Battleground

21

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?"

"Yes, sir. His main office on the third floor front of the building with the big wall of windows, and then his apartment down on floor two with the seven rooms."

Maji scowled for a moment. "Not sure just how I can tell the colonel about this. I'll use your name since your officer isn't here. Your name again, Sergeant?"

He wrote it down. "That will be all. Carry on." Maji turned and strode out of the room. He'd learned his military behavior as a two-year Army man who had been discharged three years ago. Being a corporal in a rifle company back then was coming in handy.

Did he have enough? He wondered as he got lost once, then found his way out the same rear service door he had come in. No one even noticed when he left the building. Security might be fine in the front, but here it was terrible.

Maji walked to his car. He had everything he needed. When he looked at the jeep he had stolen parked half a block ahead, he saw two military police checking it. They looked around, then got back in their patrol rig and parked behind the jeep. It looked as if they were going to wait and see who came to claim the rig. How could it be reported stolen already? If so, his ID wouldn't be any good to get him out of the camp.

If he tried it, and they caught him, he'd be shot on the spot. He needed another way to get off the base.

Five minutes later, he had strolled down to where he could see the main gate. The double guards were still in place. Few cars or trucks left the base. He saw two come in and only two go out in half an hour. No one had been allowed to walk out through a special gate at one side. Several men who had tried to leave had been turned away. A general lock-down?

How could he get off the base?

He walked around again, then checked the dead man's wallet. It was stuffed with hundred-shilling notes, each worth about two dollars American. Might be worth a try.

At the nearby officers' club, he had a beer and listened to the men talk. He found two who were heading for town. They said they had special passes to get through the gate. The captain excused himself, and went to the men's room. Maji went there a moment later.

In the bathroom they were alone. Maji asked the captain about the pass.

"Yeah, got one. Getting married in the morning. Even the general figured I should go in. Damn fine girl." The captain was half drunk.

Maji chopped him twice in the side of the neck with the hard side of his hand, and the captain went down. Maji dragged the captain into a toilet stall, took the pass and the man's ID card, closed the door, and hurried out.

Five minutes later, he flagged down a truck heading for the front gate and scowled at the driver.

"You heading for town, Corporal?"

"Yes, sir. Special duty."

"I've got to get to town, and my transport broke down. No time to get a new one from the motor pool. I'll ride with you."

At the gate, the driver showed his pass, and the man there waved them through without a second look at the lieutenant in the other seat. Being an officer, even if for a short time, did have its advantages.

Maji dropped off the truck a mile from the base, walked to his car, and dug the SATCOM from the trunk. He was in a little-used area behind some warehouses.

He keyed in the right frequency, and adjusted the antenna.

"Rover, this is Quest One."

There was a long silence from the speaker. He checked his dials and sent the same message again. This time the speaker came to life.

"Quest One. Rover here, over."

"Rover. Best bet three-story building, top floor front. Personal apartment second floor. Security doubly tight on the site."

"That's a roger, Quest One. Take care."

Just as the last word came from the speaker, the flat crack of an AK-47 sounded and Maji looked up in amazement, slammed backwards, and dropped the SATCOM microphone — The single round had jolted into his shoulder, and he clawed for the small revolver in his pants pocket.

The AK-47 fired again, this time on full automatic, and six rounds bored into the Kenyan spy. Two hit the SATCOM, smashing it, and both the man and his radio died at the same instant.

Two Kenyan Special Agents ran up and stared at the man on the ground. "You sure he's the one?"

The other man nodded. "Oh, yes, he's the one. Let's see how much spy pay he has in his wallet. Our captain will be pleased that we have closed one more leak in our intelligence division."