the more he realized that this was his life. What else did he have? No family. One failed marriage fifteen years ago that still gave him pains. One son somewhere. Phil would be almost eighteen now. Maybe Phil would join the Navy. Stroh turned over but it didn’t help. Sleep was the last thing his body was willing to allow right then.

Fifteen years with the Company. Yeah, he’d done all right, but not spectacular. He wasn’t even a section head yet. That would mean giving up the SEALs and the CNO and the president. No way. He would stay right where he was as long as he could get out with the SEALs. As long as
nobody was shooting at him. He’d been in a few shootouts with the troops. No fun. Well, yes, it was a kind of gut-pumping terror/thrill that he’d seldom had. The idea that either you killed the bastards out there or they would kill you could have startling, mind-wrenching effects, especially on a desk jockey like him.

He went over the problem again. How to nail this Badri and at the same time keep the First Lady from any harm. If Badri saw that he was cornered or that he was wounded and couldn’t win, Stroh knew for certain that the Arab would kill the First Lady. That was a given. They had to take him out clean or capture him when the First Lady was not near him. Either one would be a hell of a tough job. Tomorrow? Was there anything else that he could do to make tomorrow a winning day for them? He went over it again and again. There was only one person who could know what would happen after they went to the hotel in Pretoria. And that one person, Badri, wasn’t about to tell them a thing.

Durban, South Africa

Far up the coast from Stroh at Durban, Murdock was restless, too. He and the men took two hotel rooms near the tourist/hotel area and then waited. There was nothing more they could do right then except be ready. Murdock rented a car and put it in the hotel garage where he could get to it quickly. He’d be on standby with the rest of his men, waiting for any talk on the SATCOM. They had heard the exchange between Badri and the CIA in Washington. The advanced schedule was good. So the Air Force pilots would fly into Pretoria about noon tomorrow and taxi into the city to deliver the goods. Would they be transported to the next drop or would someone else show up to make the run?