“That about sums it up.”
“You are one messed up gal.”
“I am not. I am perfectly fine thank you. ”
“Have you even talked to him in all these years?”
“I call his mother from time to time and she tells me what is going on.”
“You are pathetic gal. You should listen to yourself. You call his mother in order to keep in touch?” She stuck her finger down her throat and pretended to gag.
“Cut that out.” Up ahead an auto was blocking the road. The hood was open and steam blew from the radiator. A figure waved a hat. Turner pulled up along side. “Need any help?”
Suddenly he pulled a pistol and pointed it at her while others hidden in the bush came forward with Zastava machine-guns. The convoy came to a halt and everyone was ordered out of the trucks.
Turner asked, “What do you want?”
The scruffy Tswana clan leader answered, “We want everything, the trucks, the supplies—”
“There is nothing of value here. The trucks are nearly empty as we are waiting for supplies. We are protected by international law. If you take anything from us, the Russians will hunt you down like dogs and hang you from the nearest tree.”
“The Russians, the Russians. All I ever hear is the Russians. I spit on them.” He spit on the pavement to make his point and shouted to his gang. “Enough talk. Get them into the back of the trucks and let’s get out of here!”
One grabbed her by the shoulder and began to push her toward the truck. “Wait a minute, you can’t want us! We are nurses and have never harmed you. Others will die if you take us from here.”
“Quiet!’ He slapped her across the face nearly knocking her to the ground. “Get in the truck NOW before I kill you.” He jammed the Zastava into her side and forced everyone into the back of the truck.
“OK, quit your pushing, man,” said Wagner while being roughhoused. “We are going.”
The door was slammed shut and the convoy began rolling down the road. Turner brought out her cell phone and speed dialed the general. “Come on — answer the phone ….” The line was dead.
“Try it again,” whispered Wagner. “He must answer.”
“Something is wrong with the signal. We can’t reach him.”
“Oh oh! We are turning off the main road. They will never find us.” Suddenly one of the terrorists turned to them from the passenger seat and pointed a pistol. “What is going on back there?”
Turner hid the phone at her side and both cried in unison, “Nothing!”
“Where are you taking us?” Turner inquired trying to look innocent with her best smile.
“That is none of your business. You will find out soon enough.” He turned away apparently not much concerned.
She tried the general’s number a few more times. “It is hopeless.”
“Try another number. Maybe the problem is at his end. Hurry — once they search us they’ll find the phone and then we are dead meat.”
“OK, who should I call?”
“It doesn’t matter, honey. Call anybody and tell them to get a hold of the general.”
“OK I am calling another number….”
A voiced at the other end said, “Hello.”
“Thank God.” She whispered, “I have someone on the phone.”
“Good — quit talking to me and tell them what a pickle we are in.”
“This is Carol — Mrs. Robinson I am in—”
“Hi Carol,” said the familiar voice at the other end. “It is nice of you to call. How are you?”
“I am glad you asked. I am in big trouble and need your help. I have been kidnapped on the road to Beledweyn and I need—”
“Mercy! Kidnapped you say? You have called me? Of course anything I can do to help — you poor dear.”
“I must talk fast as they could take away my phone at any moment. You must call General Dimochka in Mogadishu and tell him our convoy has been hijacked on the road to Beledweyn.”
“I must write this down. Can you wait a minute while I—”
“No, do not leave me here. You must remember what I tell you.”
“I will try my dear. My memory is not what it used to be. I really should write it down.” She dropped the phone to the desk.
“Who did you call?” wondered Wagner.
“It is the mother of Houston Robinson. She went to get a pencil.”
“What?” They could swoop down on us at any moment and we are lucky enough to get a connection halfway ‘round the world and the ole bat went to get a pencil?”
“She can’t remember anything. She’s old. Don’t you understand? If she doesn’t write it down our goose is cooked.”
Wagner placed her palms together and prayed. “Dear God. Let the ole bat find a pencil—”
“Quit calling her ole bat.’ She is a very nice person thank you.”
While Wagner was praying Mrs. Robinson picked up the phone. Carol could see this was not going that well. She spelled out the name G. DIMOCHKA. And hoped she wrote it down correctly. “Tell Houston that—”
“HEY — WHAT’S THAT IN YOUR HAND!”
“Tell Houston. For God’s sake tell Houston—”
The terrorist pointed the pistol to her head. “Phone call over lady — hand it over now or I’ll use your brain splatter to wallpaper the back of the truck!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Landenberger sat behind his desk discussing the details of Operation OMAN with several cabinet members. Most everything was in place as the generals were over at the Pentagon handling the last minute preparations.
This was the window of opportunity. Landenberger needed to unwind. He had a pulsating headache and was near exhaustion from the stress. He could not remember how many aspirins he had taken in the last couple of hours. He ached from head to toe. His body was crying for sleep. He took three more aspirins and a pain medication and the effects were starting to take hold.
Robinson inquired, “Are you feeling better?” Perhaps he should get some rest. He has much to do later and will need to be 100 % when Operation OMAN is underway.
“I’m fine Houston. I may take a short breather later this afternoon.”
The First Lady, Melissa Landenberger, carried a birthday cake into the Oval Office with her nine-year-old daughter Tabitha walking beside her. She smiled and lit the eleven candles. She explained that the six red candles represented “sixty” and the other blue five made it sixty-five. Everyone joined in with a tuneful “Happy Birthday” and he blew out the candles.
He admitted, “I actually forgot it was my birthday with all the activity that is going on.”
“You work much too hard dear.” She kissed him on the top of his head. “It won’t hurt to take some time out and enjoy yourself for a few minutes.”
The cake was magnificently decorated. Soldiers in civil war costumes were engaged in a furious battle. Cannons fired from opposite ends of the cake, the blue and the grey clashed in hand-to-hand combat in the center. She explained that it represented the battle of Gettysburg and handed him a gift wrapped box with a card.
Everyone clambered for him to open it up. Melissa reminded him to open the card first. Out fell a thousand dollar treasury note Series 1890 that featured a portrait of General Meade on the obverse. Tabitha sat in his lap while she excitedly informed him that it was often called the Grand Watermelon Note because the zeroes looked like tiny watermelons. The president was obviously pleased as he grinned from ear to ear with the extravagant addition to his extensive civil-war collection. When he unwrapped the gift box he found an 1851 cap ball 36 caliber army pistol mounted in a glass boxed frame. A COA claimed that it was an eighty year-old one-of-a-kind hand forged replica of the original that Meade carried with him into the famous battle. His wife said he could view the original one day at the Smithsonian with his family. He placed it on the mantle and said he would always remember this day every time he looked at it.