The Peacemakers (46 page)

Richards’ fingers danced over the keyboard as she rushed to finish the report of investigation. Jill proofread each page as the general finished it, and her panic grew with each paragraph. Richards was an accomplished staff officer and marshaled her facts with stained-glass logic and a rare expertise, leaving little doubt that Allston was guilty of permitting a subordinate to torture a prisoner and then covering it up with his silence. Richards finished the last page and checked the time: it was just before noon. “Print it out.” Jill hit the print command and the printer whirred, spitting out the hundred-page report. Richards scanned it with a smug satisfaction. “Not bad, if I say so myself.” She watched as Jill bound it in a report cover. “I hope you learned something from all this,” Richards said.

Never trust a vindictive bitch? Jill thought. “I’m quite sure your Colonel Sutherland will be impressed.” She glanced at the wall clock. “A Dumbo is landing in twenty minutes.” She handed the report to the general. “Colonel Sutherland is on it.”

“I’ve never met the gentleman. I understand he’s famous for gaining convictions.” She enjoyed twisting the knife and watching Jill’s reaction. They walked out to Jill’s truck and headed for the airstrip. “I would have preferred that Colonel Sutherland served as trial counsel in a court-martial and not the investigating officer.”

“It appears you have done his work for him,” Jill said.

“That’s why I was sent ahead, to prevent a cover up.” They reached the airfield as a C-17 entered the landing pattern. “I’ll be glad to get out of here once and for all.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jill replied. They watched in silence as the big airlifter landed and taxied in.

Richards got out of the truck and waited for the aircraft to stop. “Stay here and keep the air conditioner running.” She walked towards the lone figure who deplaned. From her vantage point, Jill watched them as they talked and headed her way. The lawyer was slender, non-descript, and slightly hunched shouldered. Richards introduced them and they stood talking. There was something about his boyish features and the way he listened that made Jill trust him. Satisfied he had his bearings, Sutherland climbed into the truck. Richards handed him her report. “The investigation to date,” she announced.

Jill drove in silence as Sutherland scanned the report and her panic mounted.

Sutherland read at well over a thousand words a minute and had digested the report by the time they reached Mission House. “Very interesting,” he allowed. “And very thorough. But there’s a problem. I need to speak to Sergeant Malone. Immediately.”

Now it was Richards’ turn to panic. She called the security cop on her communicator and handed it to Sutherland. The colonel identified himself. “When did you turn over BermaNur to the United Nations?” He listened. “Twenty-four hours ago. At Addis Abba. Got it. Thank you.” Without getting out of the truck, he turned to Richards. “This is an excellent report, general. Top notch. You made a strong case. But you gave your prime witness away. Without him, we have nothing, nada, zilch.”

“But the video,” Richards protested.

“Without BermaNur in the witness box, it can all be explained away in court by any first-year law student. Not only that, Allston, against his own interests, urged you to retain custody and not transfer him to the UN. Does that sound like the actions of a guilty man? Not to me.”

“So what do we do?” Richards asked, her voice stretched tight.

“We get him back. How soon can we get to Addis Ababa?”

Jill spoke up. “There’s a shuttle tomorrow afternoon.”

“They’ll damn well do better than that,” Richards said. “I’ll talk to Allston.” She hurried into the Ops Center with Sutherland and Jill in tow. Dick Lane was there, manning the scheduling desk, and shook his head when Richards demanded a C-130 for immediate transportation to Addis Ababa,

“General, I would if I could.” He scanned the board. “We got three Herks inbound but they’re on hold for another mission and I can’t release them.”

“So who can?” Richards demanded.

“Colonel Allston. He’s flying. I expect him back this evening with the fourth Herk.”

Sutherland took charge. “Stay on top of it, Major. It’s important that we get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. But since we have a few hours to kill, I’d like to see the mission.”

Jill perked up. “General Richards, if you no longer need me, I can show Colonel Sutherland around.”

“You do that,” Richards groused.

“Thank you, ma’am.” It was her turn to twist the knife. “And I did learn a lot.” Richards stormed out. Sutherland thought for a moment and followed her, leaving Jill and Lane alone. “Delay as long as you can,” Jill told him. “The longer the better.”

“I didn’t hear that,” Lane said. He lowered his voice. “But if they want out of here before tomorrow, they’ll have to walk or drive.”

“Thank you,” Jill murmured. She ran after Sutherland. “Colonel,” she called, “would you like to meet Reverend Person? He’s with Colonel Vermullen.”

“Very impressive,” Sutherland said. Jill had given him a Cooks Tour of the mission and the refugee camp, and was driving west on a gravel road. “Where are we headed now?”

“This is the road to the town of Malakal, but we’re only going as far as the outskirts. The Legion has a checkpoint there and that’s where I expect we’ll find Toby. I imagine he’s pretty worried about now.”

Sutherland gave her his friendliest look, playing the game. “Okay, Major. Where is all this leading, and why is the Reverend Person worried?”

“Because his wife is shopping,” she replied. She slowed and turned into a large open area with a camouflaged revetment and a canopy-covered rest area. A squad of legionnaires sat in the shade and shared cigarettes with four young African men dressed in civilian clothes. “We’re there. That’s Colonel Vermullen’s Panhard over there and his bodyguard, Private Beck. He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.”

“That old guy?” Sutherland asked, taking in the legionnaire and the battered utility vehicle. He got out and followed her into the revetment that was also covered with a canopy where Jill introduced him to Vermullen and Person. “My pleasure. Gentlemen,” Sutherland said. “If I read Major Sharp correctly, there is something I need to see.”

Vermullen took over. “We are trying to coax a Sudanese Army battalion into evacuating Malakal. I’m hoping we can do it with smoke and mirrors.”

“Actually, with well-placed rumors on the jungle telegraph,” Toby added. “And a little encouragement.” From the look on Sutherland’s face, he didn’t have a clue and an explanation was in order. “The jungle telegraph is Africa’s internet. It is word-of-mouth news transmitted by merchants and truck drivers who move about. Market places are the URLs.”

“I get it,” Sutherland said. “The market places are where information is stored and disseminated. Major Sharp tells me your wife is shopping today, so I assume she is gathering news.”

“Not quite,” Toby explained. “She’s pumping information, actually misinformation, into the system.”

“Just like the internet,” Sutherland added, understanding the analogy.

Toby nodded. “The mission buys a lot of food and supplies from the local vendors, which creates goodwill. Right now, D’Na is spreading the rumor that the South Sudan’s People’s Liberation Army intends to attack tomorrow morning, and it’s payback time.”

“Because the South Sudanese have been losing big time,” Sutherland added.

Toby had to make the lawyer understand the stakes. “If you call genocide, ‘losing’ then they are losing big time.”

A high-wheeled pickup loaded with crates of food drove up, and a big, raw-boned woman got out. She gleamed with vitality and, like most Dinkas, her hair was cut short. Toby visibly relaxed. “My wife, D’Na,” he announced. She motioned for the four young men dressed in civilian clothes to join her as she came into the revetment. They all gathered around a large-scale map of Malakal as she filled them in. From the concise way she briefed the men and commanded their attention, there was no doubt she was an accomplished and experienced leader.

D’Na’s first stop had been at the stall of an old woman, Malakal’s most famous fortuneteller and traditional healer. D’Na had whispered the rumor that the South Sudanese were going to attack the SA garrison, and then gone about her business. But she also carefully marked the location of every Sudanese Army checkpoint around the market. By the time she was finished, the market was buzzing with the rumor. “I counted six checkpoints,” she told the men. She carefully marked the six locations on the chart and turned to the four young men. “Go,” she ordered. “Do not spend time talking to the girls. Make sure the soldiers see you and then leave. Get back here as soon as you can.” The four men were all smiles as they left.

“Who are they?” Sutherland asked.

“South Sudanese from Juba,” Toby explained. “You can’t tell it, but every Dinka and Nuer in Malakal will know they’re from a different tribe.”

Sutherland understood. “Confirmation of the rumor. So what happens next?”

“We wait,” Toby replied.

Two hours later, the young men were back, still smiling. They reported they were seen scouting the Army checkpoints and were as popular as Ebola fever.

“Now the next phase,” Vermullen said. He keyed his handheld radio. “Freedom Flight, Freedom Flight, this is Wink One transmitting in the blind. You are cleared to drop. Repeat, you are cleared to drop.” He ended the transmission. “I hope the SA monitored that,” he said. “Have you ever seen an airdrop from the ground?” he asked Sutherland. The lawyer said he had not. “Then you will find it most interesting.”

“Who’s being dropped?” Sutherland asked.

“South Sudanese, of course,” Vermullen replied. He led the way to his Panhard and climbed in the back with Jill. Sutherland sat in the passenger’s seat and Beck drove. “Colonel Allston is flying the C-130,” Vermullen explained, “and the parachutists are South Sudanese recruits we have trained. It is what you Americans call a Hollywood jump. They are jumping without equipment.” They made the drive to a large open area four miles south of Malakal.

The sun was setting when Sutherland saw a single C-130 approach from the west. It passed overhead as jumpers streamed out both aft jump doors. Within minutes, the jumpers were on the ground and gathering up their parachutes. They quickly double-timed into the brush and disappeared. “More confirmation of the rumor?” Sutherland asked. It was a rhetorical question and he knew the answer. “So what now?”

“We have dinner,” Vermullen replied. “Colonel Allston will be joining us.”

“So what happens next?” Sutherland asked.

“We wait.”