Seronga and Pavant reached the front of the control tower. The two men entered the packed terminal. They headed toward the airstrip doorway. As they made their way through the crowd, Seronga turned sideways to sidle through two large groups. In fact, he wanted to see if the Spaniards had entered the terminal. They had. They were only a few steps behind him. Seronga wondered, suddenly, if the bishop knew the soldiers were here. Not that it mattered. Whatever it took, Seronga was determined to accomplish his mission.
The bishop was just making his way inside. He smiled and waved again when he saw Seronga. As the clergyman crossed the threshold, the security officer suddenly turned toward him. The guard's pistol was drawn. He put it against the back of the clergyman's neck.
An instant later, he fired.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Seronga watched helplessly as Bishop Max died.
The clergyman's head jerked back, even as his body was propelled forward. The first thing that died were his eyes. Seronga could see the light go out of them. A moment later, the bishop fell facedown on the tile floor. Blood ran with ugly speed from a hole at the base of his skull. The guard's pistol had been so close that its flash had blackened the flesh around the wound.
In an instant, the terminal became a madhouse.
People have the same reaction when anything dramatically unexpected occurs. There is a moment of paralysis after the fact. If the danger passes, such as a car accident or an explosion, people tend to resuscitate slowly. The mind tells them there is no longer a risk. It gives them a long moment to process the situation, to adjust to the disorientation. If the danger persists, such as a fire, flood, or storm, the mind steps aside. It recognizes the danger and allows instinct to override the shock. People are free to seek a safe haven. The only ones who routinely suppress both instincts are professional bodyguards, such as members of the Secret Service. At the first sign of trouble, they are trained to launch themselves between the problem and the desired effect.
Gunfire is not like a bomb blast or car crash. It usually comes in a stream. When the airport guard fired his pistol, self-preservation took control of most of the people in the terminal. They cried, they shouted, and they ran. There were three exceptions. ^
One exception was the guard himself. After firing the single shot into Bishop Max, the big man turned and ran onto the airstrip. That told Seronga two things. It told him that the guard was an inexperienced assassin. It would have taken only a moment to put two or three more bullets into the body. People had been known to survive a single head wound. Additional shots would have made sure that the bishop was dead. The single shot also told him that it did not matter if the clergyman actually died, only that he was violently assaulted. Otherwise, a professional would have been engaged to do the job.
The small plane that had been preparing for takeoff was taxiing toward the terminal. The guard was running to meet it. The door on the passenger's side was open.
The second person who did not need time to recover was Leon Seronga. He had been lucky. The gunman became the focus of his attention. That kept Seronga from going into a traumatic pause. Within an instant of the bishop having struck the floor, Seronga was running after the guard.
Seronga did not know exactly why he ran. He himself could be shot and killed. He knew that his cover as a deacon would almost certainly be undermined. But he had to try to catch the gunman. Not simply for justice. It was more personal. Someone had prevented the Brush Viper from completing the mission he had been sent to do. Seronga had to know why. He also had to try to find out who wanted the American bishop dead.
Seronga pushed the panicked passengers aside as he rushed past. He reached the tarmac as the guard made his way to the oncoming Cessna. There was a man in the wildlife observation tower. He did not have a clear shot at the plane or the guard. The larger aircraft was in the way. Seronga noted the identification number on the rear end of the fuselage. Not that he really thought it would help him. The plane would fly low to avoid radar. It would land in a field, and someone would probably hide it. Repaint it. Seronga would never see a plane with this number again.
The guard glanced over his shoulder. He could not have heard Seronga's footsteps over the howl of the airplane engine. It was probably just a precautionary glance. The guard did not stop when he saw the oncoming Brush Viper. He simply pointed his pistol over his left shoulder and fired several quick, wild shots behind him.
Seronga dropped to the tarmac. He lifted his body slightly and thrust his hand down the front of his loose-fitting shirt. Reluctantly, he drew his weapon. Seronga could not afford to die here. The authorities would find out who he really was. They might tie the Brush Vipers to Dhamballa. That would hurt the Vodun cause. If the Spaniards asked, Seronga would tell them that he carried the weapon to protect himself from wild animals. Perhaps they would believe him. Not that it mattered. He would not be going back to the church.
The guard turned back toward the plane. Seronga got up. As he rose, he heard a muted pop-pop from the cabin of the Cessna. The guard slowed, and then his right leg folded. A moment later, he dropped to his knees. The back of his white shirt began to show a red stain.
No! Seronga screamed inside.
Of course a nonprofessional was hired to kill the bishop. Whoever was behind this never intended for him to leave.
Seronga began to run to the plane. An instant later, there was another pop. The guard twisted to the right and fell to his side. There was a red blotch in the center of his forehead. The pilot was a professional. He had not been satisfied with a single bullet.
Puffs of dirty white gunsmoke drifted from inside the cabin of the Cessna. They were quickly dispersed by the propeller. The pilot tossed his revolver onto the empty passenger's seat and leaned toward the door. He pulled it shut. Seronga did not get a good look at the man. Earlier, he had only seen the man from behind, which was obviously what the pilot had intended.
The airplane swung toward the airstrip. The Cessna was picking up speed. Once it had lifted off, he did not want to fire. It was a tough shot. But if he happened to disable the pilot or the plane, the Cessna could easily tumble toward the tower.
Seronga reached the body of the guard. He dropped beside it and felt for a pulse. He was not surprised to fin4 none. The man had been shot in the heart and the head. The dead man's r eyes were open. Seronga passed his hand over the guard's face to close them.
Pavant ran up behind Seronga. He helped his fellow Brush Viper up.
"Are you all right?" Pavant asked.
Seronga nodded. He quickly put his gun back in its holster.
"We've got to get away from here," Pavant told him. "There will be questions we cannot answer."
"I know," Seronga replied. His left hand was covered with blood from the guard's face. He tore open his shirt and wiped the blood on his arm.
"What are you doing?" Pavant asked.
"We'll tell people I was hurt and that you have to get me to the doctor in Maun," Seronga said.
"That's a good idea," Pavant said.
Pavant put his arm around the "wounded man" for support. They turned and started hobbling toward the terminal. Sergeant Vicente Diamante and Captain Antonio Abreo were running toward them. Both of the soldiers were holding their M-82s. The weapons were clutched close to their chests, concealed from the people in the terminal.