“We take ten-mile training hikes all the time,” Murdock said. “Twice last month we did twenty-milers.”
“Yeah, but not after combat,” Howard said. “I used up a batch of nervous energy back there when you guys charged the car. I didn’t know what was going to happen.”
“We made it, and the President will have to look for a new hatchet man,” Mojombo said. “The people of Sierra Bijimi owe you two a great debt of gratitude.”
It was a little over four hours later when the trio walked into the tent area of Camp Freedom. Only one light was still on. Vice President Adams heard them arrive and stepped out to welcome them.
“How did it go?” he asked.
“We have one less villain on our list,” Mojombo said. “I thought I was in fair shape. Not true. I had a tough time keeping up with your SEALs.” He turned to Murdock. “You’ll have to give me your physical training program before you leave. My men could use the added strength and stamina.”
“Right now all I need is a cot to flake out on,” Murdock said. Howard had already stumbled into his tent and dropped on the cot, sleeping before he could take off his clothes.
“Commander, just wanted to tell you that the Seahawk arrived,” said Adams. “It’s got door-mounted thirty-caliber machine guns and looks lean and mean. I do suggest that we find some paint and cover up the U.S. markings on it. No sense going out of our way to get in trouble.”
“Glad they made it. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
The next morning, Murdock was up at 0600 and had chow at the mess tent, then went to look at the Seahawk. It was what he had seen before, only with no twin sub-killing torpedoes under the belly. The inside had been stripped of nonessentials, and a.30-caliber machine gun was mounted in each of the two open side doors. A friendly, redheaded, freckled-faced Navy man poked his head out of the cabin and grinned. “Hey, you must be the commander. I’m Josie Halstrom. This is my bucket. Hope we can do you some good. I usually have a copilot and a sensor operator. But we left the sensor man on the ship since we wouldn’t be looking for any subs.”
“Morning, Halstrom. I’m Murdock. How many men can you carry in this rig?”
“The sister Blackhawk calls for twelve, but with your SEAL gear we could probably stuff in sixteen, if nobody exhales. One of them on each of the thirties.” The pilot frowned. “We really going to get in some shooting action?”
“That’s the plan. My bet is you’ve never been shot at before.”
“No, sir, and that’s the truth.”
“We’ll try to keep it that way. We’ll do the shooting. You had breakfast?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Murdock said, and went toward the Vice President’s tent. The Veep was working at doing sit-ups on his bed.
“Twenty-nine and thirty,” Adams said. Then he sat up and wiped sweat off his forehead. Murdock stood just inside the flap, his floppy hat in his hand.
“Mr. Vice President, I know the President wants me to talk you into going out to the destroyer offshore. He’s worried about you. How can you get the nomination for President if you’re six feet under down here in Africa in an unmarked grave?”
Adams chuckled. “Now that’s a new argument. I know that the President would like me to get out of this country, but I feel such a bond with these people. They are getting taken advantage of, and Mojombo Washington is their only hope. I’m going to stay and do whatever I can to help.”
“You know that the President could order me to take you out to the destroyer, and I’d have to tie you up and carry you to the chopper.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“You’re right. But if you wind up with a bullet blowing your head off over here, it will be the end of my Navy career.”
“Hadn’t thought of it that way. I’ll be careful, for both of us.”
“Any reports yet from Sierra City about the little general?”
“Let’s ask Don Stroh.”
They called him on the SATCOM, and he said the news media was going wild. “You should hear the TV newsmen. So far it’s a two-hour special on local TV that may go on all morning. The international press are wildmen. They have interviews with the sleep victims, and with the women in the car with him, and the bystanders who took a nap as well. Nobody knows what kind of magic weapon it was. Some are saying it’s a ray gun, and others say it’s an atomic sleep pistol. The witnesses do say that two men in Army uniforms charged the car and one of them shot the general, then both ran into the darkness.”
“Any comment from the President here?” Adams asked.
“Only a brief statement describing the general as a longtime servant of the people of Sierra Bijimi and saying that he would be missed.”
Murdock took the mike. “Stroh, I’m trying to figure out where the rest of the SEALs would do us the most good. Down there in the middle of things, or up here? We have to go down there anyway for the action. What do you think?”
“Shorter trip from here to a target. I have some of the data you need. Not sure if I should read it over the air.”
“I figure we can send in the Seahawk once or twice before Kolda starts yelling at you. Want to ship the goods up by chopper?”
“Sounds good. Hold on, some trouble at the gate.”
Murdock waited. Two minutes later, Stroh was back. “Trouble, big buddy. We’ve got about five hundred federal troops at the front gate and a colonel who is demanding to see the ambassador. Everybody has a gun. Our Marines have set up a machine gun aimed out the front door at the gate. If somebody starts shooting, we’re not going to stand a chance.”
“Order all of our men not to be the first to fire. Nobody fires a round unless specifically ordered to by you or JG Gardner. The colonel may just want to talk.”
“Then why did he bring five hundred guns?”
“Persuasion and insecurity. See what he wants. Keep in touch. We can’t give you much support from here.”
“I better get down there,” Stroh said. “Later.”
Don Stroh ran from his room at the rear of the building to the front, and down the steps to the first floor. He passed the machine gun in the entranceway with its ugly muzzle pointing toward the front gate. Ambassador Nance Oberholtzer was halfway to the barrier when Stroh caught up with him.
“What does this guy want?” Stroh asked.
“Not sure. So far I’ve only heard shouting. He wouldn’t violate United State soil by crashing the gate and charging in here, would he?”
“Depends how serious he is, and what orders he got. Maybe as a colonel, he’s now in charge of the Army. Keep calm, voice low and serious. You know the routine. The louder he shouts, the softer you talk.”
The two men stopped six feet from the metal bars on the eight-foot-high gate.
“You the ambassador?” a man with silver leaves on his shoulders asked.
“Yes, I’m Ambassador Oberholtzer.” His voice was controlled, just loud enough for the man to hear.
“The President demands that you come now to his office for an official reprimand.”
“Of course, if President Kolda requests that I come to his office for a talk, I’ll be more than happy to go.” The ambassador paused in a studied ploy. “Did you think you needed five hundred troops to convince me to come?” His voice was soft, his words carefully enunciated without a trace of emotion.
“I do what the President tells me to do. You will come out and get in my car.”
“No. Absolutely not. I am the ambassador, not one of your cowering countrymen. I will drive to the Presidential Palace in my own car with my honor guards. If you don’t allow me to do this, you will provoke an international incident. You don’t need that right now.”