Читать книгу Armed Resistance - Don Pendleton - Страница 11

CHAPTER FIVE

Kampala, Uganda

It was late afternoon when traffic control cleared Jack Grimaldi to land at the airport and directed him to a private hangar—at least that’s what Ugandan air traffic officials called it. A half dozen uniformed security officers with SMGs slung at their sides waited. They wore brown khaki uniforms with utility caps but the weapons made them look more like military troops than police.

As Grimaldi taxied the Stony Man Gulfstream C21 to a halt, McCarter stepped to the main door and disengaged the locks. The engines had barely wound down when the Phoenix Force leader pushed the door out, letting it fall into debarking position. He then stepped aside and gestured for Hawkins to go first since it was Hawkins who could most convincingly act like a Texas oil baron.

As soon as Hawkins’s feet hit the tarmac, a man wearing black epaulettes with a circle and diamond on them—the rank insignia for an inspector—stepped forward smartly and extended his hand.

“Good day, sir.” The man had very dark skin and an impenetrable expression. “I am Captain Bukenya of the Ugandan Police Force. Please note until I have cleared you that you are not free to leave this area, and that your persons and aircraft are subject to inspection now or at any time that you are in Uganda or its airspace. Before I begin my inspection, have you anything to declare?”

“I have something to declare, all right!” Hawkins said in good-old-boy fashion while pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and wiping his neck. “It is blessed hot in this country here and I mean hot, boy! We don’t get anywhere near this kind of humidity in Texas. You hear what I’m saying?”

Bukenya appeared unaffected and instead directed his men to begin their inspection. They fanned out, two covering Hawkins and his entourage with their weapons held loosely at the ready while three more headed for the plane. The inspector nodded to the remaining officer, who ordered them to line up and patted down each man in turn.

Phoenix Force took the entire parade in stride, confident the more cooperative they acted the quicker they could move past this. The men who went aboard the plane cleared Grimaldi from the cockpit first but the pilot gestured toward McCarter to indicate he had a close eye on them. They had no reason to worry since the armory aboard their plane was well concealed in the fuselage and boasted electronic scanning countermeasures developed by Stony Man’s resident cybernetics wizard, Aaron “Bear” Kurtzman. Short of tearing the plane apart, the inspection team wouldn’t even know it existed.

The inspection took less than five minutes—something McCarter noted with interest. He wondered if there hadn’t been a little influence wielded by the Oval Office but dismissed the idea as quickly. It wouldn’t be in their best interest for the U.S. to alert Ugandan officials that Phoenix Force was anything other than who they declared: oil tycoons with a Texas-based petroleum company. The cover seemed adequate considering the large number of such interests in Uganda. The country was a gold mine for trade with U.S. refineries, in particular, and trading continued free of a good many restrictions. Of course the companies that dealt with Uganda paid a premium for that access, so the inspector’s relaxed search of their plane had likely been at the behest of his own government.

“Everything seems to be in order,” Bukenya said. “Do you need me to arrange some transportation into the city or have you made other arrangements?”

A chocolate-brown omnibus arrived before Hawkins could reply, a young man at the wheel with shiny dark skin. He rolled down the window and in perfect English said, “You Joes call for a driver?”

Hawkins rendered a casual wave and then grinned at Bukenya. “We called ahead so our travel arrangements are made.”

“And how long will you be in Uganda, gentlemen?”

“Two days at most,” Hawkins said, mostly because he hoped it was the literal truth.

Bukenya slapped the palm of his hand with Hawkins’s passport, his eyes narrowing a bit; he looked as if he wanted to say something else but finally he returned the passports to each man in turn and bid them farewell in his native language. Bukenya whirled on his heel, barked at his officers and in a minute they were gone.

As soon as McCarter exchanged pass phrases with the omnibus driver, he struck up a conversation while the Phoenix warriors loaded up their gear and climbed aboard. Within a minute they were away from the airport and headed north out of what passed for the bustle of Kampala.

“Where we headed, mate?”

In spite of the more stilted intervals, Kumar’s command of English was good enough that he could be understood. “We can go as far as the border. From there, we will have to go by foot.”

“What about our wheels?” Encizo asked from his position in the seat immediately behind Kumar.

The Sudanese freedom fighter glanced in the rearview mirror. “I have a friend who will pick it up and return it to the station here in Kampala.”

“We’re going to walk from the border?” Hawkins inquired. He let out a whistle and added, “That’s a pretty good hike.”

“My thoughts exactly,” McCarter said. “I don’t know how much you know about our mission here but we’re sort of short on time, bloke.”

“I understand,” Kumar replied. “There is another vehicle that will pick us up near Nimule National Park in my country, which shares its southern tip with Uganda. This is an area with large tourism, and lots of vans like this one, so we should not stand out. We will slip across the border under cover of darkness.”

“How far to the border?” Hawkins asked.

“I believe…um, maybe eighty kilometers.”

“You speak English well,” Encizo said. “You had training?”

“Most of the men in our camp are taught English by the U.S. advisers. We are told these men are from language schools and are permitted in the country to help us with reading and writing.” He chuckled and added, “But we know they are actually from your CIA.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the things that has us concerned,” McCarter said. “You know anything about our man who disappeared or who might have him?”

“It is not strange, this,” Kumar replied. “Americans are always disappearing here. Some just leave and others are killed by wild animals. Some are kidnapped for ransom, perhaps, but not most. Most are tourists and without much money. And they tend to stick to the larger cities. The rest are usually well guarded by police and their own security forces. Your man was known in Khartoum with many friends. I do not think anyone would risk taking him. They fear American retaliation too much these days.”

“That’s good,” Manning muttered. “They should be afraid of that.”

“What can you tell us about this Lord’s Resistance Army?” McCarter asked.

“They are a knife in our side, this much I swear,” Kumar said between clenched teeth. “We have lost many friends and family to these devils. I live now only to serve General Kiir and fight alongside my brothers to defend South Sudan.”

McCarter decided not to mention he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing the rhetoric. He asked, “Is this the first time you’ve come across weapons made in the U.S.?”

Kumar nodded. “As far as I know. I’ve only been allowed into the field in the last year. I work for my brother, Samir, who is leader for our segment. It is actually he who found your guns.”

“When can we meet him?” Hawkins inquired.

“We will see him tonight, later…once we have made it over the border. He waits for us on the other side.”

McCarter reached into the pocket of his suit coat and withdrew the photograph of Jodi Leighton. The CIA still hadn’t heard from their case officer in Khartoum, according to Stony Man’s last update. McCarter wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with the Farm’s theory that if they followed Leighton’s trail it would naturally lead them to the weapons. Things weren’t always so cut-and-dried in the clandestine services, and McCarter had no reason to believe this would be any different. Still, Kiir’s men had way more eyes on the ground than the CIA or Stony Man could hope for; those personal connections were their very best hope to locating the missing agent.

“You ever see this man before?” McCarter said, passing the photograph to Kumar.

The Sudanese fighter took the picture, keeping one hand on the wheel while his eyes bounced between the photograph and the narrow road. He took his time before handing it back to McCarter. “He looks like Joe.”

“Joe?” Manning echoed.

“He is with your CIA.” Something caused Kumar to chuckle. “We called him Joe because that’s what he asked us to call him. He always treated us well, gave us information whenever we asked for it. My brother was not happy when we learned he’d been taken.”

That got McCarter’s attention. “Taken, you…you telling me that you know what happened to this chap?”

“Of course, that is why General Kiir requested you come. Joe was always fair with us. He never showed disrespect to our cause like so many of the CIA before him. He was a different man, a good man. It’s the Lakwena that took him. Most assuredly I tell you this.”

“How did they do it?” Encizo inquired.

“Joe would meet one of our people in the city twice a month. He would pass off whatever intelligence he had managed to buy or steal or trade about police movements, and in return we would give him whatever we could learn about the Lakwena.”

“Any idea what he’d do with that information?”

“He was working with another agent, a member of one of the British foreign intelligence services, although I am not sure which one. The men were friends, I think. Joe never told us anything about him and we didn’t ask. It was when he was supposed to meet this man to trade intelligence that Joe disappeared.”

“So you’re absolutely certain it was the Lord’s Resistance Army responsible for taking him?”

“As certain as I can be, yes.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence as McCarter considered this revelation. In all likelihood, if Leighton had been connected with a British foreign intelligence agent it was someone from MI6. Before long, Kumar turned off the highway onto a secondary road that gradually degraded from hardball to dirt and crushed rock, to baked mud with great ruts and divots. Eventually he stopped the vehicle.

“We must walk from here,” Kumar said.

McCarter ordered the team to go EVA, unload the vehicle and wipe it down for prints before questioning Kumar on their next move. It wasn’t that he mistrusted the guy as much as he wanted to know what they could expect to face out there. “Hoofing it across this kind of terrain at night isn’t exactly what we had planned, mate. We’re not equipped for a hike.”

“This is not a problem,” Kumar replied. “There is clothing in one of the bags for all of you, and I think you’ll find that it all fits. General Kiir was notified ahead of time of your arrival, so we planned all of this. You’ll find boots and fatigues, and drop bags for the clothes you are wearing. They may stay with this vehicle and all of your belongings will be delivered to Khartoum, where we were informed you would make your exit.”

“What about the rental?” James asked.

“We have friends here,” Kumar said. “Do not worry, gentlemen. They will pick it up and return it to the rental company.”

“How far do we have to go?” McCarter asked.

“Samir is less than three kilometers, on the other side of the border. We are now a half kilometer this side of my country, so we should be able to pass under cover of darkness without raising attention.”

“What if we encounter border patrols?”

Kumar laughed. “We have much greater worries than the border patrol. While there is a ceasefire between my people and the government of my country, we know that they still hire the Lakwena at times to do their dirty work. The patrols of these fighters, many of them barely men, are vigilant and familiar with the borderlands. They will be vigilant and they will not attack with warning, neither will they take prisoners. The ones who raped my sister and killed by mother and father are led by a man named Bukatem, Lester Bukatem. He has many who answer to him and he is feared in these parts.”

“Lester?” McCarter interjected. “That doesn’t sound much like an African name.”

“Many of the people here who end up in the refugee camps take on English or American names in the hope their real identities aren’t discovered,” Gary Manning pointed out. “These people live under constant surveillance or are perpetually targeted by the Lord’s Resistance Army. I’d venture a guess that this Bukatem was conscripted as a child and brainwashed to fight for the LRA during the 1990s, when the conflicts were still in full swing.”

Kumar nodded. “That is right. In fact, we were raised in the same village as this man. My older brother once called him friend. Now he is our enemy and if we ever make contact with him, I can guarantee he will experience a slow and dishonorable death.”

“Let me be clear with you, bloke,” McCarter said. “There’s no room in our mission here for your personal vendettas. We appreciate the help, but if you plan on using us to seek vengeance on this Lester wanker you’d best just put the idea out of your mind. We’re here to do two things—find out what happened to the man you call Joe and shut down the weapons pipeline to the LRA from the States. That’s it.”

Kumar didn’t look offended but when he replied his voice took on an edge. “I intend only to help you, American. There is no reason to tell me what my duties are. But you should know that my people must first swear fealty to our own because they are defenseless and God demands we protect the innocent.”

This was something with which McCarter could empathize and he nodded in acknowledgment. They understood each other.

As soon as the group had changed into their fatigues and stored their gear, they set out single file. Encizo took point. They didn’t know what they would encounter and it wouldn’t do for Kumar, the only one who really knew where to go and was intimate with all sides of this fight, to buy the farm for that very reason. Hence, McCarter put Kumar between him and Encizo, and the remaining Phoenix Force warriors followed, each careful to put at least ten yards between each man.

A steady rain had begun to fall, only making more precarious their already treacherous journey through the mountainous jungle terrain that made up the border between South Sudan and Uganda. For each man to know where the one in front of him was, since the cloud cover had suppressed what little moonlight might have illuminated the trail, the Phoenix warriors wore small LEDs that clipped to the backs of the military webbing that held their side arms and canteens. A long-life watch battery powered the dim light that glowed in a suffused red, just enough for a follower to see but virtually undetectable from observers at the front or side of the team. Each man carried a spare in his pocket, as well, in the event that his primary gave out.

McCarter hoped they wouldn’t be there that long.

As they traveled, his keen senses staying attuned to their surroundings, the Briton began to wonder what they were walking into. He didn’t mistrust Kumar—hell, the chap seemed cooperative and decent enough—but he couldn’t figure how Bukatem, or anyone in the LRA, would have known Leighton worked for the CIA. Not unless somebody told Bukatem. McCarter hated to think Leighton might have been betrayed by this mysterious British agent, who was most likely attached to either SAS or MI6. McCarter didn’t want to believe a countryman would betray a fellow agent but he also knew the rules were much different in the world of espionage.

In either case, the mission had suddenly become more complex. McCarter didn’t like complicated; the Phoenix Force leader liked simple. In fact the bloodier simple it was, the better. Unfortunately it didn’t appear things were going to get simpler.

After more than three hours of traveling, the entire crew drenched and worn down, McCarter was about to call for them to stop and rest when the staccato of autofire resounded from somewhere ahead of their position. McCarter couldn’t be sure of the distance, since sounds were difficult to judge in the dense foliage of the jungle, not to mention the dark. The reports of weapons were especially deceptive because they bounced off obstacles like trees and boulders, and were suppressed by the canopy of intertwined branches overhead. These factors usually made them closer than they sounded.

McCarter signaled the others to form on Kumar’s position and then moved forward to converse with Encizo.

“How far ahead, you think?” he asked the Cuban.

“Maybe fifty yards,” Encizo replied. “Hard to tell.”

“That’s about what I figured.”

“Sounds like quite a firefight, too.”

“Stand fast,” McCarter ordered. Encizo nodded and the Briton returned to Kumar. “We anywhere near our rendezvous point?”

“Very near,” Kumar replied with an anxious nod.

“Okay, it sounds like your brother may have hit some trouble.”

“I would agree.”

“We’re going to help him but we’ll do it my way. Understood?”

Kumar mumbled something McCarter deemed as affirmation.

McCarter turned his attention to Hawkins and James. “You two swing around on the west side and see if you can flank the fire zone, but don’t engage until you get my signal.”

“And what’s that?” James asked.

McCarter grinned wickedly. “You’ll bloody well know it when you hear it. Go.”

The pair moved off and McCarter tugged Manning’s shoulder to indicate he should stick close to Kumar. “Give us ten seconds, then follow on our position. Make sure you keep your fields of fire away from Hawk and Cal.”

Manning nodded.

McCarter turned and moved back to Encizo’s side. He reached to his belt and held up one of the M-69 fragmentation grenades that had been procured for his team by Kumar’s contacts in Uganda. “We’ll go in using the Old Fifty-One. You ready?”

Encizo nodded his understanding of McCarter’s plan. The technique dated back to the Korean War, a reference to when Korean forces attacked U.N. command positions that were manned by numerically superior forces. Because the Koreans wanted to ensure success, they attacked the positions using gongs and cymbals so as to disorient the enemy. McCarter planned the same thing, only using something more conventional and spectacular.

They set off and traveled about the distance Encizo estimated before they saw the first evidence of the firefight in the form of muzzle-flashes. From what McCarter could observe, it looked like a small skirmish. It was still too dark to determine what lay ahead, friend or foe, but McCarter wasn’t planning to lob the grenade into the center of the fray with reckless abandon. His solution would prove more elegant.

McCarter waved his fist to indicate Manning and Kumar should hold position where they were at—about fifteen yards to the rear—before he yanked the pin and tossed the grenade toward the east, far outside the perimeter of the fire zone. Three seconds ticked off before the hand bomb exploded.

And with that, Phoenix Force moved in to engage the enemy—whoever it might be.