Whiplash (19 page)

Murim Wap, Sudan

B
OSTON THREW THE
L
AND
C
RUISER INTO REVERSE EVEN AS
Danny pulled himself inside. Dirt and gravel spat in every direction. Mortar shells exploded forty or fifty yards away. There were more helicopters nearby, their rotors pounding the air like the excited heartbeat of an oversized dinosaur.

They made it to the highway.

“Wait up,” said Danny, struggling to get his bearings in the passenger seat. “I want to make sure they get out of here in one piece.”

“We got to get the hell out, Colonel,” snapped Boston. “All hell is breaking loose.”

As if to underline his statement, a fresh volley of mortar shells landed nearby.

“You’re going west,” said Danny.

“We can’t go back the way we came. We’d be running right by the Sudan troops.”

“I have to make sure Tarid gets away,” said Danny, still having trouble getting his bearings. “Pull off the road.”

“We’re sitting ducks here.”

“Just pull off the goddamn road.”

Boston veered off the asphalt. The other Land Cruiser stopped behind them.

Danny pulled out the control unit of the Voice. “I need the overhead images of the contact point,” he told the computer.

The video from the UAV came onto the screen, streaks and flashes of gunfire, flares and explosions.

“Locate marked subject.”

“Located.”

Two stars appeared on the screen. The Owl was supplying the image.

“One of those is Tarid,” said Danny. “Who’s the other?”

“Rebel identified as Tilia.”

“Highlight Tarid and zoom.”

The image zoomed on Tarid, but the screen was so small that Danny couldn’t get a good feel for his situation. Was he trapped? He seemed to be moving, but even that wasn’t clear on the small screen, which was intended primarily as a control display.

“What’s Tarid doing?” Danny asked the Voice.

“Subject is moving south of the road, accompanied by seven other soldiers.”

“Boss, we staying here forever?” asked Boston.

“Relax,” Danny told him.

“Not understood,” said the Voice.

“What is the disposition of the Sudanese army troops?” Danny asked MY-PID. “Mark the main groups on the screen.”

The computer did so. All of the troops were north of the road.

“All right,” Danny told Boston. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Boston got back on the road. Danny leaned his head back and closed his eyes, reliving not the firefight, but his emotions, his hesitation and the butterflies. He’d accomplished his mission, and yet he felt like a failure—a coward.

Any objective observer would have scoffed. Yet it was the fear that Danny remembered.

“Army troops approaching,” warned the Voice.

“What?” said Danny, sitting up.

“Four armored personnel carriers on road ahead, traveling east at a high rate of speed.”

“Will they reach the intersection before us?”

“Affirmative.”

“Boss?” asked Boston.

“Keep going,” Danny told him. “MY-PID, I need an alternate route back to Base Camp Alpha. Pronto.”

“Working.”

Blemmyes Village, Sudan

N
URI LAY ACROSS THE RAFTERS ABOVE THE
S
HEETROCK
, waiting as the new set of guards took their posts. One stayed in the small vestibule near the door, snuggling into the soft chair. Despite the ridicule he’d heaped on his colleague, he was dozing within a few minutes, done in by boredom, the stale air, and the late hour.

The other guard walked through the building, turned into the hallway, and headed for the restroom, his way lit by a soft red light activated from the threshold. He hummed as he walked, bouncing and full of energy.

The man had learned that his wife was pregnant with their first child earlier in the day, and the prospect of a new son—and the bonus Colonel Zsar paid to all married men when their children were born—filled him with something approaching glee. He’d taken inside guard duty before, though always when people were working; tonight the laboratory would be dark, its last batch of material processed twenty-four hours before.

Though guard duty was a boring, mindless task, he liked the chance to let his mind roam, filled with songs he was constantly inventing. He wasn’t much of a soldier, as he would have been the first to admit. He’d joined the colonel’s army for the pay, choosing to be a rebel because soldiers were hardly ever paid on time. Religion was also a factor in his choice; he wouldn’t have joined Uncle Dpap, even though his reputation for watching over his men was better than the colonel’s, because Dpap was a nonbeliever. As dim as the soldier’s own concept of Islam might be, he nonetheless observed the proper forms, praying and dreaming of one day making his own hajj, the sacred pilgrimage to Mecca.

Nuri held his breath as the guard walked down the hallway nearby, then entered the restroom. The light shone through the fan covering. Nuri slipped over to the fan and peeked into the room through the open space. He couldn’t see the rebel—he’d gone into the commode nearest the door—but he could see the man’s rifle, an early model AK-47, complete with a battered but polished wooden stock, leaning up against the exterior of the stall almost directly below him.

The man’s humming continued. Nuri wondered if it might be possible to somehow plant a bug on his gear.

He could put one of the small ones into the gun barrel. The gum would make it stick.

It was a crazy idea. The device would be found as soon as the man cleaned his rifle.

The rebels fell asleep on guard duty and laughed about it. Were they likely to clean their weapons?

And what if it was discovered? So what? By that time he would already have a decent idea of what was going on.

If he surrounded it with gum, the soldier would just think it was a stone or some sort of debris. He’d think it was a prank and never report it. It wouldn’t look like much of anything.

The fan was held down by a pair of screws. Nuri undid them, then put his hand on the fan assembly and lifted it slowly. The detector of course found motion, but it would be dismissed by anyone who knew the guard was in the bathroom.

Just as Nuri got the fan off to the side, the soldier stopped singing in his commode.

Nuri started to replace it. Then the man began humming again.

The barrel of the gun was about six feet from him.

Nuri leaned over, but his small body left him a good four feet away. He slipped over some more, leaning farther, but was still at least three feet from the barrel. It was just a little too far, he decided, stretching farther.

His knee slipped against the joist, and suddenly he started
to lose his balance. He threw his hand out, grabbing on the top of the nearest stall.

“Who’s there? What?” said the rebel soldier.

Nuri, leaning almost full out of the hole, reached over and took the barrel of the gun with his right hand. He pushed the bug into the barrel, then pulled himself back up. As he did, the gun slid on the floor, clattering against the wood.

The rebel hurried to finish. He couldn’t see the fan from where he was, nor did he even imagine that someone had slipped inside the building. He thought his companion was playing tricks on him.

“I’ll get you, I’ll get you,” he shouted as he pulled open the door.

He wasn’t surprised that no one was there. He went and grabbed his gun, spinning all around. He checked the stalls, but didn’t look at the ceiling before running out and going back to the vestibule to berate his friend.

Nuri decided it was time to leave.

“I’m coming out,” he whispered to Hera. “Get the panel off. Quick! And be
quiet
.”

He scrambled across the rafters. Hera pulled off the screws and took the panel away. As she did, Nuri reached the side and swung out through the opening, landing in a tumble on his feet. Hera put the wall back in place, turning the screws quickly.

“Give me some,” Nuri told Hera, taking the screws.

“Ssssh,” said Hera.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

The Voice, listening through the bug Nuri had put in the gun, translated the conversation between the two guards. The guard from the vestibule said he’d been napping; the other one refused to believe him. Both then began accusing the other of trying to pull a hoax. Finally they decided to conduct a full search of the building.

They looked in the front room, then in the hallway, and finally in the empty offices at the rear.

“Maybe it was Jacob inside,” said the guard from the vestibule.

“Maybe,” said the other man doubtfully. He was now starting to think that he had either imagined it or that the ghosts some of his neighbors believed in were real.

“Well, go ask him, and leave me alone,” said the first.

During the search, Nuri and Hera circled around to the other side of the road, back in the direction of the motorcycle in case they had to make a quick getaway.

Nuri stopped when he heard there was another man in the building.

Finally he understand what was going on there. Or at least part of it.

He reached into his pocket and took out the small iPodlike control for the Voice unit. Then he told the computer to track the bug feed on an outline of the building.

“What are we seeing?” Hera asked, looking over his shoulder at the tiny image.

“I slipped a bug into the guard’s rifle.”

“Where?”

“In the barrel.”

“That’s not an image.”

“I wasn’t lucky enough to get it in heads-up. Next time I’ll do better.”

Actually, the gum surrounding it would have made it very difficult for the camera to pick up anything. Hera wasn’t sure whether slipping the bug into the gun was the ballsiest thing she’d ever heard—or the craziest. She kept silent, deciding she didn’t want to compliment him. He had enough of a swelled head already.

The guard returned to the hall, and then to the area where the restroom was. And then he went behind the building—downstairs, Nuri realized, into some sort of secret basement that extended into the hill behind the building.

The earth hampered the audio transmission, but he had heard and seen enough.

“We have to plant radiation traps around the site,” he told Hera. “And get some soil samples from the front yard.”

“What’s going on?”

“I think we just found out where those metal tubes are.”

In the vicinity of Murim Wap, Sudan

T
HE
V
OICE TOLD
D
ANNY THERE WAS A ROAD TO THE NORTH
about a half mile away. If they took it, they could follow a series of trails north and then back east to their camp. The detour would require that they drive through two leveled fields, but seemed considerably safer than running past the approaching government forces.

Boston had trouble finding the turnoff. Then the road petered out after barely half a mile. Even with the night glasses and the GPS, it was slow going.

“Danny, you on?” said Nuri, coming over the line.

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“What’s your situation?”

“We’re heading back to camp. Red Henri and then the Sudanese army ambushed us.”

“The Sudanese ambushed you?”

“Right.”

“Are they working with Red Henri?”

“No. He ended up in the cross fire. Red Henri got wind of the meeting somehow and showed up. The Sudanese army came a little while after that. With helicopters.”

“There are plenty of informers in both rebel groups,” said Nuri. “Colonel Zsar’s especially. They may have tipped the government off.”

“I guess.”

“Did you tag the Iranian?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like you got someone else, too,” said Nuri.

“Tilia, Uncle Dpap’s aide,” said Danny. “It was an accident.”

“It’s not important. Don’t worry. Damn. The Sudanese are throwing all sorts of troops at these guys. This must be Egypt’s doing, helping them. Damn.”

“I don’t know if our guy is going to get out,” said Danny. “They have a lot of troops coming.”

“That may not be critical right now,” said Nuri.

“Turn into field, point-one miles,” said the Voice.

Danny told Nuri to hold while he helped Boston navigate. The rutted field was filled with large rocks, but the ground was firm. They slowed to about five miles an hour, then followed a serpentine section of wall to a shallow streambed. Nearly a mile later they came to the road.

“All right,” said Danny.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d decided to drive back to the States,” said Nuri when he got back to him.

“Just having trouble with the terrain. How did you do?”

“Better than expected. And worse. I think the Iranians are building a bomb.”

“Here?”

“No, I don’t know. We got some hits on uranium, but not weapons grade.”

Actually, the detectors had found traces of material that typically accompanied uranium, signaling that some sort of storage or processing was carried out there. Finding actual weapons grade uranium required very sensitive gear placed very close to the material, and even then would have taken quite a bit of luck. Still, the finding was critical.

“I don’t have it all figured out,” added Nuri, “but I think they’re doing this in stages. This would be an early stage. I have to talk to Reid and Stockard.”

“Right.”

“I’ll let them know we’ve tagged the Iranian and we’re
going to follow him. If they have other plants, he’ll take us to them.”

“If he makes it out of the ambush,” said Danny.

“I’ll be at the base in another twenty minutes,” said Nuri, ignoring Danny’s pessimism. “Let me know if anything comes up.”

Two minutes later the Voice warned Danny that four Sudanese army trucks were traveling on the road they were headed for. Rather than engage in a firefight, Danny decided their best option would be to simply go far enough off the road so they couldn’t be seen and wait for them to pass. They crossed the field until they found a cluster of low trees and waited.

M
EANWHILE, THE REMAINS OF
C
OLONEL
Z
SAR’S FORCES
had regrouped south of the road and were sweeping east to escape the army troops. Four of Zsar’s men had been killed; nearly all the rest, including himself, had suffered at least minor injuries.

Tarid was among the few who hadn’t been hit. He found the colonel as he retreated, and joined him in a pickup truck. They rode together in the front of the pickup, jostling against each other and the colonel’s driver as they streaked across the rutted road.

“Red Henri must have betrayed us,” said Zsar. “He must have planned the entire venture.”

“More likely it was one of Dpap’s men,” said Tarid. “Or one of yours.”

Colonel Zsar bristled. “Maybe the arms dealer was the culprit.”

“No.”

“No rebel would do this.”

“His men shot down two of the helicopters,” said Tarid. “He warned us. He has very good intelligence. He’s smarter than you think. Greedy, but smart.”

“The helicopters may have been a show,” said Colonel Zsar. He prided himself on never having retreated in the face
of the Sudanese army. His ego had been stung by the reversal. “We could have taken them, all of them,” he added. “If I’d brought more men.”

“You can take them another time.”

The more Colonel Zsar brooded about his reputation, the more he realized that he couldn’t simply run. He had to do something—he had to defeat the army.

“Turn the truck around,” he told the driver. He took out his satellite phone.

“What are you doing?” asked Tarid.

“We’re going back.”

“You can’t go back—they’ve got you outgunned. They’re bringing more reinforcements.”

“So will I.”

Tarid argued, but it was a waste of breath. Colonel Zsar had decided his reputation demanded that he defeat the army soldiers who had attacked. Even if the victory was symbolic—a simple return to the battlefield would do—he would be able to restore his reputation.

“You’re letting your ego guide you,” said Tarid. “A dangerous thing.”

Zsar frowned.

“Then let me out,” said Tarid.

The door was locked. As he reached to pull up the lock, Colonel Zsar pointed his pistol at him. If he let Tarid go, the others might follow.

“No cowards,” he hissed.

Tarid let go of the door.

A
S THEY WAITED FOR THE
S
UDANESE TROOP TRUCKS TO
pass, Danny had the Voice give him periodic updates on the Iranian’s position.

He’d clearly escaped, cutting south.

Good, thought Danny.

He was stopping.

Why?

He was returning to the battlefield.

What?

“Are you sure?” Danny asked.

“Affirmative.”

“What’s the situation there?”

“Positioning Owl UAV,” reported the Voice. A few minutes later MY-PID delivered a sitrep; situation report. “Reinforcements still en route. Sudanese army capturing wounded rebels. Helicopters approaching from the west.”

Tarid was driving back into a trap. And Danny knew there was nothing he could do about it.

W
HEN HE SAW THE FIRES IN THE DISTANCE
, C
OLONEL
Z
SAR
decided to wait on the road for his reinforcements to arrive. There was little harm in waiting, he realized; the longer he took to strike back, the more relaxed the regular soldiers would become, and the easier his victory.

He figured that it would take a little over thirty minutes for the rest of his army to arrive. Once they were there, he would sweep onto the battlefield, routing the regulars the way they had routed him.

He would pick only a small group, attack and flee. That would be enough for the symbolic victory he wanted.

The colonel was sketching his plan out in his head when he heard the helicopters approaching. He got out of the truck to look for them; when he did, he saw the dark shadows well over the horizon, heading in their direction.

“Out of the trucks!” he ordered. “Prepare for an attack.”

Tarid was livid. “You idiot!” he yelled at Zsar. “We have to get out of here!”

“Shut up and prepare to fight,” said Zsar, starting to turn away.

“You idiot! Where are your troops?”

The colonel stopped. “What did you call me?”

“An idiot!” said Tarid, taking two steps and screaming in Zsar’s face. “You were safe. You—”

Colonel Zsar delivered a roundhouse to Tarid’s head. The Iranian staggered back, then coiled his legs and arms to strike
back. Before he could, Zsar’s driver smashed him across the back of the head with his AK-47. Tarid fell to the ground, unconscious and oblivious to the firefight starting around him.