The Peacemakers (44 page)

Tara lay on her side and dragged a finger down Allston’s chest. The creaky fan above the bed barely stirred the night air but it provided a curtain of noise that gave them the privacy they desired. She let him talk as she played with the hair on his chest. “I wish I knew where that video came from,” he told her.

“It was Glen, my cameraman,” she admitted. “He was out filming the attack.”

“At night? How did he do that?”

“Infrared,” she told him. “I saw the clip and told him to delete it. I thought he had. It’s worth a lot of money, and he must have e-mailed it to someone in the States. He wants an Emmy so bad he can taste it.”

“Fucking lovely,” Allston groused.

“Speaking of which,” she murmured, linking a leg with his.

“Glen left on the C-17 today,” Allston told her.

She came up on an elbow. “I didn’t know. That complicates things. Technically, he was working for me and that video is my property.” She thought for a moment, considering her options. “I can take care of it. Can you get me to Addis tomorrow? I need to get to the States and sort it out.” He nodded, and she cuddled against him. “I don’t know if I’ll be back.”

“We’ve got a C-130 going to Addis tomorrow afternoon. I’ll get you on it. All things considered, it’s best you get out of here. I will miss you.”

“Not if your major has her way.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

“Really? You like her, but are too stubborn to admit it.” She pulled him to her. “Now say goodbye properly.”

The summons for Allston to report to Richards came late the next morning. At first, he considered ignoring it and pleading the press of other duties. On reflection, he realized that would be counterproductive, and he did need to speak to Jill about the countless administrative details that nibbled at a commander’s time and attention. It bothered him that it was barely six hours into the day and he already missed her. He made the short walk from the Ops Center to Toby’s office where the brigadier was conducting her investigation. Jill was waiting at the office door and ushered him in. She closed the door behind him and waited for the fireworks to start.

Allston reported in and stood in front of Toby’s desk while Richards thumbed through her notes. At her nod, Jill started a mini CD recorder and sat down to take notes. “Let’s begin,” Richards said. “You are aware of my authority to conduct this investigation into the torture of a prisoner of war.”

“Alleged torture of an illegal combatant,” Allston corrected. Jill dutifully continued to make notes.

Richards ignored his reply. “Major Sharp, please read Colonel Allston his right to remain silent under Article 31 of the UCMJ.” Jill did so while Allston continued to stand. “Colonel Allston,” Richards continued, “were you present at Mission Awana on early Thursday morning of last week?”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Allston said, “I will be glad to answer your questions when my attorney is present to advise me.”

Richards’ fingers beat a tattoo on the desk. “Colonel, do you consider that answer worthy of a pro?”

Allston couldn’t help himself. “Ma’am, where I come from, a pro is a hooker.” Jill suppressed a laugh and turned away so Richards couldn’t see the expression on her face. Unfortunately, the general caught it. “Major Sharp, please note that I am reprimanding Colonel Allston for his flippant and disrespectful remarks to an investigating officer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jill replied, dutifully recording the reprimand.

“This interview is terminated for now,” Richards continued. “Colonel Allston, there is a related matter we must discuss that concerns the well-being of your prisoner, BermaNur. With the aid of an interpreter provided by the Reverend Tobias Person, I have interviewed him in conjunction with this investigation. The prisoner is fearful of his life while in your custody. I am convinced that his fears are well-founded, and I am ordering you to turn him over to the United Nations Relief and Peacekeeping Mission, Southern Sudan.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Allston replied, “that would be a mistake. You are giving up custody of a witness.”

“So noted,” Richards replied. “However, the physical safety of the prisoner is paramount. You will do as ordered.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Allston replied. “Will there be anything else.” Richards told him no and that he was excused. “Ma’am, I need to speak to Major Sharp about some administrative details and other matters that do not concern your investigation.”

“You may, but only in my presence.”

Allston thanked her and huddled with Jill, going over some paperwork. Then, “Any progress on getting Waleed out of Malakal?”

“Colonel Vermullen’s working on it. I’ll talk to him today and get an update.”

Richards interrupted. “What are you up to now? You’re not authorized to engage in combat operations.”

Allston glanced at the CD recorder. It was still on. “With all due apologies, ma’am, this matter does not concern you.” He turned and left.

“We’ll see about that,” Richards muttered.

Outside, Allston checked his watch. He keyed his communicator and called Malone, telling him Richards had ordered them to turn the Janjaweed over to the UN, and that he wanted BermaNur on the C-130 that was leaving for Addis Abba in two hours.

“I can make that happen,” Malone replied, “but that’s dumber than dirt.”

“I know,” Allston said. “Let’s get him as far away from here as possible. Hell, I’d send him to the UN in New York if we had a plane going there.” Another thought came to him. “Send two escorts with the little bastard and record the turnover to the UN on video. I want it documented we delivered him healthy and in one piece.”

“Will do.” Malone understood the game of ‘cover your ass.’

Allston returned to his desk in the operations center and wrapped up a few minor matters. Finished, he spun around in his chair and checked the latest numbers posted on the boards that tracked the status of the 4440th. Because of the twenty-one Irregulars who flew out the day before, his unit strength was down to 140 people. Thanks to Malaby, all four of his C-130s were operational and flying over twenty sorties a day. But the big numbers were eighteen and 17,892. They had been evacuating every Nuer and Dinka they could find out of harms way and flying them into the mission for eighteen days. Unfortunately, the huge number of refugees had overwhelmed the mission’s ability to handle them. Toby was working with the rebels in Juba and moving them out as fast as possible by trucks and buses but the refugee camp was overflowing with humanity.

He wanted to fly the refugees to the main camps three hundred miles south but fuel was a problem as C-130s gulped fuel at over 600 gallons an hour. By keeping sorties short, they were able to rescue more tribesmen from certain genocide. His eyes moved down the status boards to the fuel remaining in the dump. He did the math. They had enough fuel for three days of operations. That reserve had stayed constant and he wondered where the major in charge of logistics was finding the fuel. He suspected the major had tapped into the flourishing black market. But that was a question he would not ask. What he didn’t know, he could ignore.

He studied the wall chart that Jill kept current. Every attack by the SA and Janjaweed was marked with a red flag and the date. The frequency of the attacks was increasing and coming their way. How much longer did they have before he had to evacuate the mission and find safety in Ethiopia or deep in rebel held territory? He mentally crunched all the variables, trying to predict the future. There was a high uncertainty but that day was not far off. So what could he do to delay it? If Vermullen could get Waleed out of Malakal, that might give him an extra week. And that meant seven to eight thousand more Africans saved. Could they hold on that long? How much more could he ask of his people? They were working eighteen to twenty hours a day in the stifling heat and dead tired. Still, if he read them right, their morale was high. He closed his eyes.