Authors: Keith Douglass
Later they started a blaze in the fireplace, and sat on the sofa watching it.
“I love watching a fire,” Ardith said. “It’s like discovering a small bit of the universe. Like a star going supernova, blazing up in a blinding brilliance, and then fading, and dying out to a huge ash somewhere out there in the universe where nobody can see it anymore. Look at that small stick. It blazes up, then glows red for a moment, then it’s nothing but a falling line of ashes.”
“A philosopher too,” Murdock said.
He pulled her closer and kissed her gently on the lips. She eased away and looked at him, then returned the kiss, hard and insistent and with an urgent need.
They eased to the side until she lay on the couch and he was half on top of her. Ardith smiled, and traced one of his eyebrows with her finger.
“Hey, nice. Now please kiss me again.”
The next morning, which was Sunday, Murdock made eggs ranchero for them for breakfast, and they figured out what they would do that day, which was a bit warmer than usual.
On Tuesday they called on Representative Charles Fitzhugh Murdock in the House Office Building. The congressman was in the middle of a floor fight before a roll call vote on a money bill he had been working on for two months.
He had the phone on a shoulder mount, and was working hard.
“Yes, Gunderson, I know you represent some of the
people who will be affected, and that’s why I say you should support the bill. It will bring stability to the area, it will mean better markets for the farmers, and more availability of raw materials for those producers in your area who need them. It’s a win-win situation. Can I count on your vote at four o’clock?” The congressman paused, and waved at his son and Ardith.
“Good, Gunderson, you bet I owe you one for this. I’m a man who always pays my debts. Yes, you can put one of those damned red three-by-five cards up on your tote board. I never forget a friend or a favor. See you at four.” He hung up, and turned to Blake and Ardith.
“Well, well, well. I see that picture I sent you did some good.”
Blake shook his head. “It was really a bad picture, didn’t do this lady justice at all.” They sat down in the chairs near the desk.
“Looks like you’re hard at work in the trenches, Dad.”
“Roll call vote coming up on Bill 4439. I want that sucker. Working my tail off. You two want to make some calls for me?”
“Afraid I’m not all that good on a phone, Dad. Just wanted to be sure you and Mom are still on for that dinner tonight on me. I’ve got reservations and the whole thing.”
“We’ll be there. Let you know how the vote comes out.” His phone buzzed, and he picked it up.
“Stan, good to hear from you. Now, about that bill I’ve been working so hard on.”
Murdock and Ardith stood and went to the outer office.
“Is it always this way?” Murdock asked the assistant at the front desk.
“This is an easy day,” she said. “He said he was glad you dropped in.”
That afternoon they checked in at Senator Manchester’s office and met the Oregonian. He was small and gray, older than Murdock had guessed, but with a lean, hungry appearance that told you he got things done, and done the right way. Senator Manchester was warm and gracious, and Murdock liked him at once. They made a date for dinner
three days hence, and then Murdock and Ardith went back to her Virginia apartment.
The two weeks slammed past so quickly that Murdock couldn’t believe it. He had a last dinner with his parents and Ardith at his parents’ home, and a long good-bye with Ardith that night. The next morning he hitchhiked a ride on a MATTs plane out of Andrews Air Force Base outside Washington, and set down in San Francisco.
He realized that he hadn’t thought about his SEALs more than twice during the whole leave. Ardith was more than he had expected. He wondered just where they were going. They had left it open-ended. He knew she hated what he was doing, from the standpoint of danger if nothing else. He’d half convinced her that it wasn’t all that dangerous, but he wasn’t sure that she would accept that for long.
At last she had looked down at him and kissed him softly. “Look, I know what you do, and I’ll freeze up with terror every time something happens in the world and I know you’re going to be there. I’ll endure it. I’ll hate it. I’ll put up with it to be with you. But one of these days I hope that you’ll decide that you’ve done enough for your country in the Navy, and that it’s time for you to serve in some other way, or to get out of government service and go in a different direction. That’s what I’ll be hoping.”
He had gone over it a dozen times as he flew to San Francisco. Now he was waiting for a Navy plane to take off for North Island. He’d be home in a few hours. For the first time in two weeks he wondered how DeWitt was doing in the training sessions he had laid out for the platoon. They’d all deserved some time off. Each man had had his choice of a week’s leave or two weeks’. Some of them had no family to go to, and felt a little uncomfortable out there in the civilian world. He knew the feeling.
It would be good to get back to Coronado and back with the SEAL program. He had a platoon to get filled up and trained as sharp as a fine saber. You never knew when a call to action might come.
1340 hours
USS
Monroe,
CVN 81
Twenty miles off Mombasa, Kenya
The men had pored over the satellite photos, plotted out the area around the military headquarters, and come up with half-a-dozen different ways to roust the coup leader out of his stronghold.
“The one thing we don’t know for sure is just where in that place the general has his headquarters—and if he’s there,” Don Stroh said.
“We have a few more problems too,” he added. “Kenyan President Daniel Djonjo said he had Mombasa under control, but now we hear from him on a SATCOM radio that he was too optimistic. He’s turned his force around, and is now concentrating on putting down a battalion of holdouts on the north side of town, off the island. He says he might be delayed there for four or five days before he can rout this bandit band.”
“Thought you said you had a spy up in Nairobi trying to find out where our fat general is,” Jaybird said.
Stroh grinned. “True. Last thing we heard from him, he was on his way to get inside the military headquarters. He’s going in as a soldier, and hopes to fake his way through and pin down the spot we could hit with a few smart bombs.”
“So why don’t we just do it and worry about it later?” Magic Brown asked.
Stroh laughed. “Yeah, the military mind is working. I told you guys in China that you’re in the diplomatic arm of the Navy right now. We can’t spit until the politicos say we can. We can piss our pants waiting, but that’s about all. There may be another complication.
“President Djonjo isn’t happy the way our planes have been bombing his country. He says there must be a better way. We asked him how he would have stopped the tank, and he backtracked on that one. So even if we get a go from our President and his boys, we still have to clear it with President Djonjo.”
Murdock stood. “Enough for today. We’re all getting punchy. We’ll take the afternoon off and rest up. I want our three tough-guy wounded SEALs to get checked out by the medics. Doc, your job is to get them down there. It wouldn’t hurt for the rest of you to go see Yates in the hospital. He’d appreciate some visitors. Not all of you at the same time. Spread it out. After chow, we’ll get together here at 1900 to go through this again. We might know more by then. Take a hike.”
Ed DeWitt and Murdock talked to Stroh after the men left.
“What’s the chances of the President’s men making a decision on this soon?” DeWitt asked.
“Unlikely. Maybe in another day. Tomorrow sometime is my guess. Time difference is a big factor.”
“We’ll keep hoping,” Murdock said.
1345 hours
RX Military Headquarters
Nairobi, Kenya
Muhammad Maji studied the boundary fence of the large military facility north of Nairobi. He had spent two days watching the place, trying to find a way inside. He had to get in, find out where the general was, get out, and radio the information to the U.S. military offshore. Not a tough job.… an impossible one.
He had seen the guards at all three of the gates doubled within the past hour. There were interior guards walking the
fences. The only way inside was through the gate in a vehicle. All he had to do was capture an army truck, kill the driver, take his clothes and ID, and drive in through the gate.
Simple.
Yes, and deadly if he failed somewhere down the line.
He moved to a better position along the road that led to the main gate. It would be the busiest. The best chance to get in and out. Now for the vehicle. There were some copies of old American jeeps, rugged little rigs, and most of them held only a driver. How?
He backtracked along the main route to the headquarters. Down a side street he spotted a bar where some lone soldier might stop to have a drink.
As he came closer, he saw it might be what he needed. It was a small drinking spot that had two of the jeep-like Army rigs parked outside. Why not just hot-wire one of the rigs and drive away? No. If he tried that, surely the bumper numbers on the stolen rig would be called in, and he’d never be able to drive out the gate. Besides, he needed a uniform.
He waited a half hour. Then a military man came out and headed for one of the rigs. He was a lieutenant, one with a swagger. Maji came out of the doorway and fell into step beside the officer. He was no larger than Maji.
“What are you doing?” the officer asked.
Maji showed him the .38-caliber snub-nosed revolver that was aimed at his side. “I’m going to borrow your transport. Hope you don’t mind.”
At the rig Maji had the officer get in and drive. Maji was close beside him. They went down a side street and into a small cluster of brush and woods just outside of the town, but short of the military headquarters.
Maji pushed the revolver into the man’s side and fired. The round rammed through a lung and into the officer’s heart, killing him instantly.
Five minutes later, Maji had pulled the uniform off the man, donned it himself, hid the body under some brush, and with the officer’s credentials and wallet drove toward the main gate. He would simply hold up his ID card the way he had seen many others do. Since he was an officer, he would
be given less scrutiny. It seemed to him today that the guards were more concerned with people leaving the complex than entering it.
He came up to the guard post, showed his ID card, and was waved on through before he could stop. He shifted the stick drive into second, and drove on into the headquarters. He did a quick tour of the area, driving most of the streets. The building that had the most guards was a three-story affair with no windows and .50-caliber machine guns mounted and manned at each corner.
He stopped two soldiers walking by. They saluted, and he returned the salutes, then spoke to them in Swahili.
“Men, where is the general’s office? I have some dispatches for him from Mombasa, but I can’t find out where he is.”
“Sir, it’s there, right in front of you. The only entrance is on the other side. You’ll need all sorts of clearances to get in there.”
“That I have,” Maji said. He nodded at the men, and they scurried away. Maji drove around again. Better to keep moving. How did he know for sure the general was inside? He had to have precise information to send to the men on the American carrier.
He drove to the far side, and saw the doors with six men guarding them and heavy machine guns mounted there as well. He drove down the street that let him see the headquarters, and parked.
For two hours, he watched the big double doors. More than a dozen men came and went, but there was no activity to indicate that the general would be leaving. He always traveled with a three-car caravan with an armored car in front and one in back. Maji had observed that there was only one three-story building on the base. That much would be easy for the jets, but which area inside the block-square building was used by the general?
He started the rig, and turned toward the headquarters. This time he drove all the way around it and found a service entrance on the rear side. He parked half a block away. There were no guards and no machine guns at this door.
With his officer bars he could bluff his way in here. He looked at his stolen credentials. The officer was attached to an air wing flying from just north of the complex.
Good enough. He drove closer to the entrance, then parked and left the rig, pocketing the keys. With remembered military precision, he strode up to the door and reached for the handle before a lackadaisical guard called out.
“Sir, this is a restricted area.”
“I know that, soldier. I’m on a special investigating mission to check on security. What’s your name?”
The private looked worried, and gave him a name that probably wasn’t his. Maji wrote it down in a notebook the officer had carried, nodded at the man, and walked on inside.
He had no idea where he was or where he should go. The center of the building on the ground floor would be the safest. But would Maleceia do it that way? He was a showoff. Wouldn’t he want something with some class and some splash?
Ahead he saw a door that was marked “Janitorial Services.” Yes, brilliant. They would know exactly where the general’s offices were. He moved through the door with the hint of a swagger, and watched as two surprised sergeants looked up.
“Sergeant, who’s in charge here?”
“Must be me. The captain is out of the area.”
“We’ve had complaints about the cleanup in the general’s quarters and his office. Can I see the schedule of cleaning in those areas and who is responsible for that work?”
“Schedule? No, sir. I mean, we don’t use no schedule. We just clean up the general’s offices once a night, and then again during the day if he isn’t using them. No schedule. We send men up there who we have available.”
“Sounds sloppy. We’re talking about the same area?”