One of the generals handed Bumgardner some papers to initial. “We will all celebrate when he is gone. That is sure.” He wiped his brow. “I’m getting too old for this. Another year or two and I’ll be ready to be put out to pasture. It isn’t enough that the Iranians are setting off nukes and launching IRBM’s while threatening to blow away Israel, and then we add to that, this pirating and oil crisis. Let us hope we can get this under our belt and nothing else jumps out at us like the North Koreans with some unhappy surprise.”
“Hand me that paper,” said Deshano to one of the computer techs where a tabloid was neatly folded.
AL QAEDA PLANS TO PENETRATE THE MEXICAN BORDERS.
He flashed the headline to the others. “We won’t need to look that far. Here’s a problem staring us in the face that we haven’t dealt with yet. It says they plan to attack our nuclear power plants, shopping malls and chemical plants. There are unnamed US Homeland Security officials that provide the source for the article and would be reluctant to testify. Whether the information gathered through security taps is true is unknown. Perhaps it is a part of a plot to cover up other plots. That remains to be seen. It is possible those terror squads have already crossed the border and that a vigorous manhunt is underway.” He turned to Costanzo with a grin. “Have you been holding out on us?”
He laughed, “I run a big agency. I don’t know half of the stuff that goes on. I should read the paper more often.” He grabbed the paper out of his hand and leafed through the pages. “Here is another gem.”
CANADIAN BORDER LEAKS LIKE A SIEVE.
He studied it for a minute. “We cannot blame this on you. This is a problem for the DOHS. It says they have 150 mile gaps between inspection stations from Michigan to Washington. Anyone crossing the border is required to check in to an automated station about the size of an ATM. They show their passport to a camera checked by a border agent seventy-five miles away. They do a fingerprint the same way. A reporter decided to check this out and painted ‘terrorist’ on the side of his SUV, then loaded up the trunk with five hundred pounds of silly putty and waved an Iranian flag out the window yelling ‘death to America’ as he drove by the check point.”
“Let me guess,” laughed Deshano. “No one paid any attention to him. Am I right?”
“You got it. Just to be sure it wasn’t a one-time event he drove back though the check point an hour later in the opposite direction and decided to go into the station and then refuse to show his passport or do the fingerprint check. When he told the agent that he wanted to know where the Alaska pipeline was located they told him to wait for an hour so they could arrest him. He drove off without any problem.”
“That is the silliest thing I have ever heard. I imagine it is true though.”
Landenberger said, “Reporters are doing that kind of thing all the time and the article is correct. We’ve never had any terrorist try to slip though there and it would be a waste of our money to beef it up. The only people passing through there are locals going to the grocery store on the other side of the border. Terrorists seem to always want to go through the big high traffic areas like New York. It does not occur to them that they could drive a few hundred miles and easily pass through the border with weapons and bombs hidden in the trunk.”
Deshano grabbed the paper out of his hand and returned it to the desk, carefully folding it back into place. “I’ll be sure to pick up tomorrow’s edition.”
Landenberger listened to his Cabinet members for the next half hour. Reports continued to pour in that all was “Go” for Operation OMAN. He glanced at one of the clocks on the wall that showed Eastern Standard Time to be 7:51 p.m. In nine minutes he felt certain he would give the signal to proceed.
“OK!”
Carol raised her hands as the pistol pointed at her head. “Here’s your phone.” She tossed it to the clansman.
“Who did you call?”
“I called an old boyfriend’s mother.”
“You lie!”
Tanisha Wagner came to her defense. “She’s tell’n you da truth. I heard da whole thing. She hoped he would come and save her from… whoever you are. Who are you guys anyway?”
“We are the Tswana clan. And who is this boyfriend?” He waved the gun threateningly demanding an answer.
“He isn’t really her boyfriend. He knew her when she was twelve and she had a crush on him and—”
“He lives in Beledweyne? Mogadishu?”
“He lives in the United States.”
“I should be quivering with fear!” he laughed.
“Where are you taking us?” Turner smiled hoping to induce a response.
“You will find out soon enough.”
“What are you going to—?”
“Enough talk. Be quiet or I will shoot all of you.” He un-cocked the hammer and turned around and listened to music from the radio.
Tanisha Wagner was Carol’s best friend, a tiny but sturdy woman with an uncanny ability to find trouble at every turn. Often trouble found her, like hurricane Katrina in ’05 that swept through New Orleans with an abandoned fury. She became a refugee and ended up in the Astrodome in Texas when she decided to return God’s mercy by becoming a nurse then joined up with the International Red Cross. In that she was homeless, the Red Cross became her life — her home — her family — and she welcomed the most desolate places on the planet to ply her new vocation.
Wagner was fearless. She understood the torment and the terror that nature and war could bring upon its victims. There was nothing that could ever shake her faith, that the spirit of God lived within her, and it was her unfounded duty to go where others dared not tread.
Turner peered out the front window hoping she might figure out where they were going. After waiting a minute, she whispered, “Now we have no phone. What are the chances that Uncle Houston would ever come and rescue us?”
“About zip I would guess,” answered Wagner while she pulled at a tangle of her nappy hair. “Too bad that you could not get through to Dimochka — I’d bet that he would’ a come for us.”
Turner could see the compass that dangled on the rearview mirror. “Yeah, it was just our luck. I think we were headed around Beledweyne on some back road and now we are headed west.”
“If we go much further that would take us across the border into Ethiopia.”
“These people are some sort of gang out of Beledweyne. It could be they are moving out of the city because they know the Russians are coming and that is why they have hijacked the trucks. They probably will set up some sort of encampment there. I can’t imagine what they plan to do with us. They must know that we are not great hostage material. Who would ever pay anything for a Red Cross worker?”
“Dimochka would pay to get you back, I’d bet.”
“I would guess that you are correct, however it is more likely that he would track them down and kill them.”
“If they start talking ‘bout ransom money I say we give’m Dimochka’s name and not tell’m who he is.”
“You would think that everyone would know of him.” Carol opened the cooler and passed around bottled water to everyone.
“Not necessarily. This country is a bit backward, in case you hadn’t noticed, and it could be that news hasn’t reached Beledweyne.”
“We could call him “Mr. Dee.” That way they would never make the connection, but he would understand in the event they made a ransom demand.”
“That is excellent! We probably should convince them we are worth a lot of money and get them to call ‘Mr. Dee’. If anyone ever accuses you of not having a head on your shoulders I’ll give them the fight of their life.”