“Why does he do it? I mean, why does he, why do you, deliberately seek out danger?”
“Ah, this is not about sex.” He thought for a moment. “So why do we fight? It is hard to explain. It is a felt need, something we are driven to do, much like you have experienced, but very different. It is a testing. Every man, I don’t know about women, has a secret image of himself. In combat, that image is taken out and tested. Your colonel is the most fortunate of men. His secret image has been held up to the bright light of reality and it was all a normal man could hope for. He has seen himself for what he is. He is a leader, not a posturing egomaniac hungry for power. Because of what he is, men follow him.”
“And which are you?” she asked, “leader or egomaniac?”
Vermullen had come to terms with himself years before. “My case is different. I am a throw back to an earlier time. This is all I am. Just ask Hans here.”
“It is true, mademoiselle,” the old private replied. “He is the ancient warrior.”
Vermullen’s laughter split the morning quiet. “Nonsense, Hans. I am a misfit like all the rest of you.” He drained the last of his coffee. “Come. We have work to do if we are to wink Waleed out of Malakal.”
Richards’ fingers danced over the keyboard as she rushed to finish the report of investigation. Jill proofread each page as the general finished it, and her panic grew with each paragraph. Richards was an accomplished staff officer and marshaled her facts with stained-glass logic and a rare expertise, leaving little doubt that Allston was guilty of permitting a subordinate to torture a prisoner and then covering it up with his silence. Richards finished the last page and checked the time: it was just before noon. “Print it out.” Jill hit the print command and the printer whirred, spitting out the hundred-page report. Richards scanned it with a smug satisfaction. “Not bad, if I say so myself.” She watched as Jill bound it in a report cover. “I hope you learned something from all this,” Richards said.
Never trust a vindictive bitch? Jill thought. “I’m quite sure your Colonel Sutherland will be impressed.” She glanced at the wall clock. “A Dumbo is landing in twenty minutes.” She handed the report to the general. “Colonel Sutherland is on it.”
“I’ve never met the gentleman. I understand he’s famous for gaining convictions.” She enjoyed twisting the knife and watching Jill’s reaction. They walked out to Jill’s truck and headed for the airstrip. “I would have preferred that Colonel Sutherland served as trial counsel in a court-martial and not the investigating officer.”
“It appears you have done his work for him,” Jill said.
“That’s why I was sent ahead, to prevent a cover up.” They reached the airfield as a C-17 entered the landing pattern. “I’ll be glad to get out of here once and for all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jill replied. They watched in silence as the big airlifter landed and taxied in.
Richards got out of the truck and waited for the aircraft to stop. “Stay here and keep the air conditioner running.” She walked towards the lone figure who deplaned. From her vantage point, Jill watched them as they talked and headed her way. The lawyer was slender, non-descript, and slightly hunched shouldered. Richards introduced them and they stood talking. There was something about his boyish features and the way he listened that made Jill trust him. Satisfied he had his bearings, Sutherland climbed into the truck. Richards handed him her report. “The investigation to date,” she announced.
Jill drove in silence as Sutherland scanned the report and her panic mounted.
Sutherland read at well over a thousand words a minute and had digested the report by the time they reached Mission House. “Very interesting,” he allowed. “And very thorough. But there’s a problem. I need to speak to Sergeant Malone. Immediately.”
Now it was Richards’ turn to panic. She called the security cop on her communicator and handed it to Sutherland. The colonel identified himself. “When did you turn over BermaNur to the United Nations?” He listened. “Twenty-four hours ago. At Addis Abba. Got it. Thank you.” Without getting out of the truck, he turned to Richards. “This is an excellent report, general. Top notch. You made a strong case. But you gave your prime witness away. Without him, we have nothing, nada, zilch.”
“But the video,” Richards protested.
“Without BermaNur in the witness box, it can all be explained away in court by any first-year law student. Not only that, Allston, against his own interests, urged you to retain custody and not transfer him to the UN. Does that sound like the actions of a guilty man? Not to me.”
“So what do we do?” Richards asked, her voice stretched tight.
“We get him back. How soon can we get to Addis Ababa?”
Jill spoke up. “There’s a shuttle tomorrow afternoon.”
“They’ll damn well do better than that,” Richards said. “I’ll talk to Allston.” She hurried into the Ops Center with Sutherland and Jill in tow. Dick Lane was there, manning the scheduling desk, and shook his head when Richards demanded a C-130 for immediate transportation to Addis Ababa,
“General, I would if I could.” He scanned the board. “We got three Herks inbound but they’re on hold for another mission and I can’t release them.”
“So who can?” Richards demanded.
“Colonel Allston. He’s flying. I expect him back this evening with the fourth Herk.”
Sutherland took charge. “Stay on top of it, Major. It’s important that we get to Addis Ababa as soon as possible. But since we have a few hours to kill, I’d like to see the mission.”
Jill perked up. “General Richards, if you no longer need me, I can show Colonel Sutherland around.”
“You do that,” Richards groused.
“Thank you, ma’am.” It was her turn to twist the knife. “And I did learn a lot.” Richards stormed out. Sutherland thought for a moment and followed her, leaving Jill and Lane alone. “Delay as long as you can,” Jill told him. “The longer the better.”
“I didn’t hear that,” Lane said. He lowered his voice. “But if they want out of here before tomorrow, they’ll have to walk or drive.”
“Thank you,” Jill murmured. She ran after Sutherland. “Colonel,” she called, “would you like to meet Reverend Person? He’s with Colonel Vermullen.”
“Very impressive,” Sutherland said. Jill had given him a Cooks Tour of the mission and the refugee camp, and was driving west on a gravel road. “Where are we headed now?”
“This is the road to the town of Malakal, but we’re only going as far as the outskirts. The Legion has a checkpoint there and that’s where I expect we’ll find Toby. I imagine he’s pretty worried about now.”
Sutherland gave her his friendliest look, playing the game. “Okay, Major. Where is all this leading, and why is the Reverend Person worried?”
“Because his wife is shopping,” she replied. She slowed and turned into a large open area with a camouflaged revetment and a canopy-covered rest area. A squad of legionnaires sat in the shade and shared cigarettes with four young African men dressed in civilian clothes. “We’re there. That’s Colonel Vermullen’s Panhard over there and his bodyguard, Private Beck. He’s the most dangerous man I’ve ever met.”
“That old guy?” Sutherland asked, taking in the legionnaire and the battered utility vehicle. He got out and followed her into the revetment that was also covered with a canopy where Jill introduced him to Vermullen and Person. “My pleasure. Gentlemen,” Sutherland said. “If I read Major Sharp correctly, there is something I need to see.”
Vermullen took over. “We are trying to coax a Sudanese Army battalion into evacuating Malakal. I’m hoping we can do it with smoke and mirrors.”