He waved at the garage area, and a two-year-old black Buick rolled out of the yard and toward the gate.
“Back up, make way,” Stroh bellowed as the large metal gate started to roll back on its track. The mass of riflemen edged backward. Then, at a word from the colonel, they turned and ran down the street, where they formed up into columns.
Two armed Marines and Stroh stepped into the car with the ambassador, and they pulled through the gate, which closed quickly.
“You’ve been to see him before?” Stroh asked.
“Three times. Two of the visits I was chewed out for stopping foreign aid after he stole what we sent him. The Marines will stay in the lobby. I’ll take you with me.”
“Moral support?”
“About it. Don’t say a word unless he asks you a question.”
“Easy.”
The car stopped in front of the Presidential Palace, and they were escorted inside, where the Marines settled down in chairs and Stroh and Oberholtzer were shown to a couch, where they sat for thirty minutes before being admitted.
“The old make-him-wait ploy,” Oberholtzer said. “I’ve used it a time or two myself.”
The President’s office was large and elaborate, with the main man’s desk at the far side under the nation’s flag. The President did not rise as they walked in. He stared at Stroh.
“Who is this man?”
“My new special assistant. He came in three days ago.”
“No matter. I think your Marine guards blew up my Army camp and killed the commanding general last night.”
“Mr. President, may I respond?” Oberholtzer asked. The man sitting at the desk nodded. “All of our Marines were in the compound each night this week from dark to daylight. It is our policy, and your suggestion. They had no hand in the destruction at your Army base, or the death of the general. From news reports it seemed like dissidents from the Army killed the general. The men were reported to wear your Army’s jungle cammy uniforms.”
The President leaped to his feet, his face red as he screamed out the words. “No, not my own men. Everyone knows the general was assassinated by foreign agents who used a new kind of ray gun to stun everyone in the area. Then the cowards ran to the car and shot General Assaba. Everyone knows it was foreign agents.”
President Kolda leaned forward, balancing on his hands, his face blood-red now, his breath coming in gasps.
“Everyone knows,” he said again, and slid into his chair. His hands covered his face a moment. Then he looked up.
“You and your complete embassy staff have twenty-four hours to get out of my country. I am expelling every one of your embassy people. As of six P.M. today, no Sierra Bijimi citizen will be allowed to enter your compound. You’re through here. Now get out of my sight.”
On the way out to the car, Stroh looked at the ambassador. “Can he do this?”
“Oh, yes, he can. We’ll close up the embassy, hire some guards to patrol the walls outside, and scoot over to Zambia until this gets cleared up.”
In the car Stroh frowned. “Easy for you diplomats to leave, but what about the SEALs? They don’t have diplomatic passports. They don’t have any passports at all.”
18
As soon as Stroh hit the embassy parking lot, he ran up the steps to the second floor where the SEALs were quartered.
“Listen up,” he called. “Moving day. President Kolda has closed down the embassy. You guys and I will be moving up to Camp Freedom as soon as the Skyhawk chopper can get here. I’m on my way to call in the bird now. Kolda is trying to play hardball. He doesn’t know about our chopper yet. I’d guess we have about two hours before we fly out of here.”
It took him an hour to raise the SATCOM at Camp Freedom.
“Yes, Stroh, this is Camp Freedom.”
“Good. At last. Get Murdock.”
“Aye, sir. Right away.”
It was five minutes before the commander came on the radio.
“Murdock here. What can we do for you, Mr. Stroh?”
“You can get that chopper warmed up and send him down here as quickly as possible. Every U.S. citizen at the embassy has been kicked out of the country. The SEALs and I are coming to pay you a visit. Don’t send anyone with the bird except the pilot and copilot. We’ll have fourteen bodies to fill it up. Let me know when the bird takes off and his ETA. I’ll leave this set on to receive with somebody monitoring it.”
“That’s a roger. I’m on my way.”
Stroh packed his one airline rolling bag and took it down to the front door. He had learned to travel light. Sometimes he had to buy clothes wherever he was, but for him packing was never a problem.
The SEALs were wrapped up and ready to go in thirty minutes. They waited in their rooms, glad for a day off from training. Lieutenant (j.g.) Gardner and Senior Chief Sadler found Stroh in the cafeteria having a cup of coffee. They joined him.
“What will we be doing up at Camp Freedom?” Gardner asked.
“Probably getting in on some of the action,” Stroh said. “Not sure just how far my orders go. I’ll check with Washington when we hit the camp.”
Bill Bradford, who had been baby-sitting the SATCOM, came running into the cafeteria.
“Hey, figured I’d find you in here. Murdock called. The chopper just left. He says it should have a flight time of about fifteen minutes. He said the pilot asked for two red flares on the LZ. It may take him a couple of circles to find us since he doesn’t know where the embassy is.”
“Everybody into the east parking lot,” Gardner said. He took one last gulp of coffee and ran with the others to the second floor to pick up all of his gear.
The SEALs were waiting with their equipment when the Seahawk swept in from the north. It hesitated a moment. Then the pilot must have seen the two red flares. He raced in, slowed, kicked the nose up on the bird, and settled to the ground.
“Mount up, let’s move,” Gardner bellowed over the sound of the chopper. The SEALs ran to the helicopter in squad formation and climbed onboard.
Stroh had told the ambassador they would be leaving, and he waved at the man, who now stood on the steps. Then Stroh jumped on board, squeezed into a small opening, and at once the bird lifted off. The pilot climbed the little chopper as he slanted away from the center of town to get to the countryside. Then it was a straight run up the river.
Ten minutes later the Skyhawk settled down at the LZ at Camp Freedom, Murdock waited for them.
“About time you guys got here,” he barked at the men. “No tents or cots left, but we’ve got plenty of good soft grass to sleep on. Chow here is good, and we’ll get some action. Understand El Presidente didn’t take kindly to his top man cashing in his chips.”
“Madder than a bumblebee with a boil,” Stroh said. “Got so mad he couldn’t talk. That’s when he threw us out. Whole damn embassy is packing up to fly to Zambia.”
Murdock looked over his platoon. “Mahanani, I want you to take your kit over to the leader’s tent and look at his arm. He picked up a round last night on the way in. A patrol surprised us with a searchlight in our faces. See how the in-and-out looks.”
“Aye, Commander. I’m moving.”
“Mojombo wants us to bunk down over in this section. He’s not sure now long we’ll be here. The word around camp is that we’ll be going downstream to the first village about five miles away. The people there have asked for protection by the Loyalist Party. It’s the first move to retake the outlying areas and gaining strength.”
“When do we get into some action?” Canzoneri asked.
“As soon as we work out some details,” Murdock said. “This first move is more important right now. If Mojombo doesn’t have the people behind him, his cause will sputter and blow out.”
That afternoon, Mojombo met the rest of the SEALs and welcomed them. “You got here just in time to move,” he said. “We go downstream about five miles tomorrow morning. Most of the men will be living and eating with the villagers in their homes. This is going to cut down drastically on the supplies we need. We’ll pick up that cache of canned food on our way past tomorrow. What we can’t take with us, we’ll come back for with some carts. So relax, you guys, and enjoy the wonders of the outdoors and nature herself.”