Mission of Honor

Chapter Forty-Four

Maria Comeja had told Mike Rodgers that she would get in touch with him as soon as she knew where Leon Seronga was going. According to the map on Rodgers's computer, Maria should have reached the city by now. He tried not to worry. She was a professional. Unfortunately, she was still a professional who was pretty much on her own.

Since Maria had telephoned, Rodgers had conferred with McCaskey and Herbert. Lowell Coffey joined them as well. He wanted to be able to alert them to any possible infractions of international law.

The men discussed getting help in the area from FBI, Interpol, or CIA sources. The only help available was ELINT from the CIA. The agency could provide electronic intelligence by monitoring wireless communications in the region. Rodgers asked Herbert to request the surveillance. It would be handled by listening posts at the United States embassies in Gaborone and in Cape Town, South Africa. Though these were one-person operations, it was possible that something might turn up.

Even though Rodgers was in charge of the new HUMINT division at Op-Center, he asked Herbert to make those calls.

"You're better at finessing those drop-everything requests than I am," Rodgers said.

"It's easy," Herbert said. "All you have to do is grovel with a little steel in your voice."

"Amazing what is in Bob's incomparable diplomatic arsenal," Coffey remarked.

"Lowell, that is my diplomatic arsenal," Herbert replied.

"That and threatening to go on The Dugout and name the bastards who are looking for votes and appointments instead of looking after their constituents."

"The Dugout?" Coffey snickered. "Stuttering Matt Christopher doesn't let his guests get in more than three words before cutting them off."

"Three words are all I need," Herbert said. " 'Barbara Fox, bureaucrat.' That's my targeted diplomatic arsenal. Plant the idea and it takes root on its own. It's like when an attorney says something in a courtroom and the judge tells the jury to ignore it. Like they do, right? All people have to do is hear my calm voice before Matt starts blathering."

Coffey laughed.

Rodgers had never considered himself much of a diplomat. He was a tactician and a commander. Right now, he was not feeling competent in those areas, either.

What concerned Rodgers most was that Maria still had no support on the ground. Aideen Marley and David Battat had landed in Gaborone. But Aideen had called to inform him that they were driving to Maun. The trip would take serveral hours.

Rodgers also feared that Aideen and Battat would end up being in the wrong place. Everyone was assuming that Leon Seronga was headed to Maun. What if he were not?

Shortly after the meeting ended, Rodgers finally received a call from Botswana. It came through on Maria's calling card. The caller had the correct ID number to enter the private OpCenter telephone directory. Once there, the caller was able to input Mike Rodgers's name and receive the correct extension. Without the ID, the caller had to go through the switchboard. That enabled the electronic operator to trace the call. The system kept crank calls to a very low minimum.

But the caller was not Maria.

The man on the phone identified himself as Paris Lebbard. Rodgers did not recognize the name, but the accent sounded almost Egyptian.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Lebbard?" Rodgers asked. The general said nothing more. Maria's cards had'beenlost or stolen. If that were the case, Rodgers did not want to let the caller know who he had reached or who she was.

"I am your friend Maria's driver," Lebbard said. "In Botswana. She gave me her calling card and your number."

"Is Maria all right?" Rodgers demanded.

"She nodded to me that she was," Lebbard replied.

"She nodded? I don't understand," Rodgers said.

"That was our signal," Lebbard said. "I dropped her off to meet the man from the airport. Then I parked around the corner and sneaked back. I watched as she spoke with the man. If she had not nodded, I would have gone to the police station to report a kidnapping."

"I see," Rodgers said. The general experienced the same gut-burning fire he had felt in Kashmir. The one that told him he may have acted recklessly. The desire to get Maria on-site backup had gone from necessary to desperate.

"She told me you would be concerned, sir," Lebbard added. "But I like her very much. And I know she has a husband who loves her. I also know she is trying to keep peace in Botswana. If I had any doubt about her safety, I would have gone for assistance at once."

Rodgers was not entirely convinced. But the general had to take his cue from the people in the field. And right now, Paris Lebbard was the only person in contact from the field.

"Thank you, Mr. Lebbard," Rodgers said. He swung toward his keyboard and prepared to type. "Can you tell me what the man looked like?"

"It was dark, and I was too far to see his face," Lebbard said. "But he was dressed like a Christian clergyman."

"Where did they go?" Rodgers asked.

"They walked to his truck, which was parked on Bath Street," Lebbard said. "Then they drove away."

"When did Maria leave with the man?" Rodgers asked.

"Less than five minutes ago," Lebbard said.

"Can you describe the truck?" Rodgers asked.

"Yes," the driver reported. "They drove right past me. It was a Chevrolet. Maybe ten years old. The cab looked olive green. It was dented, with a lot of rust. It had a canvas back and no markings on the side."

"Were you able to get the license number?" Rodgers asked as he typed up the description.

"No," Lebbard said. "It was covered with mud."

"Do you have any idea where they went?" Rodgers asked.

"That is difficult to say," Lebbard replied. "The truck did not get on the highway but took local roads."

"Meaning?" Rodgers asked.

"The driver does not want to be followed," Lebbard said. "At night, on the dirt roads, he will pass only villages. He will know if anyone is tailing him."

"Which direction was the truck headed?" Rodgers asked.

"North," Lebbard replied. "Though there is one thing."

"What's that?" Rodgers asked.

"It has not rained here for over a week," the driver said. "There was not only mud on the license plate of the truck. It was also on the fender, tires, sides, and flaps. It was dark mud. That's the kind of mud you find in and around the swamps to the north."

Rodgers made a note of that. He immediately E-mailed the description of the truck, its location, its heading, and its possible destination to Stephen Viens at the National Reconnaissance Office. There was a chance the NRO might pick the truck up by satellite. He also sent a copy of the E-mail to Aideen Marley.

"This is very helpful," Rodgers told him. "Was there anything else, Mr. Lebbard?"

"Yes," the driver went on. "Maria gave me other instructions."

That took Rodgers by surprise. He smiled slightly. The driver was very well organized. Rodgers also felt a flash of vindication. He had been right to select Maria for this assignment. She had obviously made a big impression on this man.

"Go ahead," Rodgers said.

"She left me with a camera and a computer diskette," the man said. "She said I should send you the photographs she took. She also said you might know where to find jfcomputer."

"I do," Rodgers informed him. "Where are you now?"

"I am at a pay telephone at Nhabe, two blocks from the eastern bank of the Thamalakane River."

Rodgers brought up the map of Maun. "That's perfect," Rodgers said. "Do you know the multifaith chapel in the center of Maun?"

"Of course," Lebbard replied. "It's to the west of the Mall. The Chapel of Grace."

"Right," Rodgers said. "Go there. I'm going to call someone who will get you access to a computer. Do you know how to use the software?"

"Maria told me to insert the diskette," Lebbard said. "She said there would be instructions telling me what to do next. I have read maps for years. I am very good at following directions."

"I'm sure you are," Rodgers said. "Go there, Mr. Lebbard, while I make a few calls."

"I will," Lebbard replied. "Sir, Maria did not tell me who she works with. She is Spanish, but you sound American. Are you with the United Nations?"

Rodgers did not want to respond without knowing how his answer would be received. "What if we were?" Rodgers asked. "Would that make you happy?"

"It would make me very happy, sir," Lebbard replied. "When I was a young child, nurses from the United Nations came to my village. They gave us injections against smallpox and polio. They gave us food. They gave me the first chocolate I ever tasted."

Rodgers thought for a moment. He wanted Paris Lebbard to be happy. But he did not want to lie to an ally.

"We are not the United Nations, Mr. Lebbard. But we have worked with them," Rodgers said.

That seemed to please the Botswanan. Rodgers was glad.

Maybe he had the makings of a diplomat after all.