Mike Maden - River of Gods

“Reaper drone,” Pearce said. “Night ops.”

“No wonder they built their own little base out here.” The U.S. Air Force located the facility five miles north and west of the city, not far from the N24 roadway, which they repaved and widened to accommodate larger military vehicles. Diori Hamani International Airport was about two miles south and east of Naimey’s outermost boundaries. Diori Hamani had too much civilian traffic and security problems for a sensitive military operation to have to deal with.

Just five hundred feet off the ground they could make out a series of low-lit prefab buildings and trailers: hangars, offices, quarters. At least one of those trailers was the ground control station (GCS) for the Reaper and its crew. Pearce watched the Reaper roll down its runway and gently angle into the brilliant night sky pregnant with stars. He lost sight of it as soon as it cleared the runway lights, but he could discern its deadly shadow blotting out a swath of starlight.

Moments later, Judy landed with practiced perfection. She taxied as directed by the tower toward an available hangar, an airman first class marshaling her into position with red-lighted batons. She was a young Hispanic, probably no more than twenty, Pearce guessed, with a pair of orange safety earphones nearly as large as her head. Did the recruiter tell her she’d wind up at a super-secret drone base in Africa when he visited her high school back in El Paso or Denver or Sacramento? The young face was earnest and confident in the blinding landing lights as she crossed the batons over her head, signaling a stop. Judy pressed the brake pedals. The marshal dropped her arms back sharply to her sides, then snapped the right baton to her throat, parallel to the ground, signaling Judy to cut her engines. Pearce threw the young woman a mock salute, and she allowed herself a small smile before turning on her boot heels and heading back into the hangar.

“Now what?” Judy asked.

Pearce pointed out the window. “There’s our ticket, I’m guessing.”

A black Chevy Suburban with tinted windows raced toward them.

Judy and Pearce went through the shutdown procedure, powering down and securing the aircraft. By the time they opened the cargo door, the big Chevy SUV had pulled to a stop and two doors had swung open. The man in the front passenger seat made a beeline for Pearce and Trudy, buttoning his suit coat as he marched toward them. He was followed closely behind by a harried young Air Force captain in her camouflaged ABUs and carrying a clipboard. Her name tag read SOTERO in block letters. The driver, a private, remained behind the wheel, but a square-jawed AF Security Forces sergeant named Wolfit stood watchfully by the vehicle, eyes boring a hole in Pearce. An M4 carbine with an HK grenade launcher and high-end optics was slung across his broad chest.

“Troy Pearce, Judy Hopper, it’s a pleasure to see you both again. You probably don’t remember me, but I’m Bert Holliday. We met at the HIV/AIDS conference in Nairobi last year.” He shook Pearce’s hand warmly.

“Bert, of course. Great to see you again, too.” Pearce had no idea who he was.

“Mr. Holliday,” Judy offered, shaking his hand without conviction.

“I’m sure you’re both surprised to see me out here. I was recently reassigned to this mission, and with Ambassador Ray just called away yesterday, I’m now the acting chargé d’affaires . ” Holliday wore his smile as easily as his neatly tailored suit, no tie, and custom-made cobalt-blue oxford shirt. He pointed to the captain. “And this is Captain Eva Sotero, the officer in charge this evening. Captain, this is Troy Pearce and Judy Hopper, our valiant guests.”

Pearce put on his best poker face, but guileless Judy frowned with confusion. The captain was clearly frustrated and off her game, but she caught Judy’s expression. It only added to her suspicion. Sotero glanced at her clipboard. “I just received these orders twenty minutes ago from a Colonel Ian Sanders, out of AFRICOM’s offices in Stuttgart. I’ve been instructed to give you full logistical support for your mission.”

Colonel Sanders? Pearce stifled a laugh. It was a funny way for Ian to let him know he was the one who made the arrangements.

“I’ve been instructed by my superiors to offer any assistance I can as well,” Holliday added.

“But these orders are highly irregular,” Sotero insisted. “And I’ve never heard of this Colonel Sanders.”

“Did you try calling him?” Pearce asked. “We’re doing this on the fly, so a lot of things won’t be regular.” The late-night arrival meant a junior officer was in charge of the base, and Pearce intended to take full advantage of Sotero’s inexperience.

“I called Stuttgart immediately. But, unfortunately, the direct line to his office is out of service.”

Good move, Ian, Pearce thought.

“Did you try Washington? Someone in the Pentagon?” Pearce asked.

“It’s four in the morning there, sir. I’d just get some other poor OOD slob like me.”

“Base commander?” Pearce asked.

“Not picking up his cell phone. Left a voice mail.”

“What’s the problem, Captain?” Holliday stiffened. “This is an emergency medical evacuation of an American citizen in a hostile environment. These two people are risking their lives to save another, so let’s loosen up a few buttons and get to work for these people.”

“I’ll need to see some ID, please,” Sotero said.

“There’s no need. I’ll vouch for them,” Holliday said.

“SOP, sir,” Sotero insisted.

“Not a problem,” Pearce said. He and Judy both pulled current passports from their pockets and handed them to her. She verified names and photographs.

“I’ll need to make photocopies,” Sotero said.

“There’s time for all of that later,” Holliday insisted. “Let them get some chow and some shut-eye.”

“What time will you be departing?” Sotero asked Judy.

“What time?” Judy glanced at Pearce.

Holliday jumped in. “We’re still waiting for a shipment of medical supplies. It should be here in four hours.”

“Destination?” Sotero asked.

“That’s ‘Need to Know,’ Captain,” Holliday said.

He turned to Pearce. “How soon until you’re ready to leave?”

“Soon as we can refuel and run a brief maintenance inspection,” Judy said. She yawned.

Sotero caught the hint. “I’ll assign ground crew to take care of the refuel, maybe have them check systems, too, if you like.”

“That would be great.” Judy was happy to get extra hands on the job, but after they were done she would still do her own walkaround, the way her father trained her.

The captain stepped past Judy and stuck her head in the cargo door. “Mind if I take a look around?”

“Never seen a plane before?” Pearce said. “The Air Force used to have a bunch of them back in the day.”

“Need to check for contraband.”

“Captain Sotero, please,” Holliday insisted. “This is a humanitarian mission.”

“And this is a United States Air Force base. We have protocols, Mr. Holliday, and it’s my ass if I don’t follow them.”

“Not a problem,” Judy said. “Feel free to look around.”

Judy wasn’t concerned. Pearce’s special-delivery cargo to South Africa was carefully hidden and stowed away in a secret locked compartment.

“Before you get started, Captain, how about some food and drink for our guests?”

“Of course. Let’s load back up and I’ll run you two over to the mess hall. I’ve got a couple of BOQ trailers open if you want to shower and catch some sleep.” She eyed Pearce, then Judy. “Do you folks want one bed or two?”