Rogue President. D.K. Wilde
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best you don’t wake him,” said the French accented, American/Canadian sounding voice from outside the netting. “I am Doctor Prue and your friend needs all the rest he can get,” she said as she raised the netting, entered and stood on the opposite side of the bed.
The short, pale skinned, crew cut, flame red headed woman, dressed in her battle worn camouflage greens looked extremely out of place in the makeshift hospital buried within a war ravaged area of the African jungle.
Standing and shaking her small, thin hand Wade replied, “Thanks for helping us. I realize you have done this at great risk so I’ll get my mate and we’ll get out of here.”
“And where do you intend to go with him in this condition?” she asked with Nenwon stepping up behind her.
“I’m not sure but the rebels will come looking. If they find us here, they’ll burn this hospital and kill every last person … can he walk?” asked Wade looking down at his drugged out mate.
“Not without causing more problems,” Prue replied sternly. “I don’t know who you are, why you’re here or what you’re doing. I do know by your accent that you are not American or British. Maybe South African?” She stood studying him intently.
“Australian actually.”
“Australian,” she paused, concentrating and appearing to decide whether to continue. “Well if you’re interested we have a supply plane arriving early tomorrow morning, which could take your friend. The plane can only risk being on the ground for no more than four to five minutes, so there can be no hesitation. Am I clear on that?” came the words more as a command than a statement.
“Where’s the planes return destination?”
“It will make three fuel stops and eventually arrive in South Africa. Johannesburg, I believe.”
“Okay. We’ll be ready. Thanks.”
8.
The interior of the lavishly appointed meeting room, at Camp David, was a buzz as four of the most powerful people in the western world sat around a roaring open fire. Waiters buzzing around like firefly’s circling a light. With their superbly presented five course meal consumed they smoked their cigars and swirled single malt whiskey. The President ordered the room cleared.
Markham, Bysmith and Razen had been together since Markham’s inauguration seven years earlier. Mackinnon had joined the select group after the demise of his predecessor at the hands of Wade and his team.
Leroy Mackinnon was ten years junior to his fellow group members. He had proven his worth as the linchpin connecting he and Markham to fraudulent opportunities throughout the world. A Doctorate in Behavioral Psychology from Harvard University and a Masters in International and Global Affairs; he was the true salesman. Known to have convinced leaders and rulers worldwide to believe in his ideas. He had risen the ranks of the CIA in record time and was not even in the line of succession when selected by Markham to the DNI role. Single, with movie star looks he had multiple lovers at any one time. Not afraid to spend money he drove the latest luxury sports cars and was always wearing his trademark five thousand dollar Hugo Boss suits.
The head of the security detail pulled the door closed and Markham leapt to his feet.
“Okay people. We need some clear direction on what we are doing and how we solve these problems. Firstly, how did Ross and his team get on a US aircraft carrier without us knowing? Secondly, why did we allow them, or anybody, to go into Sierra Leone? Thirdly, is someone on to us and if so who?” He rattled off pacing around the room. “We only have one more year left to get all our loose ends finalized and I’m starting to feel we are a long way from ready,” he commanded.
Remaining seated Razen responded, “Leo, sit and calm down. After the SAM attack in Sierra Leone we always knew that operational command would want to send in a recon party. Admiral Plower would have known this and as the order came from OpNav he wouldn’t have questioned it. Ross and his team had got in through a request from British Admiralty. From who and why we are still chasing. As to whether anybody’s on to us - I don’t believe so but I question how Ross, or whoever made the request from the UK, knew about Wine and his team’s involvement … coincidences, I don’t believe in.”
“I can answer who and why,” replied Mackinnon. “Joe Plant was approached by Sir Roger Dunstall, the former head of MI6, to find Ross and any others from Wine’s former team to go in as a rescue party.”
The group sat in stunned silence.
“Why would Dunstall have any association with any of this?” asked Bysmith bewildered with Mackinnon’s statement.
“According to Plant, Dunstall is Wine’s half brother and he believes he’s still alive,” replied Mackinnon with a smile on his face.
“Leroy … I don’t for the life of me see how this is funny,” said Markham. “And why didn’t you tell us about this earlier?”
Still smiling he replied, “That’s the problem. You don’t get it do you. Do you not realize this is perfect for us?”
Mackinnon went on to explain his plan of making a reward available for anybody locating Wade or Wine or the President’s daughter. All the different options of Wine, or his team, alive or dead. The rebels chasing the money. Wade trying to find Wine. The US military being used indiscriminately, and unknowingly, to hunt out all parties.
“Are you saying you want us to let this whole thing play out and see who is left at the end?” asked Markham.
“Correct.”
“You are one sick individual but I do like the way you think,” said the President as they clinked their glasses.
9.
Wade helped Sammy across the dirt track that served as the runway for the supply plane. Four Guinea nationals were hurriedly throwing boxes on the ground. The South African, payload master, standing at the top of the rear ramp was sweating profusely, gesturing for them to move quicker. The twin turboprop, Red Cross marked, bullet ridden CASA C235 was rocking as the pilot kept the revs up and brakes on. Dust and debris was engulfing the small makeshift compound. The pilot frantically watching for any sign of rebels.
Helping Sammy on to the cargo net seating Wade handed him a note. “Can you get this to either Director Harel or Kia?” he said as he slapped him on the shoulder and ran out.
Four minutes after landing; the plane rumbled down the runaway, in a cloud of dust, with the ramp still rising. Grabbing three of the boxes; Wade walked back into the makeshift ward.
“Thanks for your help,” he said stacking the boxes against the rust encased glass medicine cabinet.
Doctor Prue looked up from changing the gunshot wound bandage on the black woman who was trembling at the thought of being caught by the rebels who had forbidden locals to enter the hospitals.
“What will you do now?” she asked with the sweat trickling into her eyes, trying to push the shoulder of her shirt, the only part not covered in blood, to clear her eyes. Reaching over, with the towel that was lying on the slapdash dispensary, he dabbed her forehead and eyes as he asked, “Do you know anything about a helicopter being shot down somewhere near here?”
Her hand lightly on the bandage, that was stopping the seeping wound, she nodded nonchalantly. Looking across to Nenwon she replied, “There was talk of an unmarked helicopter crashing across the border, downstream near Guagoma. Is that correct?”
“That is correct but I am not sure it was shot down. It is very dense jungle in that area and I don’t believe anything has been found since the reports have started coming in.”
“Why do you ask?” said Prue, now dabbing the infected area with antiseptic and rolling on the clean bandage.
“I’m looking for some friends who are here on gas field exploration work. I know they were working out of a helicopter and when we left Freetown