Armed Resistance

“And how long will you be in Uganda, gentlemen?”

“Two days at most,” Hawkins said, mostly because he hoped it was the literal truth.

Bukenya slapped the palm of his hand with Hawkins’s passport, his eyes narrowing a bit; he looked as if he wanted to say something else but finally he returned the passports to each man in turn and bid them farewell in his native language. Bukenya whirled on his heel, barked at his officers and in a minute they were gone.

As soon as McCarter exchanged pass phrases with the omnibus driver, he struck up a conversation while the Phoenix warriors loaded up their gear and climbed aboard. Within a minute they were away from the airport and headed north out of what passed for the bustle of Kampala.

“Where we headed, mate?”

In spite of the more stilted intervals, Kumar’s command of English was good enough that he could be understood. “We can go as far as the border. From there, we will have to go by foot.”

“What about our wheels?” Encizo asked from his position in the seat immediately behind Kumar.

The Sudanese freedom fighter glanced in the rearview mirror. “I have a friend who will pick it up and return it to the station here in Kampala.”

“We’re going to walk from the border?” Hawkins inquired. He let out a whistle and added, “That’s a pretty good hike.”

“My thoughts exactly,” McCarter said. “I don’t know how much you know about our mission here but we’re sort of short on time, bloke.”

“I understand,” Kumar replied. “There is another vehicle that will pick us up near Nimule National Park in my country, which shares its southern tip with Uganda. This is an area with large tourism, and lots of vans like this one, so we should not stand out. We will slip across the border under cover of darkness.”

“How far to the border?” Hawkins asked.

“I believe…um, maybe eighty kilometers.”

“You speak English well,” Encizo said. “You had training?”

“Most of the men in our camp are taught English by the U.S. advisers. We are told these men are from language schools and are permitted in the country to help us with reading and writing.” He chuckled and added, “But we know they are actually from your CIA.”

“Yeah, that’s one of the things that has us concerned,” McCarter said. “You know anything about our man who disappeared or who might have him?”

“It is not strange, this,” Kumar replied. “Americans are always disappearing here. Some just leave and others are killed by wild animals. Some are kidnapped for ransom, perhaps, but not most. Most are tourists and without much money. And they tend to stick to the larger cities. The rest are usually well guarded by police and their own security forces. Your man was known in Khartoum with many friends. I do not think anyone would risk taking him. They fear American retaliation too much these days.”

“That’s good,” Manning muttered. “They should be afraid of that.”

“What can you tell us about this Lord’s Resistance Army?” McCarter asked.

“They are a knife in our side, this much I swear,” Kumar said between clenched teeth. “We have lost many friends and family to these devils. I live now only to serve General Kiir and fight alongside my brothers to defend South Sudan.”

McCarter decided not to mention he wasn’t particularly interested in hearing the rhetoric. He asked, “Is this the first time you’ve come across weapons made in the U.S.?”

Kumar nodded. “As far as I know. I’ve only been allowed into the field in the last year. I work for my brother, Samir, who is leader for our segment. It is actually he who found your guns.”

“When can we meet him?” Hawkins inquired.

“We will see him tonight, later…once we have made it over the border. He waits for us on the other side.”

McCarter reached into the pocket of his suit coat and withdrew the photograph of Jodi Leighton. The CIA still hadn’t heard from their case officer in Khartoum, according to Stony Man’s last update. McCarter wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with the Farm’s theory that if they followed Leighton’s trail it would naturally lead them to the weapons. Things weren’t always so cut-and-dried in the clandestine services, and McCarter had no reason to believe this would be any different. Still, Kiir’s men had way more eyes on the ground than the CIA or Stony Man could hope for; those personal connections were their very best hope to locating the missing agent.

“You ever see this man before?” McCarter said, passing the photograph to Kumar.

The Sudanese fighter took the picture, keeping one hand on the wheel while his eyes bounced between the photograph and the narrow road. He took his time before handing it back to McCarter. “He looks like Joe.”

“Joe?” Manning echoed.

“He is with your CIA.” Something caused Kumar to chuckle. “We called him Joe because that’s what he asked us to call him. He always treated us well, gave us information whenever we asked for it. My brother was not happy when we learned he’d been taken.”

That got McCarter’s attention. “Taken, you…you telling me that you know what happened to this chap?”

“Of course, that is why General Kiir requested you come. Joe was always fair with us. He never showed disrespect to our cause like so many of the CIA before him. He was a different man, a good man. It’s the Lakwena that took him. Most assuredly I tell you this.”

“How did they do it?” Encizo inquired.

“Joe would meet one of our people in the city twice a month. He would pass off whatever intelligence he had managed to buy or steal or trade about police movements, and in return we would give him whatever we could learn about the Lakwena.”

“Any idea what he’d do with that information?”

“He was working with another agent, a member of one of the British foreign intelligence services, although I am not sure which one. The men were friends, I think. Joe never told us anything about him and we didn’t ask. It was when he was supposed to meet this man to trade intelligence that Joe disappeared.”

“So you’re absolutely certain it was the Lord’s Resistance Army responsible for taking him?”

“As certain as I can be, yes.”

They rode the rest of the way in silence as McCarter considered this revelation. In all likelihood, if Leighton had been connected with a British foreign intelligence agent it was someone from MI6. Before long, Kumar turned off the highway onto a secondary road that gradually degraded from hardball to dirt and crushed rock, to baked mud with great ruts and divots. Eventually he stopped the vehicle.

“We must walk from here,” Kumar said.

McCarter ordered the team to go EVA, unload the vehicle and wipe it down for prints before questioning Kumar on their next move. It wasn’t that he mistrusted the guy as much as he wanted to know what they could expect to face out there. “Hoofing it across this kind of terrain at night isn’t exactly what we had planned, mate. We’re not equipped for a hike.”

“This is not a problem,” Kumar replied. “There is clothing in one of the bags for all of you, and I think you’ll find that it all fits. General Kiir was notified ahead of time of your arrival, so we planned all of this. You’ll find boots and fatigues, and drop bags for the clothes you are wearing. They may stay with this vehicle and all of your belongings will be delivered to Khartoum, where we were informed you would make your exit.”

“What about the rental?” James asked.

“We have friends here,” Kumar said. “Do not worry, gentlemen. They will pick it up and return it to the rental company.”

“How far do we have to go?” McCarter asked.

“Samir is less than three kilometers, on the other side of the border. We are now a half kilometer this side of my country, so we should be able to pass under cover of darkness without raising attention.”

“What if we encounter border patrols?”

Kumar laughed. “We have much greater worries than the border patrol. While there is a ceasefire between my people and the government of my country, we know that they still hire the Lakwena at times to do their dirty work. The patrols of these fighters, many of them barely men, are vigilant and familiar with the borderlands. They will be vigilant and they will not attack with warning, neither will they take prisoners. The ones who raped my sister and killed by mother and father are led by a man named Bukatem, Lester Bukatem. He has many who answer to him and he is feared in these parts.”

“Lester?” McCarter interjected. “That doesn’t sound much like an African name.”

“Many of the people here who end up in the refugee camps take on English or American names in the hope their real identities aren’t discovered,” Gary Manning pointed out. “These people live under constant surveillance or are perpetually targeted by the Lord’s Resistance Army. I’d venture a guess that this Bukatem was conscripted as a child and brainwashed to fight for the LRA during the 1990s, when the conflicts were still in full swing.”

Kumar nodded. “That is right. In fact, we were raised in the same village as this man. My older brother once called him friend. Now he is our enemy and if we ever make contact with him, I can guarantee he will experience a slow and dishonorable death.”