Loe raamatut: «Three Courageous Words»

Chapter One

“R&R is over, team.” Navy SEAL Corpsman Graham “Buck” Buckner clapped his hands together as he walked across the fourth floor of the bombed-out apartment building in Bentiu, South Sudan. “It’s time to do what we do best.”

“Yeah, Buck.” Diesel lay prone, staring through the sight of his M4A1 rifle with the SOPMOD upgrade. “And what’s that? Lying around in the heat, waiting for something to happen?”

“Men, we’re here on an important mission.” Buck grinned. “So what if it’s hotter than Hades outside and we haven’t had a breeze in over a week? We’re here to get our man. Let’s do this.”

“Shut up, Buck,” T-Mac said. “Nothing’s stirred in this godforsaken town since we got here.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t. The intel guys said we’d find Koku here. My gut tells me it won’t be long before something happens.”

“Your gut is telling you that you’re hungry.” Pitbull tossed a packet of meals ready to eat at Buck. “Feed your gut.”

Buck ducked, letting the MRE packet fall to the floor, unheeded. “Seriously, we’ve been in worse situations where we all almost died. This isn’t that bad.”

“At least our enemies weren’t boring us to death,” Pitbull said. He pulled a photograph from his pocket and stared down at it. “We could have spent two more days at the All Things Wild Resort, enjoying our last little bit of rest and relaxation.” He sighed. “I wonder if Marly’s packing her apartment in Nairobi right now. I’d like to have been there to help her.”

Harm snorted. “You’re just afraid she’ll say, What the hell was I thinking, falling for a navy SEAL? She might change her mind and stay in Africa.”

Pitbull’s lips twisted. “Yeah. I guess I am afraid of that. Why would she give up her life here in Africa to be with me?”

“Yeah, who’d want to give up a life in Africa?” T-Mac quipped. “It’s such a bowl of cherries, what with pirates, warlords and tribal wars everywhere you turn. Think of the excitement she’ll be missing.”

“And why wouldn’t she want to be with you?” Diesel asked. “Some women like ugly mugs like yours.”

“Hey, you found a woman here,” Pitbull reminded him. “And you’re no Mr. GQ yourself.”

“Ha! Wait until she realizes he snores like a freight train,” Big Jake murmured from his position on the other side of the room, holding a pair of binoculars to his eyes. “You and Diesel are just mad you didn’t get to spend more time with your women—now that you have women.” He glanced back at them. “Get over it. Like Buck said, we have a job to do. Let’s do it.”

Buck crossed to where Big Jake leaned his elbows on the rubble that had once been a wall. “Anything?” he asked, staring out at the buildings they’d been surveilling since they’d arrived.

“Not much,” Big Jake said. “Our old man with the mule cart is passing in front of the compound now. You could set the clock by that man. Same time every day.”

“I’ll take watch for now,” Buck offered.

“Good. My eyes are crossing.” Big Jake handed the binoculars to Buck. “If you’re not going to eat those MREs, I will.”

“Knock yourself out.” Buck rubbed a hand over his flat abs. “My belly isn’t over the brisket with au gratin potatoes I had for breakfast.”

“We tried to warn you about them,” Harm said.

Buck couldn’t deny it. Harm had told him it would mess him up. His stomach was still burbling four hours later. “Yeah, well, I’ll listen next time.” He lifted the binoculars to his eyes and focused on the structure on the other side of the bombed-out marketplace.

The intel guys had identified the compound as one that General Ibrahim Koku frequented—a local government facility where he had friends conspiring with him to make life hell for the people of Sudan and South Sudan.

The general was a defector from the South Sudan Army and the self-appointed leader of the Sudanese People’s Resistance Army, which had been terrorizing South Sudan for the past fourteen months, killing entire populations of villages and conscripting children to be part of his army. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he was also the primary reason US aid wasn’t getting to the starving people in refugee camps in Sudan’s Darfur region, or anywhere else, for that matter. He’d stolen food, medical supplies and even the vehicles transporting them.

And when US money was being thrown away on aid, the American government sent in their boys to fix it. So, instead of enjoying a full week off for much-needed rest and relaxation, the SEAL team had been called back to duty from their Kenyan safari vacation two days early. And for what? To sit in the heat of the sub-Saharan desert and roast like pigs on a spit.

They didn’t know when the general would show up, just that their mission was to take him out when he did.

Buck expanded his view to take in more of the surrounding area. A couple blocks to the south, a crowd of women gathered, growing in number as the woman in the center raised her fist to the sky, probably shouting something. From the distance, Buck couldn’t hear what was being said, but the crowd responded, chanting something he couldn’t understand. As one, the crowd turned and marched down the middle of the street, headed north on the same boulevard where the general’s compound stood.

In the opposite direction, a number of blocks away, a motorcade of black SUVs sped south, on a collision course with the women staging a protest.

“Heads up,” Buck said to his teammates. “Things are about to get interesting. Motorcade coming from the north.”

Diesel shifted his body and weapon. “Got the vehicles in my sights.”

“And what looks like a riot coming from the south,” Buck added.

“A riot?” Harm asked and hurried to where Buck stood to see for himself.

Big Jake, T-Mac and Pitbull took up positions against the crumbling walls.

“Holy crap, if those women are on a mission to protest our favorite general, they’re going to be slaughtered.”

“What can we do?” Buck asked.

“Nothing,” Big Jake said. “We’re not here to stop them from protesting. We’re here to take out Koku.”

Buck glanced toward the oncoming motorcade. “Yeah, but—”

“No buts,” Big Jake said. “We’re here to stop Koku’s reign of terror. The end. No side trips to the mall, no flirting with the local girls.”

Buck lifted the binoculars again and focused on the woman leading the march. Unlike the others, who were dressed in brightly colored head scarves and dresses, the woman’s head was bare. She had dark hair, dark eyes and much lighter skin than the other women marching. And she wore faded blue jeans and a white T-shirt with a red design and black lettering. “Guys, is that woman wearing a Doctors Without Borders T-shirt?” He handed the binoculars to Harm.

“Damn. She is,” Harm said. “And she’s not Sudanese.”

“What the hell is she doing?” T-Mac asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to get closer before all hell breaks loose,” Buck said.

“Stand down, Buck,” Big Jake said.

“If that woman is American, she’ll be worse than killed,” Buck said. “Let me get close enough to find out. If she’s American, I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Big Jake shook his head. “You can’t jeopardize this mission because some do-gooder has decided to march against a murdering terrorist.”

“I can’t do nothing.” Buck lifted the binoculars again. Something about the woman seemed familiar. Maybe it was the way she walked or flipped her hair back over her shoulder, but whatever it was brought back memories he’d thought long forgotten. “I’ll get her out of the way before the motorcade gets there.”

Big Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You can’t do anything to make us miss this opportunity to take down Koku.”

Buck stood and held up his hand as if swearing in court. “I promise.”

Big Jake jerked his head to the side. “Go. But don’t do anything stupid, and don’t give yourself away. We’ve got your back, but don’t force us to expose our position. There’s too much riding on this mission’s success.”

Buck pulled on one of the long white robes called a dishdasha, worn by Sudanese men, and settled a white turban on his head as he ran for the stairs leading to the ground. He only had a couple minutes to get to the marching women and decide what to do before the motorcade arrived.

Keeping to the shadows, he ran along the walls of the bombed-out building between their hideout and the compound. If he were spotted, his white skin would stand out, even though most of it was covered. His tanned face and hands were not nearly dark enough to match the skin of the Sudanese men.

As he arrived near the street where the women were marching, the motorcade of black vehicles rolled into sight.

Buck cursed. If he made any kind of move to get out in front of the mob of women, he’d be picked off immediately.

Instead, he waited in the shadows for the leader of the march to pass. As she neared, a knot formed in his gut next to the one created by the MREs.

He knew her. Buck knew the woman leading the march. At least, he’d known her back in Chicago, what seemed like a million years ago.

How in the hell did she get here, half a world away from where he’d first met her?

Now more than ever, he had to get to her, to pull her out of harm’s way before the motorcade reached them.

Women in brightly colored clothing passed him, filling the streets, all chanting. Some were carrying signs Buck couldn’t read.

Ducking low, Buck melted into the crowd, working his way to the front where the woman led the march, yelling loud and clear in that voice he’d recognize anywhere.

When there were only two people between them, he made his move. He dashed up behind her, spun her around and threw her over his shoulder, then ran back through the women in the crowd. He did it so quickly, the women didn’t realize what was going on until he had her back by the building, in the shadows, yelling at him.

He shot a glance over his shoulder at the women who’d been marching. They’d stopped shouting and were scattering in all directions as the black vehicles rolled up to the compound.

“Put me down!” Buck’s captive said. She pounded his back and kicked her legs, squirming so wildly he all but dropped her on her feet.

As soon as she had her legs under her, she cocked her arm and smacked him upside the head.

She hit him hard enough to make his ears ring.

With the motorcade so close to where they stood, Buck didn’t have time to explain. He spun her around, her back to his front, clamped a hand over her mouth and dragged her deeper in the shadows.

She fought, kicking, scratching and finally biting his hand so hard she almost drew blood.

“Damn it, Angela! It’s me,” he whispered. “Graham.”

* * *

DR. ANGELA VEGA STILLED. Her pounding heart stopped for a fraction of a second before racing ahead, for an entirely different reason than fear. “Let go of me,” she demanded.

“Only if you promise not to run,” he said in that deep voice she remembered all too well.

She hesitated a moment, her pulse pounding, and then said, “I promise.”

Her captor released her.

Angela spun to face the man who’d turned her world upside down years ago, while she’d been in medical school. So many questions ran through her head, like what was he doing here? And why was he dressed like a Sudanese man? But she had more immediate issues. “Why did you stop me?” She spun toward the road he’d yanked her off. “I was leading those women in protest. I need to be out there.”

His lips thinned. “They scattered. You won’t get them back together any time soon.”

“Damn it, Graham. They need food and medicine. We needed our voices to be heard by the local government officials.”

“Not there, you don’t.” He gripped her hand in his. “Come on, we have to get out of here, ASAP.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you. I work with those women. They need our assistance. Their entire families need help. And the local government is working with Koku, a bastard of a warlord, stealing the aid packages that are supposed to be going to the refugee camps.”

“And you think a protest is going to make a difference?” Buck shook his head.

“We had to do something,” Angela said. “The local government wasn’t helping.”

“I’m not here to argue with you. I’m just telling you that you’re in danger.”

She jerked her hand free of his and squared off with him, her shoulders back, her chin held high. “We knew that when we started. It was a risk we were all willing to take.”

“Yeah, well, the only way to reason with a man like Koku is with force.”

“We were protesting the local government, not Koku,” Angela insisted.

“Since they’re in cahoots with him, it’s the same thing.” He narrowed his eyes and took a threatening step toward her. “Now, are you coming with me peacefully, or am I going to have to carry you out of here?”

Angela backed up a step, then another. “I don’t have to go with you. I have to get back to my practice.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me until we know what’s happening. And the longer we stand here arguing, the greater chance there is of one of Koku’s men finding us and settling our argument with bullets.” He lunged toward her, bending as if to scoop her up.

“Hold it right there, buddy,” she said. “You don’t have to carry me like a Neanderthal.”

Sounds of gunfire erupted.

Angela ducked, her heart pounding. Maybe he was right. Now wasn’t the time to argue. “Fine. I’ll go with you. For the time being...”

Graham grabbed her hand and ran, leading her away from the street and into the shadows of a crumbling wall. They followed the wall until they came to the back of the building, which was no more than a pile of rubble.

“Where are we going?” she asked. “And what the hell is happening back there?”

He nodded toward the damaged apartment building. “We’re going there. And I don’t know what’s happening. Hopefully, we’ll find out when we meet up with the rest of the team.”

“Team?” she asked but was cut off when he practically yanked her arm out of its socket, dragging her toward the damaged apartment building.

Just as he started to climb a set of stairs leading up, five men came running down.

“Abandon ship,” one of them said and raced past them.

“What’s going on?” Graham asked.

“If the motorcade belongs to Koku, he’s not here to schmooze with the locals,” the second man down the stairs said. “He’s here to destroy it and the people inside.”

The man behind him continued speaking. “We think the trailer that just pulled up in front of the compound is full of explosives.” He kept running.

A big blond guy with massive shoulders was the last one out. “Run!”

Graham and Angela raced after the departing men. As they neared the structure on the back side of the abandoned apartment building, an explosion rocked the ground, spewing chunks of concrete, rock and splinters of wood into the air.

Angela fell to the ground and covered the back of her neck.

Graham fell on top of her, using his body as a shield to protect her. When the debris stopped falling, he was back up, dragging her to her feet.

The rapid report of gunfire sounded behind them.

The men didn’t stop until they reached a beat-up old van a couple blocks away.

The first guy there threw open the side door, leaped inside and crawled into the driver’s seat. The others piled in after him.

When Angela reached the van, Graham lifted her and tossed her in like a load of laundry. He dived in behind her, landing on top of her, and someone slammed the door shut.

Angela could barely breathe with Graham’s weight pressing her into the metal floor.

The popping noise of automatic weapons sounded close by.

“Go! Go! Go!” someone shouted.

The man behind the steering wheel shifted into Drive and spun out, leaving a layer of rubber on the street. Something hit the side of the vehicle.

Graham grunted and stiffened, letting out a string of curses.

Finally, he rolled off her and sat up.

Angela dragged in a deep breath, filling her lungs, and then pushed to a sitting position.

Two men sat in the seats up front. The bigger guy had sandy-blond hair. The driver had black hair. Three other men besides Graham crowded into the back, sitting or squatting with their backs to the walls of the van.

When her gaze came back around to Graham, he held his hand over his arm, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Damn, Buck, you’re bleeding,” one of the men said.

Angela looked again at the hand holding his arm. Blood leaked through his fingers and dripped onto the floor.

Her pulse leaped. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was too busy getting off you so you could breathe,” he said. “Besides, it’s just a flesh wound.”

Angela moved closer. “Let me see.”

He removed his hand from the wound. Blood oozed from the injury, but not at an alarming rate. Still, she needed to stop the bleeding.

“Anyone have a knife?” she asked.

Four wicked-looking knives appeared in front of her.

She selected one, ripped the hem of the robe Buck wore and tore a length along the bottom all the way around. She folded it into a tight pad and applied it to the wound. “Use that to apply pressure.”

Buck forced a smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

She tore another length off the robe and used it to tie around his arm, knotting it over the wound to maintain the pressure. Some blood soaked through, but not enough for her to be worried about it.

“When we get back to the refugee camp, I’ll sew you up.”

“Let’s get this straight,” Graham said. “We’re not going back to the refugee camp.”

Angela stared around at the others. “But we have to. All of my equipment and supplies are there.”

“We’re not even supposed to be in South Sudan,” said the big blond guy in the front seat. “We can’t go to the refugee camp. We’d be too exposed and our mission would be jeopardized, if it hasn’t already been.” He glared at Graham.

Angela sensed he wasn’t happy with her former boyfriend. But she couldn’t be worried about that. She had a job to do. “Then let me out at the next corner,” Angela said. “I’ll get to the camp by myself.”

Graham shook his head. “Not happening.”

“What were you doing leading a protest against Koku?” the big guy in the front said. “Oh, and by the way, I’m Big Jake. Diesel’s the one driving.” He then pointed to a man with close-cropped brown hair leaning against the wall of the van. “That’s Pitbull, and the one beside him is Harm.” Harm had black hair and dark eyes. Big Jake nodded to the man in the very back with auburn hair and green eyes. “That’s T-Mac. And I guess you met Buck.”

“Buck?” She frowned at Graham.

Graham shrugged. “Short for Buckner.”

“Do any of you have real names?” she asked.

“When we need them,” Pitbull said.

T-Mac grinned. “On our paychecks.”

“Well, Big Mac,” Angela said. “I need to get back to the camp outside town, as soon as possible.”

The men laughed.

“No can do,” the man in the passenger seat said. “And it’s Big Jake.”

“Seriously, I have to go back. My nurse is there. If the raiders who attacked the government office make it out to the refugee camp, they might take her. So, if you’re not taking me there, at least let me out and I’ll walk.” She moved toward the door and placed her fingers on the handle.

“Hey.” Graham reached out with his injured arm and winced but grabbed her wrist anyway. “You can’t jump out of a moving vehicle.”

“If that’s the only way to get back to the refugee camp, I’ll do it. I won’t leave my nurse to be terrorized, killed or sold into slavery.” She spoke louder. “So if you don’t stop this vehicle now, I’m going to jump.”