“Good, Wally. I want to see where this twelve million was not spent. Later I’ll throw it up at him by asking President Kolda where our foreign aid money went and demand an answer. If he’s sobered up by then. I smelled alcohol on his breath when he first shook my hand at the airport. Man, was he sloshed tonight.”
The Vice President pulled off his shirt and stared at Wally. “Do you think there’s any real danger out there in the farming country, or is President Kolda just trying to protect his rear end?”
“Oh, a protection ploy for damn sure. He might find some way to detour us around the farm place yet. Danger? I’d bet there’s not a bad guy within fifty miles. It’s just his story to scare us off so we don’t find out for sure that he stole the aid money.”
The next morning an armed “honor” guard escorted the Vice President, the ambassador, and their party of six to the three venues they were set to visit. Adams showed the proper admiration and pleasure at the displays, and then settled into the backseat of the heavy Lincoln stretch limo for the ride out to the farm area.
General Assaba came just before they started. Vice President Adams saw that he was a small man, maybe five-five, slender, with a wolfish face and thick black hair. His large eyes seemed to bulge from his head over a short, sturdy nose. His body was in constant motion, and he often raised upward, standing on his toes for ten or fifteen seconds at a time. Adams guessed it was a nervous movement that the small man did unconsciously to give him a taller stature.
Like the President, General Assaba said he spoke no English, and a student interpreted for him.
“The general says he is seriously considering preventing you from making this trip to the Estalante farming area. He reminds you that it is highly dangerous.”
The Vice President nodded. “Ask the general how many men or women have been killed there in the past six months.”
The general frowned when the student asked the question in his native Wolof language. Assaba began calmly, but before he finished he shouted in anger, then turned and walked away.
“The general says that he is displeased that you want to take this trip. Diplomatically he can’t stop you, but at the same time that releases him from any responsibility for the safety of your party. He will send soldiers with you, but you are being foolish going into this dangerous area.”
Vice President Adams grinned. “Yeah, the old boy got his dander up, I’d say. We’re going, so let’s get moving.”
The honor guard changed now. The six soldiers in the jeep in front of the limo were combat-ready, with rifles, web belts, and jungle-print cammies. Six more men similarly outfitted rode in another vehicle behind the second civilian car, which held six members of the press who had been traveling with the Vice President.
The first few miles led them through the city of more than 200,000. Soon the buildings gave way to the strip of farmland along the river and its valley. Then the blacktopped highway ended and they rolled along a gravel road.
Vice President Adams wanted to lower the window to have a better look, but he knew it was an armored limo and the windows wouldn’t budge. He saw more signs of cultivation and an occasional group of buildings.
Another five miles and the convoy stopped. The driver, who had been with the Vice President since his days as governor of Michigan, turned.
“Mr. Vice President, there’s a problem ahead. Looks like a tree has fallen across the road.”
Almost at once the Vice President heard rifle fire jolt into the calm afternoon. The five people in the limo could see the soldiers leaping out of the jeep ahead of them. Two died before they made it. The other four died at the side of the road before they could find cover.
In the limo, they heard more fire coming from behind. Then there was an ominous silence. The two Secret Service men inside the limo had their Ingram submachine guns lifted from where they hung by cords around their necks.
“Easy, take it easy,” the Vice President said. “No rounds hit our vehicle. They seem to be targeting only the military.”
They waited a few minutes more. Then a figure appeared outside the door. The black man in civilian clothes held up both hands to show he was unarmed. He motioned for the door to be opened.
“Don’t go out there,” the lead Secret Service man said. “We’re safe in here, Mr. Vice President. The limo protects us.”
“He has no weapon,” Adams said. “He looks friendly. I’m going out.”
The second Secret Service man grabbed his arm. “No, sir. I’ll go see what he wants.” The man slid to the near door, opened it, and stepped out. His Ingram was hidden under his jacket. He left quickly and closed the door, which automatically locked.
Adams watched the two men through the window. Both looked calm, talking with no hand gestures. A minute later the Secret Service man signaled, and his partner inside the limo opened the door and the outside man stepped inside and closed the door.
“The man says his name is Mojombo Washington. He says he’s the leader of the Bijimi Loyalist Party fighting the corrupt central government. He wants to show you how they squandered and stole the money due to these poor farmers. He has no weapons. He said his men were careful to attack only the federal soldiers. No one in either our car or the press car was hurt in any way. He says he has no wish to harm any of our party. He just wants to plead his case against the government.”
Adams rubbed his jaw, then looked at his top advisor. Wally lifted his brows. “Sir, that’s what we came here to find out. This man sounds like he knows the facts we need to uncover.”
Vice President Adams nodded. “Seems to be the way to go. Let’s get out. Keep your weapons ready if we need them.” He hesitated, then waved at the Secret Service men. “Let’s get out of here and do some investigating.”
One Secret Service man went out first, followed by the Vice President and the other Secret Service man.
Mojombo Washington stood outside the limo. The Vice President saw that he was a medium-sized man, a head shorter than the VP, with curly black hair, wide-set eyes, and a flat nose. His smile lit up the landscape.
“Mr. Vice President Adams, so good to meet you. First a bit of business. Secret Service men, please lift your hands away from your Ingram submachine guns. I have expert marksmen who have you sighted in with three rifles on each of you. Any move toward your weapons and you will die instantly. I want no violence here. Lift your hands at once.”
The men dedicated to protecting their Vice President hesitated, then looked at the bodies of the soldiers dead on the roadway. A rifle snarled some distance away, and a bullet tore into the ground three feet from one of the Secret Service men. They both flinched, then looked at each other and slowly lifted their hands. Two armed men in cammies darted around the limo and checked inside. Then the driver was pulled out.
Mojombo smiled. “Yes, this is good. I wish to hurt no one from your nation, or the press. Now it’s time to leave. Mr. Vice President Adams, please step into the limo. We will be leaving, and the rest of your party will be taken back to the city. Don’t worry. We have no wish to harm you or your people in any way. Please, inside.”