The Devil's Handshake

53

Borama

In the office of Paul Compton, a doctor patched up Thomas’s arm. He had been wounded during the battle at the TLH compound adjacent the “The Cismah” having now left the “machine-gunned” ridden offices of the President.

All the men of the TLH Group sat in stunned silence watching the fast growing tensions rise moment by moment on television. The elation of earlier they had felt in surviving the attack had been quickly tempered when they found they had lost five of their Gurkhas in the assault.

“This is Anne Jenkins of MGN reporting from the Whiteman Air Force Base,” said the journalist as the network viewers watched the squadron of B2s take off behind her, a direct result of an increased war footing.

Switching channels to Sky News, it didn’t get any better

“So is America at DEFCON three?” said the British journalist to an experienced stringer war correspondent who was on the ground in Djibouti.

“This is turning into a right fakakta,” said Mikhail as they switched back to MGN News. Another grim faced television anchor struggled to explain the escalation that built up to in the last few hours between two of the world’s superpowers and the realization that war between the armed forces of Russia and America was fast becoming a terrible possibility.

A fact that was confirmed from the briefings the journalists were receiving left, right, and center from the various informed sources of both Russia and the United States.

“Are they really going to war over this?” asked Yossi still not quite believing what he was seeing and referring by the waving of his hands around them to the country they were currently located in.

“What are we going to do?” asked Mikhail towards Thomas, hoping he would give them orders to evacuate from the country.

Lost in his thoughts Thomas didn’t answer until he was interrupted by one of the Gurkhas.

“Mr. Badr is at the front gate asking permission to see you, Sir Thomas,” said the middle-aged former solider with a salute just as he would of if he still served in the Army.

“What does he want? I thought he was with the President and Igor?” answered Mikhail, before telling the Gurkha to let him in.

Less than a minute or so later the Head of Security walked into the office.

“Mr. Thomas,” Badr said. “The President told me that you would know what to do with the prisoners I have outside,” he said.

“Prisoners?” asked Mikhail

“Yes the Indian and two Englishmen,” answered Badr proudly.

“Where did you pick them up?” asked Mikhail.

Badr smiled then replied that his people had arrested the Indian at the airport just before the Russians arrived. An action it turned out had transpired because the young, loyal officer thought he might be important, so he had arrested him on the spot instead of letting him leave.

“Despite his attempt to bribe him with two thousand U.S. dollars!” added Badr proudly over the fact that his young officer hadn’t accepted it.

“The other two were picked up running away from the attack on the offices when my men stopped them,” continued Badr.

Immediately Thomas knew why Jawari had wanted him to take responsibility for them. They represented a hot potato for him because internally he needed to show the Chiefs that the foreigners had helped the young country as such they weren’t the cause of the situation they found themselves in.

“The cunning sod!” he thought acknowledging the hidden message of ‘You deal with it.’

“Tell the President I won’t let him down,” he said to Badr warmly.

“I think I have a plan that might just be able stop this madness!” he said to Mikhail as the boys went with Badr to collect the prisoners.

“I am glad somebody does!” answered Mikhail.

Picking up the Codex phone, Thomas quickly dialed the number of the Principal Private Secretary of the President of Russia.

“I would like to talk to the President,” said Thomas once the young assistant was on the line.

After a wait of about five minutes, the Mayor came on the line. Thomas didn’t waste any time on small talk. At the end of his explanation, he received a simple response from the President of Russia.

“You have permission to use your resources.”

Thomas thanked him for his trust. Nevertheless the Mayor issued final instruction for him.

“If it doesn’t work, you’re to hand them over to Igor Valeriyoych.”

“Yes, Sir,” Thomas replied despite privately acknowledging the fact that whatever way he cut it he was going to have kiss goodbye to a potentially billions of dollars’ worth of contracts.