But if the authorities had somehow caught him, if he had slipped up, then one had to assume the worst.
The cigar was out. He reached for a match.
He wasn’t due to return to the U.s. from Ethiopia until Thursday, so he had a couple of days. If Platt hadn’t shown up by then, Hughes would put in a call to the senator and offer some reason why he had to stay in Africa for a few more days.
Easy enough. And if Platt had been caught and had given him up, then here was where Hughes would stay.
It would be ahead of schedule, and irritating to have been found out, but not a major setback, all things considered.
He lit the cigar. When he had his house built, he’d have to be sure to include in it a humidor, a walk-in humidor, to keep his own stock of Cubans nice and fresh.
Tuesday, January 18th, 9 P.m.
Banjul, The Gambia Rain fell on the corrugated metal roof, a constant, almost hypnotic drumming that felt relaxing despite the muggy interior of the staging shed. The hard rain almost drowned out the electrical generator droning on outside the building.
Michaels felt lulled by the rain and the heat. This was supposed to be the dry season, the monsoons were supposed to be over. What must the wet season be like then, if this was dry?
Howard had a map projected on a more-or-less-white concrete block wall.
“This is the city of Bissau,” he said.
“On the north side of the Rio Geba where it turns into the bay.” He waved a laser pointer in a circle of red around the Presidential Palace.
“This is the compound.” Howard used a remote, and the viewpoint zoomed in.
“This is the main building and this is where our target should be.” He fiddled with the remote, and the map was replaced by a computer-enhanced spy sat photograph, the angle altered to give a view from what appeared to be only a few hundred feet above the buildings.
“The CIA rerouted one of their fast flying high-eyes to footprint the city for us, and we’d like to thank them for that, and for the use of the Hueys and this staging area.” Howard would have liked even more assistance from the Agency–like a geosynch spy sat with full IR capabilities foot printing the area from now through the time of the assault-but this operation was strictly unofficial. The Agency had done all it could without risking calling attention to what Net Force was doing out here, and Howard appreciated their efforts. He nodded at a fit-looking gray-haired man in khaki shorts and a T-shirt, who smiled and waved.
There were thirty-four people in the room. Howard had brought four five-troop squads, not counting Fernandez and Winthrop. There was the CIA Liaison, four helicopter pilots, four ground-support techs, plus Toni and Michaels. The troops were already mostly dressed in their SIPE-SUITS.
Howard put the map up again.
“We’ll land here, about two miles from the target, where we will switch to local transport, again courtesy of the Company. Alpha Team will proceed to here and initiate our diversion, while Beta Team will proceed to the compound and prepare for the incursion. Look over your house plans one more time.
Beta. We don’t want anybody getting lost in there and winding up in the bathroom instead of the package’s quarters.” That caused a little nervous laughter.
“We would like to avoid casualties on either side if at all possible, so we will utilize flash bangs, puke gas, and pepper fog to neutralize threats. No one is to fire unless fired upon first, and then only if the other side is using armor-piercing rounds, which is highly unlikely.
Our intelligence indicates that most of the soldiers in Bissau are armed with Kalashnikovs –when they are armed at all–and issue ammo is standard Soviet Bloc surplus.
“Let me be clear on this point. We are not at war with this country, and we don’t want to leave bodies piled up all over the place, understood?” There was a mumble of acknowledgment.
“We are set to collect the package at 0130 hours. Any questions so far?” Nobody had any.
“After Beta Team collects the package, we will rendezvous with Alpha at the assembly point, then proceed to the landing site. Whatever our status on the ground, the Hueys will lift at 0230 hours and proceed on the prearranged flight path back to Banjul. If you miss the bus, you’ll have a long walk home.
Any questions?” There were no questions.
“All right then. Finish suiting up and lock and load. We leave in one hour. Dismissed.” The pilots and squads filed out into the rain, which was finally beginning to slacken. Michaels, Toni, Winthrop, and Fernandez stayed behind with the colonel.
“Got your gear?” Howard asked Michaels and Toni.
He was referring to the Kevlar helmets and hard weave armor vests he had given them. They weren’t going in!combat, but he’d insisted that if they were going in the copters they must wear them. And he’d also issued them each a suppressed pistol, which he also wanted to see strapped on. There was always a chance the copter could blow a gasket or take small arms fire and be forced to land. It was better to be armed than not when moving overland in hostile territory. Andwitha gun that didn’t make a lot of noise.
“Got them,” Toni answered for herself and Michaels.
“You know you really should stay here,” Howard tried again.
“You’ve assured us the danger is minimal,” Michaels said.
“Minimal is not the same as none,” Howard said.
“I appreciate your concern,” Michaels said.
End of discussion.
“All right. We’re set then. Winthrop will be with me on Beta Team, Sergeant Fernandez leads Alpha. Our projections run between eighty-eight-percent and ninety-three-percent success, if we’ve plugged in all the proper variables. This ought to be a piece of cake. In and out, quick and clean. By this time tomorrow, we should be well on our way home.” Michaels nodded.
“I’ll see you at the transports in fifty-five minutes.” Tuesday, January 18th, 11 P.m.
Bissau, Guinea-Bissau Platt hated this damned country. Being stuck in a mud hut that sat there and cooked in the hot sunshine all day hadn’t helped his mood.
Hell, even when it rained a frog-dr owner like it had this afternoon, it still didn’t get cool. Just muggier, so your sweat wouldn’t even evaporate, it just rolled down your legs and soaked into your socks. It was like sitting in a steam bath with your clothes on.
He looked at his watch for the fiftieth time since it got dark.
He was about a mile from the pink palace, the Land Rover parked inside a tin shed next to the mud house. The house’s owner, a white-haired old man, was tied up and lying on the cot in the corner.
The old guy hadn’t seemed too fretted about a man with a gun barging in. He’d damned near brained Platt with his walking stick–he was a lot faster than he looked.
Anot her two inches and the party would have been over; as it was, the stick had left a scrape over Platt’s left ear.
These jigs weren’t complete pushovers like he’d figured.
That bothered him. If the palace guards were up to snuff, that could be a real problem.
After he’d gotten the stick away, Platt had trussed the old man up like a hog.
Near as Platt could tell, the old boy was asleep. Couldn’t get away, hell, might as well take a nap. In the old man’s place, Platt didn’t think he’d feel so cool.
The idea of being taken out by a nigrah was… was unreal.
He had to be more careful.
He’d planned to wait until around midnight before he headed for the palace, but Platt had had enough of this hanging around. He was going now. They’d roll up the sidewalks around here by eight or nine anyhow– if they’d had sidewalks.
He changed into a black T-shirt and black pants, with black tennis shoes and black socks.
What skin showed was stained pretty dark, and it wouldn’t show up too well at night. He tucked a little flashlight into his back pocket and strapped on the Browning 9mm, with two extra magazines in pouches on the other side of the web belt, next to the sheath knife. He had a screw-on suppressor for the pistol; he’d put that on when he got there. Coiled over his shoulder was a half-inch hemp rope with knots in it every two feet. and a steel grappling hook on one end. He thought about taking the AK. but decided against it and left it in the Rover. But he did hook the pouch with the two old German hand grenades in it onto the web belt. Things got nasty, he would go out with a bang…. As ready as he was going to get, Platt rolled his shoulders and bent his neck left and right to stretch, waved at the sleeping old man, and started out. He was gonna move careful, so it might take him a couple-three hours to get where he was going.