Mission of Honor

Chapter Fifty-six

These were the hours that made life worthwhile. They were the challenges for which Captain Antonio Abreo had been trained. They were a chance to pit himself against an unfamiliar environment and a new enemy.

They were an opportunity to savor life by risking it.

His nonmilitary friends and relatives told him it was a crazy way to make a living. They were all farmers and fishermen and tour guides. They had comfortable lives. They would probably have long lives. Eighty years of boredom did not appeal to Abreo.

Risk, and planning for that risk, did.

Captain Abreo had felt there was a better chance of getting to the priest with two men rather than an entire unit. Dressed in camouflage greens, Abreo and Sergeant Vicente Diamante had decided to jump to the site described by Father Bradbury.

The two men had taken off from Maun. They flew on a twin-turboprop EMB-110 that had been flown in from Gaborone. The Brazilian-made aircraft belonged to the Botswana Meteorological Research Department. The government had loaned it to the Unidad Especial del Despliegue to make the incursion. Though Gaborone was not happy to have foreign soldiers operating on their soil, their involvement would remain a secret. It was more important to restore order absolutely. At the same time, the remaining members of the team were making their way to the swamp in the company of the Botswana military.

The BMRD had detailed maps of the region. Captain Abreo had used them to pinpoint the likely location where Father Bradbury was being kept. Then he and Sergeant Diamante had parachuted to the nearest small island, which was about a quarter mile away. There, Diamante deployed a small rubber raft. The men carried that plus a pair of night-vision goggles, a radio, two M-82s, and a pair of nine-inch hunting knives.

While the sergeant inflated the raft, Captain Abreo hid the parachutes behind a clump of vines. Then he scanned the darkness for signs of a camp. He found it with no problem. Lights, sounds, activity. He did not even need the night-vision glasses to see them. After dabbing mud on their faces and hands, the Spanish officers put the raft in the water. Then they made their way swiftly and silently toward the deserted northern side of the small island. All of the activity seemed to be centered in the south. It was clear that the Vodunists were breaking camp. There were several small huts on the island. Abreo spotted one where there was no activity. Where the windows were closed, despite the heat. That was probably the shack where Father Bradbury was incarcerated. Once the two soldiers had recovered the priest, the plan was for them to head north. When they were a half mile from the island, they were to radio the commander of the Botswana strike force. The attack would commence soon thereafter. When it was finished, one of the helicopters would retrieve the two soldiers and the priest.

The sergeant was crouched in the rear, rowing. First on one side, then the other. The dark water rippled gently around the raft. The captain peered ahead. He ignored the few gnats that clouded around his ears and cheek. Swatting them away would accomplish nothing except to distract him. It was surprisingly quiet out here. The only croaking and clicking they heard had been around the island. The officer was aware of all of it. The sounds, the smells, the gentle current under the raft. Once a mission had begun, Captain Abreo became a part of his environment. Alert, patient, defensive rather than offensive. Growing up on a sheep farm in the Basque country, he had learned a very simple lesson from foxes. The ones who got away were the ones you never saw coming.

As the elite soldiers neared the target, the radio blinked. It was a dull brown pinpoint flash that would not be visible more than a few feet away. Abreo picked up the headset. He attached the subvocal microphone to an elastic band he wore around his throat. Then he plugged the small disk-shaped microphone into the band. The tiny receiver plucked vibrations directly from his voice box. It would enable him to whisper and still be heard.

"Abreo," he said.

"Captain, this is CHQ," said the caller. That was the code name for Corporal Enrique Infiesta, the group's radio operator. Infiesta spoke fluent English and was liaison with the Botswana military.

"Go ahead," Abreo replied.

"Sir, the VSO liaison has asked us to postpone the operation," Infiesta informed him.

"For how long?" Abreo asked. The order had killed the captain's internal engines. He had to start them up again. They were still in a danger zone.

"Two hours," the caller replied.

"What's the reason?" Abreo asked.

"There is a simultaneous operation. That one has been given priority," Infiesta replied.

"Priority? By whom?"

"I don't know, sir," the caller told him.

"There is no one around but cult members," Abreo replied. "Do you know if this other party infiltrated the Brush Vipers?"

"I do not know, sir," Infiesta told him.

"Are they Spanish or Botswanan?" Infiesta asked.

"I don't know that either, sir," the radioman replied. "Do you want me to call and ask?"

"No. That won't change anything," Abreo replied.

Abreo looked out at the island. The cultists were running around loading the boats. They were so intent on leaving, they were not watching their flank. That was the problem with young movements. Leon Seronga was obviously the chief strategist. He was not here. Whoever was the number-two officer did not have the experience to mount a successful retreat. Or perhaps they felt they were not going to be attacked here.

Or perhaps they had learned that they were, Abreo thought.

If they had that information, that would explain the haste.

"Do the orders cover reconnaissance?" the captain asked.

"No, sir," said Infiesta. "Only what I told you."

"Very well," said Abreo.

"Will there be a return message, sir?" the caller asked.

"Tell the VSO liaison that the order was received, nothing more," Abreo replied.

"Yes, sir," Infiesta replied.

The captain signed off. He removed the headset and microphone and turned to the sergeant.

"There is another team engaged in the rescue," Abreo whispered. "VSO wants us to postpone."

"Are they Botswanans?" Diamante asked.

"I don't know," the captain told him.

"But we're just minutes away from possibly finding and rescuing the priest-" Diamante said.

"I know," Abreo replied. There was a trace of irritation in his voice. He got rid of it. The men were still on a mission, and annoyance was a distraction. "We have our orders, and we will follow them. However, we have no instructions other than to postpone. We are going to continue to the island and conduct on-site reconnaissance. If we happen to encounter the priest and he asks for our help, we will not refuse it."

"That would be wrong, Captain," Diamante agreed.

"Very much so," said Abreo.

The soldiers continued toward the island. Abreo continued to study the island.

The more he examined the hut through the night-vision goggles, the more convinced he became that it was a prison. Vines hung thickly in front of the window. They had never been cleared, which suggested that it was never opened. As they came closer, he also saw a dead bolt. On the outside.

When they were just one hundred yards from the northern shore, the men allowed the raft to drift with the forward momentum they had created. Even though there was shouting on the island, they could not chance that the rippling water would be heard.

A few minutes later, they were ashore. While Diamante tied the raft to an exposed banyan tree, Abreo crept ahead. The shack was about two hundred feet to the southeast. Abreo used the night-vision glasses to sweep the area. Everyone was engaged in getting off the island. It looked as if they were nearly ready to depart. There would not be a lot of time to pull this off.

There was no one watching the hut outside. There might be a guard inside. Or perhaps the priest was not there. Or maybe they simply were not expecting a rescue attempt out here in the swamp. Captain Abreo would have to explore each of those possibilities in turn.

There was definitely someone in there. Slivers of light came through the shutters and from cracks in the walls. They seemed brilliant in the night-vision glasses. He put the goggles back in the case hooked to his belt. He motioned for Sergeant Diamante to proceed. Both men drew their knives and unbuttoned the flaps of their holsters. If they encountered any Brush Vipers, they would kill them silently and move on. Crouching low, they began moving forward.

Their boots sank deep in the mud of the island. Each step was accompanied by a soft pop as they fought the suction. Geckos ran over and around their feet. But Abreo never took his eyes from the shack.

It took four minutes for the men to reach the back wall. The captain and the sergeant separated. They went around the sides and checked the front. No one was there. They came back to the rear window where Captain Abreo looked around for a small rock. He found one and tossed it up to the roof. Standard operating procedure for an incursion like this was to cause a sudden noise and see what sounds came from inside.

The stone clattered on the tin roof and rolled off the far side. Abreo heard nothing from inside. A captive might not react to the sound. However, sentries tended to be tense or at least curious. There were no footsteps from inside. No one went to the door and looked out. If the priest was inside, chances were good he was there alone.

The next move was a little trickier. Abreo stood. Standing well to the side of the window, he used the hilt "6f his knife to rap on the shutter. He knocked twice. He heard distinctive muffled sounds. A man with a gag.

Diamante and Abreo exchanged glances. Someone was in there, probably the priest. Abreo moved toward the window. Diamante sheathed his knife and removed his pistol.

The captain regarded the window. It had the kind of shutter that lifted straight up. The dead bolt was at the center bottom. He indicated to Diamante that he would raise the shutter. The sergeant would then scan the room from behind his pistol. If the shack were clean, they would go inside and get the prisoner.

Slowly, Abreo raised the dead bolt. Squatting to the side, he picked up a fallen branch. He used it to lift the shutter. If anyone shot at him, he would be out of the line of fire.

Abreo and Diamante waited. The muffled cries returned. Diamante looked at Abreo. The captain nodded for him to investigate. Diamante nodded back. He rose slowly behind his pistol.

Abreo unholstered his own weapon. If anything happened to the sergeant, he wanted to be ready to return fire.

Diamante stuck his head inside. He looked quickly to the left, then the right. After a moment, the sergeant ducked back down. Abreo lowered the shutter and crouched beside him.

"There's a man in there, masked and tied to the bed," the sergeant whispered. "The room is empty."

"He's masked?" Abreo said. "Then why is the lantern on?"

"Probably because they will be coming back for him soon," Diamante suggested.

Abreo nodded. That made sense. In the haste of breaking camp, that would be one less thing to think about.

Now came the difficult part: the commit. If they could escape silently, they would. If not, they would escape any way possible. If that proved impossible, they would have to execute an exit plan that neither man wanted to use.

The soldiers had seen an old picture of Father Bradbury. They knew his age, that he was Caucasian, and that he spoke both English and Bantu. Still, the man in the bed was thinner, dirty, unkempt. He could be a decoy. The soldiers would not know until they went in and Diamante talked with him.

"Are you ready?" Abreo asked.

Diamante nodded.

Abreo dropped the stick and went to the shutter. He raised it. The priest was inside. He was gagged and bound spreadeagle on a cot. He was facing the window. He was just lying there. The captain climbed into the low window. Sergeant Diamante followed his commander in. The sergeant ran directly to the door and placed his ear against it.

Abreo took a quick look around in the light of the single lantern. There was no one else in the shack. He hurried to the cot.

The priest was facing away from him. He had a black hood over his head. His hands were tied behind his back. His clothes were filthy and torn. Abreo pulled off the hood. A gaunt, pale face looked up at him. He removed the cloth gag from the man's mouth.

"Padre Bradbury?" Abreo asked.

"Yes," said the man.

The captain studied him for a moment. He looked like a man who had been through hell. His eyes were soft. So were his hands. He was not a warrior or a laborer.

Abreo tossed the hood aside. Still holding his pistol in his right hand, he took out his knife and began cutting the bonds. First he freed the priest's left hand, then his right. The priest sat up.

And then Captain Abreo heard it. A low, dull hiss coming from under the bed. Diamante heard it, too.

It was then that the captain noticed a wire attached to the priest's right hand. It had been run down the headboard of the cot. Smoke began to pour from under the bed. That was why the priest had been hooded. So he could not tell them what had been done.

And Abreo realized, suddenly, why the lantern was still lit. When the tear gas was triggered, the African soldiers who came to investigate would be able to see just where the Spaniards were.

There was no time to finish freeing the priest. Ahteady, yellow orange smoke obscured the window. Diamante was still at the door. They would have to go out that way.

Abreo yelled for the sergeant to open the door and get out. Gagging, Diamante pulled open the door. The captain ran out after him, feeling for the wall and the jamb. He found the door and ran out.

There were shouts. They were being ordered to stand down. Abreo did not have to understand the language to interpret the tone.

Abreo rubbed his eyes, trying desperately to clear the gasinduced blur. He turned to his left. He saw the edge of the shack. He had an instant to decide what course of action to pursue.

There appeared to be just one left.

The most important part of this mission was not simply to rescue the priest. It was to deprive the Vodunists of immunity from attack. As long as the Brush Vipers held Father Bradbury, the Botswanan military would not want to move against them. Vatican charities fed many Botswana villages. Gaborone would not want to risk that unless they had no choice. Not moving against them, they would be able to regroup somewhere else. They would continue to rebel against the government, to try and overthrow the Church. Above all, Abreo could not allow that to happen. It was a long shot, but they had to try. They had not become special forces soldiers to have things easy. The captain felt more completely alive in this moment than he had ever felt. He was almost giddy from the personal danger.

"Cover me!" Abreo yelled.

Diamante understood. He obeyed without question. The sergeant opened fire into the oncoming Brush Vipers. Abreo heard the fire fade to the west. The sergeant was trying to make his way around the shack. He would use the tear gas as cover to return to the water.

The captain also fired, then turned back toward the shack. Since he could not see, he would fire in the direction of the cot.

He never made it. A bullet tore through his right thigh. He screamed from the pain and exhilaration. He had risked everything. The moment had come, and he had not run from it.

The bullet punched him forward, through the doorway. Abreo landed facedown and lost his pistol. To his left, he heard a scream. That had to have been Diamante. Mentally, Abreo saluted his loyal ally.

As bullets slashed the air above him, Abreo blinked hard. He tried to clear his vision and find his pistol. He spotted it a few feet ahead. The soldier attempted to crawl toward it, but his right leg refused to cooperate. It felt cold. To hell with it. He began pulling himself forward on his elbows.

The soldier moved ahead, but only for another foot or so. A fusillade from the doorway tore into the captain's back and shoulder blades.

Abreo did not feel the punch of the hot bullets as they tore through flesh and muscle, shattered plates of bone. The young captain was dead before the impulses reached his brain, before his chin struck the floor.

A moment later, the gunfire stopped. All was still.