“Murdock. This is the latest. We may not have such a panic as we first thought. We received a SATCOM message directly from Vice President Adams. I’ll give you a word-for-word transcript. Here it is:
“ ‘Hello, Mr. President. Please don’t worry about me. I’m being well treated and I am safe and in no danger. I already consider these men I’m with as friends….”
Murdock frowned, then read the rest of the Vice President’s message. So he considered the kidnappers his friends, and he was being treated and fed well.
Stroh went on: “You’ll land in Africa before I will. Get situated in the embassy or wherever they can house you and start nosing around to see what you can find out. This may turn out far differently than we first suspected. At least we stopped General Lawford from sending in a dozen F-18’s to strafe the whole area up the river and follow up with a dozen riverboats to blast everything that wasn’t dead already.
“Digest all of that local material and we’ll talk as soon as I hook up with you in Sierra City.”
The SEALs came back from their two-mile run. They had hardly broken a sweat. Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner was sweating like a filly in August, Murdock thought. Gardner eased into his seat and shook his head.
“Hell, I thought I was in pretty good shape. Not so. I’m going to be on the three basics from now on, sit-ups, chin-ups, and pull-ups.”
Murdock shuffled the Stroh faxes to him. Gardner read the first few pages and looked up in surprise. “Vice President Adams is already a friend of his kidnappers? What the fuck is going on?”
“That’s what we’ll find out after we land in Sierra City. Why don’t you brief the men on Stroh’s material and what we learned from the other faxes. I want all the men to know as much about this situation and about this country as we do.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Gardner said. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and the back of his neck and stood up.
“Okay, men, listen up. We’ve had some more intel on our mission. Here’s what we know so far.”
Senior Chief Sadler followed the details of the situation, but he also kept thinking about the black girl back in San Diego who had been so full of life one minute, and an hour later dead in the alley behind the club where their Gaslamp Dixieland Jazz Band played. Had Shortchops given her an overdose, or was he just messing around with her? Sadler couldn’t remember if the detective had told him not to leave town. Hell, he was a material witness in a murder case. He could be in one shit-pot full of trouble as soon as they got back to the States. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He’d have to worry about that when they finished this little job and reported across the Quarterdeck. Until then he had to concentrate on the problem at hand.
Mojombo Washington smiled when Vice President Adams finished his radio message to the White House.
“Excellent, Mr. Vice President. That was a fine report to your countrymen so they don’t drop a nuclear bomb on our camp. I hope that they believed you. I realize it’s a bit unusual for a man evidently kidnapped to give such a friendly report.”
“They have to believe me. I hope to have more good news for them before long. You have a name for this camp we’re going to?”
“Yes, it’s Camp Freedom. We have about a half mile to walk up this trail to the camp. We didn’t want it to be vulnerable to rifle fire from the river in case President Kolda sent some riverboats up this direction with soldiers in them.”
The Vice President had been a bird watcher at one time, and now he enjoyed spotting various species in the thick jungle growth. He’d reached twelve species sightings when they emerged into a clearing beside a small stream they had been following. The camp was as rough as Adams figured it would be. There were two dozen tents that would hold six men each. He spotted a mess tent for cooking, but with no place to sit down and eat. There were a number of small fires burning around the area. He caught the gentle purr of a small gas motor, which could be running an electrical generator, so they might have lights.
He saw weapons everywhere. Each man evidently had to carry a personal weapon with him at all times. They were rifles, submachine guns, and a few carbines and pistols. A mix of guns that would be hard to provide ammunition for.
Mojombo led the Vice President to a tent and pointed in through the open flap. “This, Mr. Vice President Adams, is your tent. It isn’t as fancy as a hotel room, but I hope you’ll find it comfortable. It has the only real bed in the camp, and at night there will be electric lights if you want to read or write. I have a selection of books, fiction and non-fiction, and writing pens and paper.”
“No bars on the flap?”
“Absolutely not. You’re free to move around the camp. Of course it’s about twenty-five miles through the jungle back to town if you want to hike it.”
“I won’t be doing that. I’m interested in your cause, in getting this crooked, murdering President out of office.” He went into the tent and looked around. It was better than the tents on some camping trips he’d been on. He sat down on the bed. “Oh, yes, this is good.” He looked up and frowned. “Now, how is the revolution coming along? What can I do to help? Right now there’s no way I can bring in a battalion of Marines with all of their firepower.”
Mojombo stood just outside the tent.
“Come in, come in, sit down so we can talk,” said Adams. “I did some Navy time. Maybe we can come up with some ideas. How many men do you have with weapons?”
Mojombo stepped inside the tent and sat down in the one straight-backed wooden chair. He made a fist with one hand and rubbed it with the other hand. “I can put eighty men on a march with weapons and enough ammo for a good fight.”
“The general has about four thousand, you said.” Adams scowled. “Probably reserves he can call up. Those are not good odds.”
“That’s why we make surprise attacks and then run like crazy. The traditional guerrilla operation.”
“It’s worked for you so far, but they will get wise to that and keep out patrols, maybe put lookouts on the river at night.”
“You’re right. I realize that with less than two hundred men, I can never win an all-out battle with General Assaba’s forces. That’s why you are my guest.”
Vice President Adams frowned slightly, then nodded. “Yes, yes, I see. If I’m here, that would bring worldwide attention to your cause, and to the atrocities and sacking of the national treasury. But you need more than just publicity.”
Mojombo stood and paced around the small tent. He went back to the chair and sat. “Yes, more than publicity. I can get maybe five thousand farmers and hunters and their families to follow me down the river to the city. A citizens’ march against the federal government and the fraudulently elected President. We might win, if more than half of the military would swing over to our side and, with weapons, march with us. I would need at least two thousand armed men from General Assaba’s camp in order to stage a real revolution. Until that happens, I’m merely a criminal rebel with a price on my head.”
“I may have an idea that could help you, Mr. Washington. The American CIA calls it covert intervention.”
Mojombo grinned. “That is beautiful, a wonderful idea. What you’re saying is that some foreign nation, like the United States, sends in some troops on a highly secret basis. They help me win my revolution and slip out the back door before anyone spots them, and the whole thing is done covertly, and everyone but the bad guys wins.”
Vice President Adams smiled. “Mojombo, you are an extremely bright and quick-thinking young man. Your English is better than mine.”
“I had a well-to-do father who sent me to school in America.”