Hidden Agendas Part 33

He had gotten kind of turned around, so he pulled over to check the map. And it was a lucky thing too. While the hot engine ticked, he heard another vehicle. He got out of the Land Rover and moved down the trail.

Ahead was a beat-up pickup, painted jungle green, with four soldiers in it, two inside, two in the back. They had AKs like his, and they were cruising along slow, looking.

Platt realized that if he hadn't stopped, he might have run right into them, and with four guns against his one, that could have been real bad-especially if they had seen him first, which they would have probably done, since they were looking and he wasn't.

He hadn't figured on a border patrol. He revised his opinion up a little. Maybe these jungle bunnies were sharper than he'd thought. Bad idea to underestimate the other side.

After the truck had time to get a couple of miles away, he went back to the Rover. Better take it slow and careful from here on in.

He figured he needed to get fairly close to the city, then find himself a place to hide the Rover, 'cause he'd need it to leave. And he'd have to hole up for a day, until tomorrow night, because he definitely didn't want to be moving around during the day, disguise or not. Tuesday night, good and dark, he'd mosey on in and do his business.

As he drove through a field of high gra.s.s, the damp and heavy air rumbled with distant thunder. He could smell the approaching rain.

Oh, good. A storm, just what he needed to slow him down even more.

On the other hand, a thunderstorm would probably keep the local militia inside drinking bull pee or whatever it was they drank, and that would be good. He wasn't lookin' to get shot if he could help it.

He wiped sweat away from his forehead with the back of his right hand. d.a.m.n, but it was muggy here.

He saw a cloud of mosquitoes or flies or something buzzing in the air ahead of him, and he reached for the bug dope spray in the bag on the pa.s.senger seat. Be another good thing the rain would do, keep the bugs down. All he needed was to catch sleeping sickness or malaria or elephant.i.tis from all this c.r.a.p.

No two ways about it, he was gonna take a little more than the twenty million when he talked to Hughes. He sure had it coming.

Monday, January 1 7th, 9 p.m. In the air over the Atlantic Ocean p.m. In the air over the Atlantic Ocean "Banjul, huh?" Joanna said.

Seated next to her in the seat of the team's 747, Fernandez said, "Yep. It's in The Gambia, kind of an insert around the Gambia River, runs right into the lower half of Senegal. A little farther away than we wanted, right on the coast, but it's the only airport south of Dakar where we can put this bird down and not be noticed. The Company has a store there-we're switching to a couple of Hueys for the rest of the trip. So we'll go in at treetop level Tuesday night, land, do our thing, then come out. It worked great on that Chechnya caper, it sure ought to work out here in darkest Guinea-Bissau. I don't think their radar is exactly state-of-the-art. Even if they see us, they don't have much to throw at us or chase us with."

"Heads up, here comes the colonel," Joanna whispered.

"Sir," Fernandez said as John Howard stopped next to their seats.

"Sergeant, Lieutenant." Howard looked at them for a couple of seconds, then smiled.

"Something funny, sir?" Fernandez said.

"Not really. You know that joke you were remembering when I called you on the way back from Was.h.i.+ngton State? The one you laughed at?"

"I remember."

"I do believe I get it now, Sergeant. Carry on."

After the colonel left, Joanna looked at Fernandez. "What was that all about?"

Fernandez grinned widely. "I expect the colonel knows that you and I have been, ah... intimate."

"How would he know that? You bragging?"

"No, ma'am, as proud as I am of it, I didn't say a word. But I've been working for the man for a long time. He doesn't have a dull edge, and he knows me too well. Any time a man feels as good as I do, it shows. And I expect that it shows more when you're around, seeing as how you're the reason. Is this a problem?"

"Not for me. In fact, I'm going to take a run to the head. You want to come along?" She waggled her eyebrows like Groucho Marx in an old black-and-white movie.

"You know, you are an evil evil woman, Lieutenant Winthrop, teasing a man that way." woman, Lieutenant Winthrop, teasing a man that way."

"You don't know the half of it, Sergeant. I'm just getting vanned up with you. Besides, who said I was teasing?"

"Brought your wavy knife, I see," Alex said.

Toni looked up and nodded. She had the kris kris in its wooden scabbard on her lap. "Guru is convinced the in its wooden scabbard on her lap. "Guru is convinced the kris kris is magic. I figured it wouldn't hurt." is magic. I figured it wouldn't hurt."

He nodded, then said, "I'm just going to have a few words with the colonel. Looks like everything is on schedule. We'll be at the airport in a few more hours. We'll transfer stuff to helicopters there, then on to the target."

"You couldn't talk the colonel into letting you go into the city on the mission, could you?"

He smiled, shook his head. "No. And the truth is, I'm not unhappy with us staying with the pilots at the copters until they get back. My recent success as a soldier in the field was more luck than skill. This is what Howard and his team do. I don't want to get in the way."

"We could stay in Banjul," she said.

"Do that, and we might as well have stayed in Was.h.i.+ngton."

"Didn't I say that in the first place?"

"Yep. But look, we came this far, we might as well go along for the ride."

"As long as we both go along for the ride," she said.

He smiled at her.

So far, he hadn't said anything to her about that other thing she had said. The "I love you" part. It had seemed the right thing to her at the time, but after she had done it, she'd been almost sick with fear. They had kissed each other for a few minutes in the front seat of a very small car, that was all. It was maybe too early to be hitting him with something that heavy. What if he didn't feel anything for her other than l.u.s.t? She knew that was there, there wasn't any way to hide the evidence of that. And she wanted it, s.e.x with him, and she would settle for that, for now, but she also wanted a lot more.

Then again, he hadn't said anything about it, and that meant he hadn't refuted it either. Or maybe he hadn't even heard it.

No news was good news-or at least it wasn't bad news.

She wouldn't push it. She would see what happened. The magic in the kris kris had gotten her this far. Maybe it would help take her the rest of the way... had gotten her this far. Maybe it would help take her the rest of the way...

Chapter Thirty-Nine.

Tuesday, January 18th, 6 p.m. Bissau, Guinea-Bissau Domingos had some pressing state business he had to attend to-probably a ribbon cutting at a new bodega or something-so Hughes enjoyed his cigar and brandy in solitude. Well, save for the brief appearance of a messenger who informed him that the five o'clock plane had come, and that once again Platt was not on it.

This was worrisome. Platt certainly wanted his money, and the only reason Hughes could imagine that he hadn't hurried here to collect it was that something had prevented him from doing so. And the only things that came to mind that were capable of stopping Platt from doing anything were serious injury, death, or being arrested. And Platt hadn't called, another thing that bothered Hughes.

What if somehow Platt had run afoul of the law? What if he had been captured?

Hughes held the cigar in his mouth without puffing on it. He had considered this before, of course, although he had to admit to himself he hadn't really thought it likely. And even if he had been caught, Hughes did not think Platt would say anything about their venture; it would hardly be in his best interest to do so. Still, what if somehow he was made to speak? If the feds had Platt, and if they had squeezed him, then that would alter Hughes's plans considerably.

Going back to the U.S. would be out of the question. As soon as he stepped off the plane, the feds would swoop down on him like a hawk on a chicken, and he'd be in real trouble.

What to do?

The least risky proposition was simply to sit tight. Wait until Platt showed up here, or called. If he didn't do either in the next week or so, Hughes would have to risk some longdistance research and see if he could figure out what had happened to his operative. If Platt was in a hospital from a car wreck or some such, or even dead, well, so much the better. But if the authorities had somehow caught him, if he had slipped up, then one had to a.s.sume the worst.

The cigar was out. He reached for a match.

He wasn't due to return to the U.S. from Ethiopia until Thursday, so he had a couple of days. If Platt hadn't shown up by then, Hughes would put in a call to the senator and offer some reason why he had to stay in Africa for a few more days. Easy enough. And if Platt had been caught and had given him up, then here was where Hughes would stay. It would be ahead of schedule, and irritating to have been found out, but not a major setback, all things considered.

He lit the cigar. When he had his house built, he'd have to be sure to include in it a humidor, a walk-in humidor, to keep his own stock of Cubans nice and fresh...

Tuesday, January 18th, 9 p.m. Banjul, The Gambia Rain fell on the corrugated metal roof, a constant, almost hypnotic drumming that felt relaxing despite the muggy interior of the staging shed. The hard rain almost drowned out the electrical generator droning on outside the building.

Michaels felt lulled by the rain and the heat. This was supposed to be the dry season, the monsoons were supposed to be over. What must the wet season be like then, if this was dry?

Howard had a map projected on a more-or-less-white concrete block wall. "This is the city of Bissau," he said. "On the north side of the Rio G6ba G6ba where it turns into the bay." He waved a laser pointer in a circle of red around the Presidential Palace. "This is the compound." where it turns into the bay." He waved a laser pointer in a circle of red around the Presidential Palace. "This is the compound."

Howard used a remote, and the viewpoint zoomed in. "This is the main building and this is where our target should be."

He fiddled with the remote, and the map was replaced by a computer-enhanced spysat photograph, the angle altered to give a view from what appeared to be only a few hundred feet above the buildings. "The CIA rerouted one of their fast-flying high-eyes to footprint the city for us, and we'd like to thank them for that, and for the use of the Hueys and this staging area."

Howard would have liked even more a.s.sistance from the Agency-like a geosynch spysat with full IR capabilities foot-printing the area from now through the time of the a.s.sault-but this operation was strictly unofficial. The Agency had done all it could without risking calling attention to what Net Force was doing out here, and Howard appreciated their efforts. He nodded at a fit-looking gray-haired man in khaki shorts and a T-s.h.i.+rt, who smiled and waved.

There were thirty-four people in the room. Howard had brought four five-troop squads, not counting Fernandez and Winthrop. There was the CIA Liaison, four helicopter pilots, four ground-support techs, plus Toni and Michaels. The troops were already mostly dressed in their SIPEsuits.

Howard put the map up again. "We'll land here, about two miles from the target, where we will switch to local transport, again courtesy of the Company. Alpha Team will proceed to here and initiate our diversion, while Beta Team will proceed to the compound and prepare for the incursion. Look over your house plans one more time, Beta. We don't want anybody getting lost in there and winding up in the bathroom instead of the package's quarters."

That caused a little nervous laughter.

"We would like to avoid casualties on either side if at all possible, so we will utilize flashbangs, puke gas, and pepper fog to neutralize threats. No one is to fire unless fired upon first, and then only if the other side is using armor-piercing rounds, which is highly unlikely. Our intelligence indicates that most of the soldiers in Bissau are armed with Kalashnikovs-when they are armed at all-and issue ammo is standard Soviet Bloc surplus.

"Let me be clear on this point. We are not at war with this country, and we don't want to leave bodies piled up all over the place, understood?"

There was a mumble of acknowledgment.

"We are set to collect the package at 0130 hours. Any questions so far?"

n.o.body had any.

"After Beta Team collects the package, we will rendezvous with Alpha at the a.s.sembly point, then proceed to the landing site. Whatever our status on the ground, the Hueys will lift at 0230 hours and proceed on the prearranged flight path back to Banjul. If you miss the bus, you'll have a long walk home. Any questions?"

There were no questions.

"All right then. Finish suiting up and lock and load. We leave in one hour. Dismissed."

The pilots and squads filed out into the rain, which was finally beginning to slacken. Michaels, Toni, Winthrop, and Fernandez stayed behind with the colonel.

"Got your gear?" Howard asked Michaels and Toni.

He was referring to the Kevlar helmets and hardweave armor vests he had given them. They weren't going into combat, but he'd insisted that if they were going in the copters they must wear them. And he'd also issued them each a suppressed pistol, which he also wanted to see strapped on. There was always a chance the copter could blow a gasket or take small-arms fire and be forced to land. It was better to be armed than not when moving overland in hostile territory. And with a gun that didn't make a lot of noise.

"Got them," Toni answered for herself and Michaels.

"You know you really should stay here," Howard tried again.

"You've a.s.sured us the danger is minimal," Michaels said.

"Minimal is not the same as none," Howard said.

"I appreciate your concern," Michaels said. End of discussion.

"All right. We're set then. Winthrop will be with me on Beta Team, Sergeant Fernandez leads Alpha. Our projections run between eighty-eight-percent and ninety-three-percent success, if we've plugged in all the proper variables. This ought to be a piece of cake. In and out, quick and clean. By this time tomorrow, we should be well on our way home."

Michaels nodded.

"I'll see you at the transports in fifty-five minutes."

Tuesday, January 18th, 11 p.m. Bissau, Guinea-Bissau Platt hated this d.a.m.ned country. Being stuck in a mud hut that sat there and cooked in the hot suns.h.i.+ne all day hadn't helped his mood. h.e.l.l, even when it rained a frog-drowner like it had this afternoon, it still didn't get cool. Just muggier, so your sweat wouldn't even evaporate, it just rolled down your legs and soaked into your socks. It was like sitting in a steam bath with your clothes on.

He looked at his watch for the fiftieth time since it got dark. He was about a mile from the pink palace, the Land Rover parked inside a tin shed next to the mud house. The house's owner, a white-haired old man, was tied up and lying on the col in the corner. The old guy hadn't seemed too fretted about a man with a gun barging in. He'd d.a.m.ned near brained Platt with his walking stick-he was a lot faster than he looked. Another two inches and the party would have been over; as it was, the stick had left a sc.r.a.pe over Plait's left ear.

These jigs weren't complete pushovers like he'd figured. That bothered him. If the palace guards were up to snuff, that could be a real problem.

After he'd gotten the stick away, Platt had trussed the old man up like a hog. Near as Platt could tell, the old boy was asleep. Couldn't get away, h.e.l.l, might as well take a nap. In the old man's place, Platt didn't think he'd feel so cool.

The idea of being taken out by a nigrah was... was unreal. He had to be more careful.

He'd planned to wait until around midnight before he headed for the palace, but Platt had had enough of this hanging around. He was going now. They'd roll up the sidewalks around here by eight or nine anyhow-if they'd had had sidewalks. sidewalks.

He changed into a black T-s.h.i.+rt and black pants, with black tennis shoes and black socks. What skin showed was stained pretty dark, and it wouldn't show up too well at night. He tucked a little flashlight into his back pocket and strapped on the Browning 9mm, with two extra magazines in pouches on the other side of the web belt, next to the sheath knife. He had a screw-on suppressor for the pistol; he'd put that on when he got there. Coiled over his shoulder was a half-inch hemp rope with knots in it every two feel, and a steel grappling hook on one end. He thought about taking the AK, but decided against it and left it in the Rover. But he did hook the pouch with the two old German hand grenades in it onto the web belt. Things got nasty, he would go out with a bang...