Line Of Honor

VEHICLES ROLLED FROM the belly of the C-130. The two Land Rovers were loaded with crates, and the canvas-covered load in the Unimog concealed just under half a ton of fuel, supplies and ordnance. Everything was marked as humanitarian aid. The 4x4s were painted the same beige as the dust storm that was kicking up. The jump-off was auspicious. With a storm coming the landing strip was abandoned. Lkhümbengarav backed a Land Rover down the ramp. “Sancho! Scotty! You’re with me,” Bolan shouted over the wind. “And Lucky, you’re in Rover 1!”

Haitham shouted through the shemagh covering his face. “I am with you, boss!”

“Hop in!”

Everyone except Bolan grabbed his or her bags and clambered aboard.

Bolan made the backing out motion with his hands. “Bring it out, Goose!” The Unimog truck rolled out under Pienaar’s guidance. Tshabalala was already riding shotgun. An MZ 125 SX off-road motorcycle was mounted on brackets on the front and rear bumpers.

Bolan waved the last vehicle out. “Rad! Rover 2!”

The Land Rover whined in reverse as the Serb extricated the vehicle. Nelsonne and Onopkov jumped in as a unit. Shartai shouted out of his scarf-swaddled face, “Boss! With permission? I will go with the mademoiselle!”

“Go!”

Shartai clambered in to Rover 2. Bolan squinted into the wind and dust behind them and clicked the tactical clipped to his shoulder. “All units, hold up. We have company.”

Two vehicles were heading in their direction.

Bolan raised his binoculars and examined the vehicles. One was a Chinese-made military 4x4 and the other a flatbed truck. The back of the truck contained nine men in camo. They all carried Kalashnikovs and their faces were swaddled against the dust. Bolan squinted at the dust-covered windshield of the 4x4. The man in the passenger was wearing mirrored blue sunglasses and a black beret. Nelsonne appeared at Bolan’s side with Mrda and Onopkov in formation behind her. Bolan handed over the optics. “Any idea?”

“I believe it is Captain Osman Osmani.”

“You know this jack wagon?”

Nelsonne handed back the binoculars. “I do not know what a jack wagon is, but I strongly suspect that he is one.”

“So this is a shakedown?”

“Most likely. However, he is not some greedy, sitting-on-his-hands captain who just accepts bribes. He was very active in the fighting both in Darfur and South Sudan. It is very likely the United Nations will get around to trying him for war crimes. The information I have is that he has actually stepped up his strong-arming and extortion to build up his nest egg before he flees prosecution.”

Grimaldi spoke across the com link. “You want me to take off?”

“No, that’ll just make the captain suspicious. Come on out. Leave the ramp down, but be ready on my signal.” Bolan watched the vehicles approach. “Everyone out. Be friendly. Remember, we’re an NGO helping displaced refugees. I’m going to try to pay these guys and send them on their way. But be ready to take them down. Follow my lead.”

The rest of the team formed up. Ochoa took position at Bolan’s right hand. “Hey, Jefe?”

“Yeah, Sancho.”

“You said take these guys on your go?”

“That’s right.”

“These guys got AKs. I can see them from here.”

“It does appear that way.”

“Yeah, but, you haven’t given us any guns.”

Lkhümbengarav nodded. “What he said, hot rod.”

“We’re in an international group of doctors, drivers and volunteers. Osmani and his men don’t expect resistance. If it comes to it, we jump the sons of bitches, pound them like nails, confiscate their weapons and disable their vehicles.”

Ceallach cracked his knuckles with an explosive ripple of pops and cracks. “Right! The old-fashioned way, then.” He raised his hand and waved at the approaching vehicles in a happy fashion. One of the gunmen in the back of the flatbed actually waved back. The vehicles ground to a halt. The soldiers jumped down out of the flatbed, some with their rifles in hand. Others had them slung. Most had their folding stocks folded. They were in a low state of alert. The captain was more leisurely as he let his driver jump out and open the door for him. Two soldiers got out of the back. The officer wore a stainless-steel Ruger .357 Magnum revolver in a conspicuous gunfighter’s rig low on his thigh.

Bolan arranged his face into an obsequious smile and stuck out his hand. “Good morning…” He made a show of looking at the patch on the man’s shoulder and smiling hopefully. “Captain? I’m Dr. Cooper.”

Osmani barely acknowledged Bolan’s guess with a slight nod. He ignored the outstretched hand. The big American looked at his hand and lowered it sheepishly. The captain had the accent of a man whose primary language was Arabic. “I am Captain Osmani. I will see your manifest immediately.”

Bolan blinked in feigned surprise. “We already passed customs and inspections in the capital. Is there some kind of—”

“Your manifest, Dr. Cooper. Immediately.”

Bolan nodded at Grimaldi, who held out his clipboard. Osmani’s driver intercepted the clipboard and then handed it to his captain. Osmani flipped through the pages listing medicines, medical equipment, water purification gear and various aid-station necessities.

“Captain,” Bolan said, “I’m very sorry you had to come out in the middle of this storm.” Osmani inclined his head and gazed at Bolan over the rims of his sunglasses like a snake eyeing a not particularly fast or wily insect.

Bolan recoiled and let himself stumble on over his words. “I mean, Captain, as you may have heard, there has been an outbreak of dysentery in the interior. We need to get our water-purification equipment on-site as quickly as possible. Every second counts.” He stammered like a man who wasn’t used to these sorts of negotiations. “Is there any way we could…” Bolan made a show of swallowing a frog in his throat. “Expedite things?”

Osmani handed the manifest back to his driver, who handed it back to Grimaldi. The captain lowered his official hostility by a tiny increment. “I am aware of the ongoing humanitarian crisis. Rather than requiring you and your people to return to the capital and—”

Nelsonne gasped on cue and clutched Bolan’s arm. “Return? But, no! We bring—”

Osmani didn’t miss a beat. “But it would be better for you to continue your humanitarian mission immediately. However, since I have been dispatched in my official capacity, certain permits will have to be authorized.”

Bolan looked at the captain like a deer in the headlights. “I understand completely. I was given some money for…discretionary expenses.”

“Excellent.”

“How much do you…?”

Osmani sighed tolerantly. “How much discretionary income do you have?”

Bolan very reluctantly produced a money belt from under his shirt.

Osmani’s driver leaned in and whispered something in Arabic. Both men looked at the Kong brothers. The driver whispered urgently. Osmani went reptilian once more. “Who are these men?”

“They are Abdullah and Salva. Interpreters recommended by the Red Cross in Nyala,” Bolan explained.

“I am reminded of a story about a pair of twins I have heard. Rebels and war criminals who are wanted in Khartoum.”

“Captain, I assure you—”

“I am taking these two men into custody. You will submit to a full inspection of your cargo. You will mount your team into your vehicles and return with me to town where the matter will be investigated further. Your passports and all currency both foreign and domestic will be temporarily held. You will button up the plane, leave it here and the pilot will come along, as well.”

Bolan let his jaw drop and made a show of failing to draw up some dignity. “Uh…team? This must be some kind of mistake. We’ll get it cleared up back in town. In the meantime, I want you to obey the captain’s every order and assist him and his men in all ways.” Bolan turned back unhappily. “Will that be sufficient?”

“For the moment.”