Line Of Honor. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ Sudanese People’s Liberation Army had been fighting the government in Khartoum since the mid-1980s. Haitham’s chest swelled as he stood and pulled up his T-shirt to show a puckered bullet scar in his lower right abdomen. Both Bolan and Grimaldi’s eyebrows rose as Shartai stood, turned, unbuckled his pants and dropped his trousers to display a long pink scar creasing one buttock. Shartai slapped it for emphasis. Both men burst out laughing and sat again. “Since we were children.”

      Bolan glanced at Grimaldi.

      “They have a good attitude,” the pilot admitted.

      One of the staff brought in a mound of leftover sliced lamb on a bed of couscous and a pitcher of beer. The Kong brothers tucked into the food and greedily began sucking down beer. That told Bolan they were either Christians or animists. The fighting had driven untold numbers of Dinkas south as they had battled the government of the Muslim-dominated North. Christians were ruthlessly suppressed. The traditional African spiritualists were often annihilated out of hand. Nelsonne swirled the ice in her drink. “I have told them you pay well.”

      Neither man stopped eating but their eyes snapped to Bolan as they kept shoveling it down. Bolan saw no need to be stingy and he wanted their absolute loyalty, and to him rather than Nelsonne.

      “Let’s keep it simple. I’ve already hired nine team members. I see no reason to treat you any differently. As full members of the team I’ll give you ten thousand euros now as a signing bonus, and…”

      The Kong brothers stopped chewing and food nearly fell out of their mouths as their jaws dropped.

      “And fifty thousand more on completion, or to your families if you’re killed.”

      Haitham wiped his chin with the back of his fist and leaned back. “You are serious?”

      Bolan went to the safe in the wall, punched in his code and produced two bundles of euros. He sat back down and slid them across the table. “I’m deadly serious. This is going to be hazardous duty, and that’s why I’m paying hazardous-duty pay. I think the two of you will be invaluable members of my team. You in?”

      “Oh, indeed,” Haitham said.

      “Most assuredly!” Shartai was in full support.

      Bolan raised his beer. “Welcome to the team. Jack?”

      Grimaldi finished his beer. He knew what was coming. “Yeah?”

      “Go get the plane ready.”

      Darfur

      VEHICLES ROLLED FROM the belly of the C-130. The two Land Rovers were loaded with crates, and the canvas-covered load in the Unimog concealed just under half a ton of fuel, supplies and ordnance. Everything was marked as humanitarian aid. The 4x4s were painted the same beige as the dust storm that was kicking up. The jump-off was auspicious. With a storm coming the landing strip was abandoned. Lkhümbengarav backed a Land Rover down the ramp. “Sancho! Scotty! You’re with me,” Bolan shouted over the wind. “And Lucky, you’re in Rover 1!”

      Haitham shouted through the shemagh covering his face. “I am with you, boss!”

      “Hop in!”

      Everyone except Bolan grabbed his or her bags and clambered aboard.

      Bolan made the backing out motion with his hands. “Bring it out, Goose!” The Unimog truck rolled out under Pienaar’s guidance. Tshabalala was already riding shotgun. An MZ 125 SX off-road motorcycle was mounted on brackets on the front and rear bumpers.

      Bolan waved the last vehicle out. “Rad! Rover 2!”

      The Land Rover whined in reverse as the Serb extricated the vehicle. Nelsonne and Onopkov jumped in as a unit. Shartai shouted out of his scarf-swaddled face, “Boss! With permission? I will go with the mademoiselle!”

      “Go!”

      Shartai clambered in to Rover 2. Bolan squinted into the wind and dust behind them and clicked the tactical clipped to his shoulder. “All units, hold up. We have company.”

      Two vehicles were heading in their direction.

      Bolan raised his binoculars and examined the vehicles. One was a Chinese-made military 4x4 and the other a flatbed truck. The back of the truck contained nine men in camo. They all carried Kalashnikovs and their faces were swaddled against the dust. Bolan squinted at the dust-covered windshield of the 4x4. The man in the passenger was wearing mirrored blue sunglasses and a black beret. Nelsonne appeared at Bolan’s side with Mrda and Onopkov in formation behind her. Bolan handed over the optics. “Any idea?”

      “I believe it is Captain Osman Osmani.”

      “You know this jack wagon?”

      Nelsonne handed back the binoculars. “I do not know what a jack wagon is, but I strongly suspect that he is one.”

      “So this is a shakedown?”

      “Most likely. However, he is not some greedy, sitting-on-his-hands captain who just accepts bribes. He was very active in the fighting both in Darfur and South Sudan. It is very likely the United Nations will get around to trying him for war crimes. The information I have is that he has actually stepped up his strong-arming and extortion to build up his nest egg before he flees prosecution.”

      Grimaldi spoke across the com link. “You want me to take off?”

      “No, that’ll just make the captain suspicious. Come on out. Leave the ramp down, but be ready on my signal.” Bolan watched the vehicles approach. “Everyone out. Be friendly. Remember, we’re an NGO helping displaced refugees. I’m going to try to pay these guys and send them on their way. But be ready to take them down. Follow my lead.”

      The rest of the team formed up. Ochoa took position at Bolan’s right hand. “Hey, Jefe?”

      “Yeah, Sancho.”

      “You said take these guys on your go?”

      “That’s right.”

      “These guys got AKs. I can see them from here.”

      “It does appear that way.”

      “Yeah, but, you haven’t given us any guns.”

      Lkhümbengarav nodded. “What he said, hot rod.”

      “We’re in an international group of doctors, drivers and volunteers. Osmani and his men don’t expect resistance. If it comes to it, we jump the sons of bitches, pound them like nails, confiscate their weapons and disable their vehicles.”

      Ceallach cracked his knuckles with an explosive ripple of pops and cracks. “Right! The old-fashioned way, then.” He raised his hand and waved at the approaching vehicles in a happy fashion. One of the gunmen in the back of the flatbed actually waved back. The vehicles ground to a halt. The soldiers jumped down out of the flatbed, some with their rifles in hand. Others had them slung. Most had their folding stocks folded. They were in a low state of alert. The captain was more leisurely as he let his driver jump out and open the door for him. Two soldiers got out of the back. The officer wore a stainless-steel Ruger .357 Magnum revolver in a conspicuous gunfighter’s СКАЧАТЬ