Black Ops (Presidential Agent 5)

"I asked them what the Arabs are doing in that area, and they said they didn't know, possibly poaching elephants for their ivory, or maybe engaged in the slave trade, but the bottom line being that very few people who go deep into that area are ever seen alive again.

"The bodies of those who do venture too far, my new friends told me, are often found on the shoulders of Route 25, as far west as Kilometer 120. And I mean bodies--none are buried. Seems that some missionaries--I didn't know until they told me that there were Congolese missionaries, black guys, who didn't take off when the Belgians and Germans and French were mostly run out of this paradise--did try burying the dead, then suddenly came down sick and died very unpleasantly. As did large numbers of various carnivores that thought they'd found free lunch on the roadside."

"Jesus!" Castillo said.

"Amen, brother. And, to round off this National Geographic lecture on the fascinating Congo, there are no fish in the crystal-clear waters of that stretch of the scenic Ngayu River. Sometimes, in the past, there were fish kills, but no longer. Suggesting, perhaps, one fish kill too many--"

"All of this, as you can well imagine, Castillo," Colonel Hamilton

said, "has rather whetted my curiosity."

"--So, as soon as I hear from DeWitt that the shooters and the pickups are across the border, Colonel Hamilton and I are going to join them. We will drop four shooters at the boats, with one truck, to ensure our new friends don't rent them to other parrot hunters.

"The rest of the scientific expedition will then drive up Route 25, which we pick up in Kisangani, to Kilometer 120. There, we'll split into three groups. Colonel Hamilton said he can learn a lot from the bodies and--presuming, of course, that our new friends have been telling the truth--the water in the Ngayu. The other two will reconnoiter the area beyond Kilometer 125.

"This time, Charley, when I say we'll be back in seventy-two hours, that's conservative."

Castillo said, "Same question: Why are you not taking the other team?"

"I'm going with my gut, Charley. The fewer of us the better. Less chance of detection."

"Your call, Uncle Remus," Castillo said.

Hamilton cleared his throat. "I thought you and I had discussed that unfortunate appellation, Colonel Castillo."

Go fuck yourself, Hamilton.

"Yes, sir, we have. It won't happen again, sir."

"Charley, don't call us. We'll call you. I don't want some raghead with an RPG and a Kalashnikov wondering who the broad with the sexy voice is."

"Isn't there a way to disable the audio function of the radio?" Colonel Hamilton asked.

"It doesn't always work, sir. Watch your back, Colin."

Of course the voice can be shut off.

Uncle Remus is telling me (a) he doesn't want to have one of the shooters wasting time sitting around the bush with an earpiece waiting for a call, and (b) more important, that he doesn't want soon-to-be-retired Lieutenant Colonel Castillo looking over his shoulder and offering unsolicited advice.

What Uncle Remus is saying loud and clear: "Butt out, Charley, and let us do our thing."

"See you when I see you, Charley. Leverette out."

Castillo turned to Davidson. "Jack, is there a countdown function?"

"Seventy-two hours?"

Castillo nodded. "Put it on all of them."

Davidson tapped keys.

In the upper left-hand corner of all the monitors, a line of numbers appeared: 72:00:00. Which a second later turned to: 71:59:59.

[SIX]

0615 12 January 2006

When Castillo, in his bathrobe, walked into the library and sat down at the table, the countdown on the monitors read 68:20:25 and continued declining.