Iron Gate Page 15

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Gorilla said as he reached for the phone.

  Pontowski found Kowalski in her office wading through the inevitable paperwork that greeted her each morning. ‘The South Africans are swearing out a warrant for Nutting’s arrest,’ he told her.

  ‘That sucks, Colonel.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Pontowski replied. ‘There is no way I’m going to let one of my troops end up in a foreign jail over this.’ He paced the floor, thinking. ‘Cut leave orders for Nutting. Back date them four days ... before the survey mission. Lay on a C-130 to fly him out ... anywhere but Africa.’

  ‘We came through St Helena,’ she told him. ‘It’s a British dependency. Will that do?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Pontowski said. ‘Lydia, we haven’t got much time to bring all this together. Maybe an hour. You better get someone to pack for him.’

  She gave him a worried look. ‘I gave him the day off.’

  ‘I know. Gorilla is organizing a search for him.’

  *

  A South African Army major and two MPs, one white and one black, walked into Operations an hour later. First Lieutenant Lori Williams, Leonard’s Executive Officer, was waiting and greeted them with a severe formality far beyond her normal manner. The sight of a tall and pretty black woman wearing the uniform of a U.S. Air Force officer wasn’t what they expected.

  ‘I have a warrant for the arrest of one of your pilots,’ the major said. He handed her a copy of the warrant.

  Lori carefully read the warrant, which was in three languages, one of them English. ‘I’ll present this to my superior,’ she told them. ‘Please wait here.’ She walked slowly down the hall to Kowalski’s office. The stall was on.

  Outside, Pontowski was waiting by a C-130, his personal radio in his hand. The aircraft was preflighted and the crew on board, ready to go. Even Nutting’s suitcase was there. But no Nutting. His radio squawked at him. ‘Bossman, this is Groundhog. We have a situation that requires your presence in the Operations. Over.’ The command post controller’s rigid use of correct communications protocol warned him that someone was monitoring the radios and the warrant had arrived.

  ‘Groundhog, this is Bossman, standby one. I have a problem with maintenance. Break, break. Gorilla Control, this is Bossman. Say status of parts. Over.’

  Gorilla’s voice came over the radio, scratchy but readable. ‘Bossman, this is Gorilla Control. We have the parts and are delivering them to the aircraft. ETA fifteen minutes. Over.’ Good work, Gorilla, Pontowski thought. ‘Roger, Gorilla Control. Break, break. Groundhog, Bossman is inbound to Operations. ETA five minutes. Over.’

  ‘Groundhog copies all. Over and out.’

  We just might pull this one off, Pontowski told himself. He told the crew to start engines in five minutes and call for clearance. He drove slowly to Operations arriving six minutes later. In the distance, the C-130’s engines were spinning up.

  Inside, he was introduced to the waiting major and presented with a copy of the arrest warrant. He took his time reading the document. ‘This does appear to be in order,’ he said.

  ‘Of course,’ the major replied.

  ‘Unfortunately, it will have to be presented to our embassy.’

  ‘There is no diplomatic immunity involved,’ the major said. ‘We have jurisdiction in this matter.’

  Pontowski paused. He could hear the C-130 taxiing out. ‘There is a problem ... I believe Captain Nutting has left for the States on leave.’ He turned to Lori. ‘Lieutenant Williams, please verify the status of Captain Nutting.’

  Lori was into the game and she made a phone call. ‘We processed leave orders ... ah ... last week. He has signed out but we don’t know if he has departed the base yet.’

  ‘We will seal the base and search for him,’ the major said.

  ‘Please do,’ Pontowski said. ‘May I suggest you start at his quarters.’ Lori called for a sergeant to show them the way and ushered the three men out the door.

  Gorilla came in with a big grin on his face. ‘We found him at Victoria Harbor sightseeing. He’s on the plane.’ The sound of a C-130 taking off reached them.

  Lydia Kowalski came out of the command post. ‘They’re airborne,’ she said.

  Lori started to laugh. ‘I have never heard so much rogering, overing, outing, and break-breaking in my life. This was like a Boy Scout camp. But you did skin and grin the man.’ It was the highest compliment she could pay them.

  *

  Friday, January 23

  The White House, Washington, D.C.

  *

  The intercom on Carroll’s desk buzzed. ‘Congresswoman Nevers is on line one,’ said Midge.

  Carroll picked up the phone, surprised that Nevers was calling him. The animosity between them was deep-seated and extended far beyond any political rivalry. ‘Carroll here,’ he said. As expected, he was talking to Nevers’s secretary who put him through to the congresswoman. It was one of the minor irritating games played in Washington to establish who was top dog. But he was long past that.

  ‘Bill,’ Nevers said, sounding cordial but businesslike, ‘I’m concerned about a report from South Africa that one of our airplanes was in an accident where a child was killed. I understand the South African government wants to arrest the pilot.’

  ‘That’s basically correct,’ he told her. ‘It was a regrettable but unavoidable accident. A boy ran right in front of a C-130 when it was landing. There was nothing the pilot could do.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ Nevers replied, ‘it raises many questions about what we’re doing in South Africa.’

  ‘There are always questions,’ Carroll said. ‘Why don’t I send you all the messages and reports we have on the accident and you can decide for yourself?’

  ‘That would be fine,’ she said. ‘As you said, it appears to be a regrettable but unavoidable accident. One of the facts of life we have to live with. Thanks for the help.’ She broke the connection.

  What’s that all about? he wondered. She actually sounded friendly. Has she changed her position on the UN? Probably not. Is she being reasonable for once? Or maybe she wants to declare a truce.

  He lay back in his chair, willing to wait.

  *

  It was late-afternoon and Carroll was clearing his desk to go home. Mary had a reunion planned over the weekend and many members of his family had flown in. Midge came to the door of his office and caught his attention. ‘CNN is interviewing Nevers on TV,’ she said. He nodded and she turned on the TV.

  A reporter was standing with Nevers in the hall of the Capitol. ‘This is an outstanding example of why we should not be in South Africa,’ Nevers said. ‘Unfortunately, our pilot was the cause of the accident ...’

  So much for reason and facts, Carroll thought. ‘Turn it off,’ he said. There was no truce.

  Chapter 10

  Thursday, January 29

  Cape Town, South Africa

  *

  Elizabeth Gordon was oblivious to the perfect summer morning outside the window of their bungalow overlooking Sea Point. ‘Damn!’ she complained. ‘One of my contacts at Government House slipped and mentioned something called “Prime” when we were talking about nuclear weapons. I tried to follow up, but it’s like running into the Great Stone Wall of China. During the interview with Pendulo yesterday, I pushed as hard as I could without asking, “Oh, by the way, Mr Minister, what about the rumors that you have nuclear weapons and are going to bomb the shit out of the AWB?” ’

  ‘Maybe you should have,’ Sam replied. ‘Sometimes a direct question is the only way.’

  ‘Not with that little creep,’ Gordon replied. ‘All he wanted to do was get his hand up my skirt.’

  ‘Thank goodness you were wearing pants,’ Sam replied.

  ‘Our coverage is blowing the other reporters here out of the saddle. But if I’m going to stay ahead of them, I need to get out of Cape Town. So I’ve arranged an interview with Hans Beckmann, the general who runs the Iron Guard. It’s on for Monday and I’m le
aving tomorrow. That will give me the weekend to look around. No cameras are allowed so I’m going solo.’ She paused, carefully considering her next words. ‘How are you getting along with Pontowski?’

  Sam shook her head. ‘There’s nothing there, Liz. It was just a chance meeting at a party and an opportunity to do some sightseeing. There might be a good story up in the wine country.’ She didn’t mention the conversation she’d had with Lydia Kowalski.

  ‘Look,’ Gordon persisted, ‘you’ve got an in with Pontowski. Use it. Get some coverage of the relief work going on at the base and develop Pontowski as a source. Who knows? He might slip up and say something he shouldn’t.’

  ‘I don’t use people that way,’ Sam told her.

  ‘You use people or they use you,’ Gordon replied.

  *

  Pontowski opened his car’s sunroof and savored the fresh morning air as he made the ten-mile drive from the air base to the UN headquarters in Constantia. He was spending more and more time at the headquarters as the UN got its act together. Several times, he had considered moving from his room in the officers’ quarters at Ysterplaat to Constantia. But each time, he had rejected the idea. The traffic slowed as he passed the University of Cape Town. A large number of students were going to classes and he gauged approximately half were black. That’s a good beginning, he thought.

  He parked his car next to a pearl white BMW sports coupe with a diplomatic license plate. He trotted up the steps into the main building. ‘Is that Madame Martine’s car?’ he asked the guard at the entrance. The guard confirmed his suspicion. She hasn’t been around since the fiasco at Mata Mata, he thought, and ran through his mental list of action items for the day as he made his way down the hall. High on the list was the reminder to call his son that evening. He had called the night before and spent fifteen minutes talking. Better than nothing, he told himself. But not being with his son was a void in his existence.

  Piet van der Roos was waiting for him. ‘The General wishes to see you,’ he said.

  ‘No doubt with Madame Martine,’ replied Pontowski.

  Van der Roos gave him a surprised look. ‘Well, yes ... how did you know?’

  ‘I know everything.’ Pontowski grinned. He picked up a folder labeled ROE and entered de Royer’s office. He had been waiting for this opportunity. As usual, de Royer was standing at the window, gazing at the garden. An image of a prisoner standing at a cell window yearning for his freedom flickered in front of Pontowski. He did a mental double take when he glanced at Elena. She was still composed and beautiful, but no amount of makeup could hide the bruises on her right cheek and leg where she had been viciously kicked.

  ‘I convinced Mr Pendulo,’ Elena began, speaking in French, ‘that Captain Nutting was not responsible for the accident at Mata Mata. And, of course, Captain Nutting will be welcomed in South Africa when he returns from leave.’

  That will be one cold day in hell if I have anything to say about it, Pontowski thought. You only get one shot at my troops.

  De Royer’s cool facade never cracked, but Pontowski sensed he was pleased with the outcome. ‘Of more importance,’ he added, ‘the government has agreed to my plan to set up safe zones in the interior.’ He turned to a map on the wall. A line of five small red circles marched across Northern Cape Province and into the Orange Free State. All were in the Great Karoo, the thirsty land north of the Nuweveldberge mountain range.

  ‘Van Wyksvlei,’ the general explained, pointing to the middle safe zone, ‘is most in need. A ground team is in place and ready to receive supplies. We will commence airlift and convoy operations tomorrow.’

  ‘I am very worried that we are moving too fast,’ Elena said. ‘Tomorrow’s too soon, too rushed.’

  ‘We are ready to go,’ de Royer said. ‘The team is in place and has set up a distribution center with the local government. Why should we delay further? People are starving.’

  ‘It is a matter of security,’ she told him. ‘We cannot afford another Mata Mata and I’m not sure if the South Africans will provide protection.’

  ‘We can protect ourselves if we change the ROE,’ Pontowski told her.

  ‘ROE?’ Elena asked.

  ‘Rules of Engagement,’ Pontowski explained. ‘When Pendulo took away our right to self-defense and you agreed to it, you changed the ROE.’

  ‘I really thought you understood,’ she murmured. ‘It is a condition of our being here.’ Then, her voice much stronger, ‘I cannot change the Rules of Engagement now.’

  Who’s running the show here? Pontowski thought. Her or de Royer? ‘Is tomorrow a go?’ he asked.

  ‘You know my concerns,’ she said. ‘The decision is yours.’ She rose to leave and extended her hand to Pontowski. ‘Good morning, Colonel, General.’ Then she was gone.

  De Royer sat down and fixed Pontowski with his usual stare. ‘We will commence flying relief missions tomorrow,’ he announced.

  ‘With no change to the ROE?’

  ‘No change,’ de Royer answered.

  ‘General, that sucks.’ He was going to push the issue.

  ‘We are still allowed to conduct training,’ de Royer said. ‘Speak to my aide. That will be all.’

  Pontowski left in a quandary. What had Secretary of Defense Elkins told him? He had to ‘create a command relationship where an American was not the head honcho’. No one had suggested it would be so frustrating. Bouchard was waiting for him. ‘The General said to talk to you about training,’ Pontowski said, reverting to English.

  The right side of Bouchard’s face lit up while the left remained frozen. ‘We have much to discuss.’

  ‘Then let’s get together tomorrow,’ Pontowski told him.

  *

  When Pontowski returned to Ysterplaat, he went to his quarters and changed into a flight suit, glad to be back to a routine he understood. He made the short walk to Operations and saw a video camera and tripod stacked in a corner. Sam Darnell was back to haunt him. A dark-haired, heavyset captain he had never seen before glanced up from behind the table serving as the ops counter. ‘Building! Ten-hut.’ The command echoed down the empty hallways.

  Pontowski shook his head. ‘That’s not necessary. You are?’

  ‘Captain Walderman, sir. I just transferred in from the New Orleans Guard.’

  ‘Right,’ Pontowski said, remembering when he had signed off on his application. ‘You don’t look like your photo.’

  ‘Well ... ah ... I put on some weight.’

  Tango Leonard walked into the room. ‘I see you met Waldo. He came in yesterday with the first rotation.’ Pontowski had set up a schedule where personnel rotated back to Whiteman every month and the first replacements had come in the day before.

  ‘Where is everybody?’ Pontowski asked.

  Leonard looked embarrassed. ‘There’s not much going on, so I gave most of them the day off.’ He hesitated before continuing. ‘Boss, I got a problem. Only the C-130s are flying a few sorties. Nobody knows for sure how long we’re gonna be here. I mean, we’re sitting around here with our thumbs up our butts waiting for something to happen.’

  They walked through the building. Most of the offices were deserted and needed a good cleaning. He had seen it before and knew how closely morale was linked to mission accomplishment. It was time to get the finger out before the malaise spread any further. ‘Call a staff meeting for 1300 this afternoon. I want every section head and anyone else you can think of to be there. Hogs, Herks, anyone,’ he repeated for emphasis.

  Leonard nodded. ‘Gotcha. By the way, your friend the photographer is here looking for you. I sent her to the other side of the field to get her out of my hair until you got back. The Froggies have really been busy. You should go over there and see what they’re doing.’

  ‘She’s not my friend,’ Pontowski muttered, taking his advice. ‘And no can say “Froggy” around here.’

  *

  Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Dureau, the French officer in charge of the UN’s relief logis
tics, reminded Pontowski of a bantam rooster: small, proud, and very combative. He almost strutted as he led Pontowski between two rows of neatly parked white vehicles. ‘We have forty-two trucks, eighteen armored cars, four medical crash wagons, and two maintenance trucks,’ Dureau told him. Pontowski was impressed. He had been so focused on air operations that he had missed what the UN was doing elsewhere.

  ‘Your government has also given us the warehouse tents you used in the Gulf War,’ Dureau said. ‘But we have only been able to prepare a few loads for delivery by the C-130s.’

  ‘What’s the hold up?’

  ‘Getting the supplies through customs. We have to bribe the new inspectors the ANC hired.’

  Pontowski couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Bribe? Those supplies are for their own people.’

  ‘The supplies are for different tribes,’ Dureau said.

  ‘Why is this the first I’ve heard about it?’

  Before Dureau could answer, he received a message over his personal radio. ‘Excuse me, Colonel. I am needed in the tents. There is a problem.’ He snapped a crisp salute and marched off.

  Pontowski was about to follow him when he saw Sam walking toward the trucks, her Betacam on her shoulder. He leaned against his car and waited for her to finish shooting. She does move nice, he thought.

  ‘Are you waiting for me, Colonel?’ Sam called.

  He liked the sound of her voice. ‘I heard you were looking for me.’

  Pontowski’s radio squawked at him. It was Waldo Walderman, the duty officer. ‘Colonel, you’re needed in the supply tents.’

  ‘I’m on my way,’ Pontowski replied.

  ‘May I come?’ Sam asked. ‘I’ve never seen the tents.’ He held the car door open for her.

  They had rounded the end of the runway when she asked him to stop so she could get a panoramic shot of the tents. ‘They’re huge,’ she said. ‘They look like circus tents — but not as high.’

  ‘The warehouse tents were first used in the Gulf War,’ he explained. ‘Later we used some of them for the Bosnia relief operation.’ He parked the car in front of the main entrance and they got out. He immediately regretted bringing her when they entered the tent. Four big men, all well over six feet tall, bearded, and wearing tan uniforms, were gathered in a tight circle around Dureau, dwarfing him.