They both knew the routine. They moved with more caution now. The trail came closer to the river, which had shrunk in size as they’d climbed a gradual incline. Here and there they heard some rapids and saw a little white water. No boat was going up this stretch unless it was a jet-powered boat with no propeller.
“Will there be any more outposts?” Howard asked.
“I’d put in at least one more. From the rifle firing, my guess is his camp is on this side of the river. So we look for another outpost or at least a lookout along here anytime now.”
“We go around him again?”
“Don’t think so.” Murdock said. “If it’s handy, we capture him without harming him. Then we take him with us up where he can help us get through their defenses so we can talk with the good Mr. Washington.”
“That just may be an idea whose time has come. You want me on point?”
They moved cautiously now. There was more rifle fire and it was getting closer, but it still sounded like target practice. They paused at each small turn in the trail and checked ahead. The fourth time they did it, they grinned. A lone cammy-clad soldier with a long gun over his shoulder walked from one side of a small clearing to the other side directly across the trail. Evidently this was his post and he had to walk it in a military manner.
Murdock signaled to the left and they faded into the jungle. Moving silently, they worked up to the far point of the guard’s walking post. It was less than four feet from the jungle itself. Murdock eased up behind a huge tree and waited. The guard walked toward him, stopped, then did an about-face to go back in the other direction. That was when Murdock surged out of the jungle, took two steps, and hit the guard in the middle of his back, driving him forward and into the grass and weeds on his stomach. Murdock’s hand went around the soldier’s mouth holding it tightly.
Howard slid in beside them and fastened the guard’s ankles with plastic riot cuffs, then caught his hands and brought them both behind him and manacled them. Murdock turned him over still holding his mouth closed.
“Now, young man, we don’t want to hurt you. We’re here to talk to your leader, Mojombo. Is he at this camp?”
The wild-eyed man mumbled something. Murdock took his hand away and the man screamed. Murdock’s hand clamped back tight. Howard took a kerchief from his pocket and fashioned a gag around the man’s head and through his mouth. He could breathe but couldn’t yell. They sat him up and Murdock tried again.
“We’re not here to harm you or you’d be dead already. Don’t you agree?” The guard’s eyes had lost their wild look and he nodded slowly. “We want to talk to Mr. Washington. Is he in this camp?”
The guard nodded again.
“How far is the camp? A mile?” The head shook no. “Two miles?” This time a nod.
“If I take off the gag, will you promise not to yell or scream, just talk to us?” The man frowned, evidently thought about it, then nodded. The gag came off.
“Now, Mr. Washington is at the camp close by. Can you take us there?”
“No, there are other guards.”
“How many?”
“Three more. One every half mile.”
“Can we go into the jungle and go around them?”
“No. A rocky wall on one side, the river on the other side. The guards would see us and shoot.”
“Do you have a radio?”
“No, only officers have them.”
“We could capture the other three guards,” Howard said.
Murdock considered it. “Could, but a big risk factor. I have a notion that most of these conscripts are green and any little thing out of the ordinary, they’re going to start shooting. We can’t shoot back. Would put us in a dangerous position. So we go back.” He dug into his cammy shirt pocket and took out a computer-printed message the ambassador had given Murdock before they left.
He unfolded it and showed it to the guard. “This is a message from the U.S. ambassador at Sierra City. He wants to help the Vice President. It tells him to turn on his SATCOM every day at noon and again at six in the evening so the ambassador can talk with him. Do you understand that?”
“Yes. Understand. Who are you?”
“Tell Mojombo Washington that we are U.S. Navy SEALs. We may wind up helping him instead of hunting him. The Vice President must talk to the ambassador every day. Do you understand that?”
“Yes sir.” He frowned. “Are you an officer?”
“Yes, Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock in the U.S. Navy. That’s like a major in the Army. Can you take this to your commander?”
“When my guard duty is over in an hour. That way I won’t get in trouble for leaving my post.”
Murdock grinned. Somebody had trained this boy well. He looked no more than seventeen.
“All right. You do that. At the end of your shift you talk to your sergeant and tell him you have to see Mr. Washington. Here, give him this. It’s one of the new U.S. gold-plated dollar coins. My good-luck charm. Give it to General Washington.”
The guard looked at the coin, read the printing, and grinned. “Yes, I can do this. It will be good on my record.” He frowned. “Can you untie me now?”
It took Murdock and Howard two hours to work back down the faint trail and around the first outpost. Then they jogged down the path toward their bikes. They stopped at the bikes and ate half the sandwiches and drank from the canteens.
“If we push it, we can get back to civilization in three hours,” Murdock said. “I just hope that half the countryside isn’t returning from market day and clogging up the road.”
They were. Murdock groaned. They pulled into the embassy grounds slightly before 1700, just in time for chow at the cafeteria.
The ambassador welcomed the news of the contact. He checked his watch. Dinner was over. “Five minutes to six. Time for us to set up the SATCOM and try to talk to the Vice President. This could be the contact we need to turn round this difficult situation.”
12
Vice President Adams turned on his SATCOM radio at five minutes until six and set it to receive on the same frequency he had used when talking with the White House.
It had been an interesting afternoon. The sentry had talked to his sergeant, who’d brought him at once to see Mojombo Washington. Adams had been in the leader’s tent at the time. The soldier, in his new cammies, saluted smartly and handed a folded sheet of paper to his commander.
Mojombo took it and read it. He looked up and frowned, then read the words again.
“How did you get this message, Private?”
“Two men in uniforms almost like ours, but they had black marks on their faces like camouflage.”
“Why didn’t you shoot them?”
“They slipped up on me. I never heard them. Then they hit me in my back and knocked me down.”
“Did they have weapons?”
“Yes, sir, some kind of submachine gun. Short ones tied over their backs.”
Mojombo’s voice softened. “Did they tell you who they were?”
“Yes, sir. One said he was Commander Blake Mur something. That he was a U.S. Navy SEAL.”
“Be damned,” Adams said. “They slipped past all of your security to get to this guy. They are experts at infiltration. They could do it.”
“These men, did they hurt you?”
“No, sir. Tied my ankles and hands with plastic cuffs at first, then let me go. They mostly just talked to me.”
“Did they kill any of our guards?”
“I don’t think so, sir. All of our group of guards were present when we were relieved about half an hour ago.”