He drove to the far side, and saw the doors with six men guarding them and heavy machine guns mounted there as well. He drove down the street that let him see the headquarters, and parked.
For two hours, he watched the big double doors. More than a dozen men came and went, but there was no activity to indicate that the general would be leaving. He always traveled with a three-car caravan with an armored car in front and one in back. Maji had observed that there was only one three-story building on the base. That much would be easy for the jets, but which area inside the block-square building was used by the general?
He started the rig, and turned toward the headquarters. This time he drove all the way around it and found a service entrance on the rear side. He parked half a block away. There were no guards and no machine guns at this door.
With his officer bars he could bluff his way in here. He looked at his stolen credentials. The officer was attached to an air wing flying from just north of the complex.
Good enough. He drove closer to the entrance, then parked and left the rig, pocketing the keys. With remembered military precision, he strode up to the door and reached for the handle before a lackadaisical guard called out.
"Sir, this is a restricted area."
"I know that, soldier. I'm on a special investigating mission to check on security. What's your name?"
The private looked worried, and gave him a name that probably wasn't his. Maji wrote it down in a notebook the officer had carried, nodded at the man, and walked on inside.
He had no idea where he was or where he should go. The center of the building on the ground floor would be the safest. But would Maleceia do it that way? He was a showoff. Wouldn't he want something with some class and some splash?
Ahead he saw a door that was marked "Janitorial Services." Yes, brilliant. They would know exactly where the general's offices were. He moved through the door with the hint of a swagger, and watched as two surprised sergeants looked up.
"Sergeant, who's in charge here?"
"Must be me. The captain is out of the area."
"We've had complaints about the cleanup in the general's quarters and his office. Can I see the schedule of cleaning in those areas and who is responsible for that work?"
"Schedule? No, Sir. I mean, we don't use no schedule. We just clean up the general's offices once a night, and then again during the day if he isn't using them. No schedule. We send men up there who we have available."
"Sounds sloppy. We're talking about the same area?"
"Yes, sir. His main office on the third floor front of the building with the big wall of windows, and then his apartment down on floor two with the seven rooms."
Maji scowled for a moment. "Not sure just how I can tell the colonel about this. I'll use your name since your officer isn't here. Your name again, Sergeant?"
He wrote it down. "That will be all. Carry on." Maji turned and strode out of the room. He'd learned his military behavior as a two-year Army man who had been discharged three years ago. Being a corporal in a rifle company back then was coming in handy.
Did he have enough? He wondered as he got lost once, then found his way out the same rear service door he had come in. No one even noticed when he left the building. Security might be fine in the front, but here it was terrible.
Maji walked to his car. He had everything he needed. When he looked at the jeep he had stolen parked half a block ahead, he saw two military police checking it. They looked around, then got back in their patrol rig and parked behind the jeep. It looked as if they were going to wait and see who came to claim the rig. How could it be reported stolen already? If so, his ID wouldn't be any good to get him out of the camp.
If he tried it, and they caught him, he'd be shot on the spot. He needed another way to get off the base.
Five minutes later, he had strolled down to where he could see the main gate. The double guards were still in place. Few cars or trucks left the base. He saw two come in and only two go out in half an hour. No one had been allowed to walk out through a special gate at one side. Several men who had tried to leave had been turned away. A general lock-down?
How could he get off the base?
He walked around again, then checked the dead man's wallet. It was stuffed with hundred-shilling notes, each worth about two dollars American. Might be worth a try.
At the nearby officers' club, he had a beer and listened to the men talk. He found two who were heading for town. They said they had special passes to get through the gate. The captain excused himself, and went to the men's room. Maji went there a moment later.
In the bathroom they were alone. Maji asked the captain about the pass.
"Yeah, got one. Getting married in the morning. Even the general figured I should go in. Damn fine girl." The captain was half drunk.
Maji chopped him twice in the side of the neck with the hard side of his hand, and the captain went down. Maji dragged the captain into a toilet stall, took the pass and the man's ID card, closed the door, and hurried out.
Five minutes later, he flagged down a truck heading for the front gate and scowled at the driver.
"You heading for town, Corporal?"
"Yes, sir. Special duty."
"I've got to get to town, and my transport broke down. No time to get a new one from the motor pool. I'll ride with you."
At the gate, the driver showed his pass, and the man there waved them through without a second look at the lieutenant in the other seat. Being an officer, even if for a short time, did have its advantages.
Maji dropped off the truck a mile from the base, walked to his car, and dug the SATCOM from the trunk. He was in a little-used area behind some warehouses.
He keyed in the right frequency, and adjusted the antenna.
"Rover, this is Quest One."
There was a long silence from the speaker. He checked his dials and sent the same message again. This time the speaker came to life.
"Quest One. Rover here, over."
"Rover. Best bet three-story building, top floor front. Personal apartment second floor. Security doubly tight on the site."
"That's a roger, Quest One. Take care."
Just as the last word came from the speaker, the flat crack of an AK-47 sounded and Maji looked up in amazement, slammed backwards, and dropped the SATCOM microphone — The single round had jolted into his shoulder, and he clawed for the small revolver in his pants pocket.
The AK-47 fired again, this time on full automatic, and six rounds bored into the Kenyan spy. Two hit the SATCOM, smashing it, and both the man and his radio died at the same instant.
Two Kenyan Special Agents ran up and stared at the man on the ground. "You sure he's the one?"
The other man nodded. "Oh, yes, he's the one. Let's see how much spy pay he has in his wallet. Our captain will be pleased that we have closed one more leak in our intelligence division."
22
President Wilson Anderson rolled back in his big leather chair, and scanned the four men and one woman facing him around his desk. These were the advisors he had learned he could rely upon. They had individual specialties, but could see the broad picture better than anyone else in D.C. He watched each one intently.
Phillips served as National Security Advisor. Phillips was rock-solid in international affairs. He stood only five feet six inches tall. However, he had a surgical mind that bored into the heart of a problem and dissected it with unerring skill.
Lambert J. Waldpole was his CIA director. Steady, a man who'd moved up through the ranks. He was a former field agent who had done his share of hand-to-hand killing in Europe during the Cold War. He was a top administrator who could evaluate the hell out of a situation even if he hated it. He stood six four, and carried 210 pounds like a small tight end.