“If he’s in the open and fairly alone, we can take him down with the sniper rifle or the Bull Pup,” Washington said. “We going down tonight?”
“Yes, you, me, and Luke Howard, our squad sniper. Let’s use your small boat to get to the fifteen-mile dock. Then we go in the rest of the way by foot. We can pass for federal troops with our cammies. We may have to requisition some of those billed caps they wear.”
“The Russian-roulette gambling club is the place we can count on Assaba going to. He could eat at one of ten or twelve different restaurants.”
“Is there an open area around the club?”
“No, crowded, narrow streets. They’ll keep a parking spot open for Assaba. We can get there early and set up.”
“The EAR most likely first. How long to get down the river?”
Washington frowned. “Three hours. We can take fishing gear. The last stretch of the river is good for fishing. We can use civilian clothes there, and maybe on into town.”
“After dark we won’t have to hide the weapons. Let’s get ready and do it.”
They left at 1600 in the twelve-foot boat with motor. The second half of the trip they put on civilian shirts and hats and pretended to fish. They had no bait or hooks on their lines, only sinkers. After it was dark, they turned off the engine and drifted. Mojombo kept the small boat along the far shore. They heard rifle fire ahead on that side, and slanted to the other wooded shoreline.
On a hunch, Mojombo went past the fifteen-mile dock and angled into the shore down a quarter of a mile, where they hid the boat in some heavy vines. They changed back into their cammy shirts, and moved through the tangle of trees and brush to the one-lane dirt road that led south. Murdock brought his MP-5 up to port arms as he moved, just as a precaution. It was a fast-response weapon. They had walked fifty yards when a bright light snapped on not thirty feet from them and a voice barked out a command.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands into the air or we’ll fire.”
17
Murdock dove to the left as he triggered the MP-5, raking the searchlight and killing it, and then swinging the muzzle to where he figured the voice had come from. A moment later a wail of pain lanced into the night. Murdock rolled four times, stopped on his stomach, and lifted the MP-5. There were shadows ahead. Then two shots fired. He kicked out three three-shot bursts from the sub gun at the muzzle flashes he saw, then rolled three times in the grass and weeds. When he stopped, he fired another six rounds at one muzzle flash he saw ahead. Then all he heard was silence. He clicked his mike twice and heard two clicks back. Both the other men had Motorola personal radios. A moment later came another set of clicks.
“Anybody hit?” Murdock whispered into his throat mike.
“Negative,” Howard said.
“Caught one in the arm,” Mojombo said. “Not too bad. I think it went on through.”
“Left side of the road,” Murdock said. “Move over here if you can with no noise. Might be one of them still alive up there.”
Murdock heard someone coming. Mojombo. Howard floated up without a sound. “Let’s backtrack a hundred yards and move over to the next road,” Mojombo said. “It’s not this traveled. Maybe they don’t have any blocking group there.”
“We clean up on this bunch?” Howard asked.
“No, but first we look at that arm. Shield me, Howard, while I use my mini-light on Mojombo’s arm. Over here.” He saw the African leader push up his left sleeve. The bullet had lanced through the flesh on the lower side of his arm well away from the bone. Murdock used a kerchief and bound up the wound tightly. “Now it shouldn’t bleed. Let’s move.”
They found the next road south in a few minutes and jogged toward the city. Twice Mojombo asked the time. It was 1920 the last time.
“The betting stops at 2200,” Mojombo said. “Assaba will be there a half hour before then. He always bets.”
“So we have time to get there and get set up?” Murdock asked.
“Yes, should have. Maybe five miles to go.”
“We take him before he goes in or after he comes out?” Howard asked.
“Before,” said Mojombo. “Fewer people on the street. Afterwards, hundreds of men are around the doorway.”
They jogged down a dirt road that turned into a street with houses on both sides. Mojombo led them around the block to a less-traveled street, and they kept moving. Twice they stopped and let Army patrols move through the streets. The squads of four men were walking. No trucks, Murdock decided.
The last four blocks they moved cautiously, with Mojombo in the lead rushing from one shadow to the next. When he stopped them, they were half a block from the club in the downtown business area. They had come up an alley, and directly across the street was the club where the girls bet their lives on five-to-one odds. A parking spot had been left open right in front of the door.
“He’ll get out on the far side away from us,” Murdock said. “We have to use the EAR as soon as his car stops. You tell us that it’s the right car and Howard will fire. Then we charge up at once to the car and open the door, and you confirm your ID of the general.”
Mojombo nodded. They waited. It was just after 2120 when a big black Cadillac swept into the parking spot.
“Yes, that’s his car. I know the license plate.”
Howard fired the EAR. The familiar whooshing sound came, and Murdock and Mojombo leaped up and charged the fifty feet to the black car. Two men who had been ready to open the driver’s-side door had fallen to the street. Three people beyond the car had also dropped to the sidewalk in a quick sleep. Murdock grabbed the driver’s-side rear door and jerked it open. Two women almost fell out of the car. He pushed them back in. In the light from the dome bulb, Murdock saw a uniformed man on the far side. The door opened and Mojombo leaned in. He nodded. Then his hand came up and he fired twice with a .45 automatic at point-blank range into the general’s forehead. Murdock slammed the door and took off running for the shadows. He heard feet pounding behind him. Mojombo caught him thirty yards up the alley. Behind them there were a few cries, then an uproar as men poured out of the gaming club.
Murdock and Mojombo ran past Howard, who jumped up and sprinted after them. Three blocks away the trio sagged into deep shadows and panted to catch their breaths.
When he could talk, Mojombo waved at Murdock. “It was my job to pull the trigger. I did. Now we get the hell out of here. They will throw every river patrol craft they have onto the water as soon as they get the word. Our small outboard couldn’t compete.”
“We have to leave the boat and jog back up the river trail,” Murdock said. “Is it a good trade-off, the boat for Assaba?”
Mojombo laughed softly. “It is a wonderful trade. We can always steal another boat. Now we better get moving. We may have to split up. If we do, we meet at the ten-mile dock.”
They stepped into the street, and Howard led them on an easy jog that would cover seven miles in an hour.
They saw no patrols, and didn’t hear any whining motors on the river. It was slightly after 2300 when they came near the ten-mile dock.
“Break time,” Murdock said. They sprawled in the grass under some trees and gulped in fresh air. Mojombo reached into a small backpack he had worn and took out six candy bars.
“Courtesy of President Kolda’s warehouse,” he said. “Quick energy for the rest of the trip.”
They jogged for another two miles. Then the horse-cart trail became too dangerous and they slowed to a walk.
“A thirty-mile hike,” Howard said as they moved along the trail. “This is a little more than I signed on for, Skipper.”