Force puke’.
Arlen must have seen something of this in my face. ‘Don’t worry, Duke will keep ’em in line.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ I said drily. ‘Who else is in the party besides the principals?’
‘Well, Leila apparently doesn’t travel without her makeup artist.’
‘Who does?’
‘She’s also bringing her stylist and fitness trainer. Twenny Fo has his three “bloods” – his words. Apparently they can handle themselves.’
‘Let’s hope in private.’
‘Both stars want to bring their personal assistants, and Twenny Fo has hired a film crew to capture the event for his fans. There are also four dancers and half a dozen sound and light technicians, who stage the show.’
‘Who’s bringing the kitchen sink?’
‘Yeah. We’ve asked both stars to keep it to the bare essentials. The principal doesn’t know it yet, but the movie has bitten the dust; the people at AFRICOM don’t want cameras rolling down there. And, as we speak, the PAs are having their visas denied by the Rwandan government. We’ve also had them cut back on the number of dancers and technicians.’
‘That’s still a lot of folks to protect for four PSOs and one Duke Ryder.’
‘More resources will be made available to you at Cyangugu.’
‘What’s the security situation like in Rwanda? Weren’t they all killing each other not so long ago?’
‘That was back in the mid-nineties, when the Hutu majority decided the world would be a better place without the Tutsis, their traditional enemy. The Tutsis convinced the Hutus otherwise and today Rwanda is in reasonable shape. There are echoes of this conflict across the border in the DRC – the Congo’s the problem child these days. Too much wealth there for its own good.’
I yawned.
‘I’m not feeling the love, Vin. You’ve got to admit this beats the crap out of getting shot up by the Taliban.’
‘Okay, I’ll admit it, but it sounds thrown together.’
‘The concerts have been in development for a while. The call to have you lead the PSO team is the only thrown-together detail. You can thank your snap-happy pal Fallon for that.’
‘So I’m meeting everyone in Kigali,’ I said, going with the flow.
‘Kigali airport.’
‘And when does this happen?’
‘You’re taking the C-17 I came in on. Go get your toothbrush. It’s leaving in about . . .’ Arlen checked his wristwatch and gave himself a surprise. ‘Shit! You need to hurry – forty-five minutes from now. A car is waiting for you outside.’
‘That’s mighty considerate of you, Arlen. But I’m still not solid on what I’m supposed to be doing.’
‘Just make sure no one gets killed. Lieutenant Colonel Travis will do the rest. Like I said – milk run.’
Kigali
T hirty-two hours later – after transiting through Incirlik, Turkey, and overnighting at Ramstein, Germany – another C-17 deposited me at Kigali airport. Packed into the long sausage-shaped bag at my feet were the bare essentials: body armor and Ka-bar knife, a metal case containing an M4 carbine and a Sig Sauer side-arm, a couple of changes of combat uniform, clean underwear, socks, disposable razor, and toothbrush.
The airport consisted of a single runway, a couple of crumbling taxiways, and one terminal that looked like some kind of traditional African grass hut built in concrete and steel. I stood on the square of paved ramp, sweat blooming on my scalp from the high temperature and choking humidity, my airman battle uniform sticking to all the wrong places. The clouds suspended above the airfield were spectacular – a thousand puffy white sails set on top of each other against a royal blue sky. Looked like rain and plenty of it.
I went into the terminal and found an old lady holding the insects at bay with a flyswatter. She stamped my passport, glanced at my papers and the firearms authorizations on my orders. Then I wandered around the deserted building, looking for a soda, but there were no vending
Arlen must have seen something of this in my face. ‘Don’t worry, Duke will keep ’em in line.’
‘I’m sure he will,’ I said drily. ‘Who else is in the party besides the principals?’
‘Well, Leila apparently doesn’t travel without her makeup artist.’
‘Who does?’
‘She’s also bringing her stylist and fitness trainer. Twenny Fo has his three “bloods” – his words. Apparently they can handle themselves.’
‘Let’s hope in private.’
‘Both stars want to bring their personal assistants, and Twenny Fo has hired a film crew to capture the event for his fans. There are also four dancers and half a dozen sound and light technicians, who stage the show.’
‘Who’s bringing the kitchen sink?’
‘Yeah. We’ve asked both stars to keep it to the bare essentials. The principal doesn’t know it yet, but the movie has bitten the dust; the people at AFRICOM don’t want cameras rolling down there. And, as we speak, the PAs are having their visas denied by the Rwandan government. We’ve also had them cut back on the number of dancers and technicians.’
‘That’s still a lot of folks to protect for four PSOs and one Duke Ryder.’
‘More resources will be made available to you at Cyangugu.’
‘What’s the security situation like in Rwanda? Weren’t they all killing each other not so long ago?’
‘That was back in the mid-nineties, when the Hutu majority decided the world would be a better place without the Tutsis, their traditional enemy. The Tutsis convinced the Hutus otherwise and today Rwanda is in reasonable shape. There are echoes of this conflict across the border in the DRC – the Congo’s the problem child these days. Too much wealth there for its own good.’
I yawned.
‘I’m not feeling the love, Vin. You’ve got to admit this beats the crap out of getting shot up by the Taliban.’
‘Okay, I’ll admit it, but it sounds thrown together.’
‘The concerts have been in development for a while. The call to have you lead the PSO team is the only thrown-together detail. You can thank your snap-happy pal Fallon for that.’
‘So I’m meeting everyone in Kigali,’ I said, going with the flow.
‘Kigali airport.’
‘And when does this happen?’
‘You’re taking the C-17 I came in on. Go get your toothbrush. It’s leaving in about . . .’ Arlen checked his wristwatch and gave himself a surprise. ‘Shit! You need to hurry – forty-five minutes from now. A car is waiting for you outside.’
‘That’s mighty considerate of you, Arlen. But I’m still not solid on what I’m supposed to be doing.’
‘Just make sure no one gets killed. Lieutenant Colonel Travis will do the rest. Like I said – milk run.’
Kigali
T hirty-two hours later – after transiting through Incirlik, Turkey, and overnighting at Ramstein, Germany – another C-17 deposited me at Kigali airport. Packed into the long sausage-shaped bag at my feet were the bare essentials: body armor and Ka-bar knife, a metal case containing an M4 carbine and a Sig Sauer side-arm, a couple of changes of combat uniform, clean underwear, socks, disposable razor, and toothbrush.
The airport consisted of a single runway, a couple of crumbling taxiways, and one terminal that looked like some kind of traditional African grass hut built in concrete and steel. I stood on the square of paved ramp, sweat blooming on my scalp from the high temperature and choking humidity, my airman battle uniform sticking to all the wrong places. The clouds suspended above the airfield were spectacular – a thousand puffy white sails set on top of each other against a royal blue sky. Looked like rain and plenty of it.
I went into the terminal and found an old lady holding the insects at bay with a flyswatter. She stamped my passport, glanced at my papers and the firearms authorizations on my orders. Then I wandered around the deserted building, looking for a soda, but there were no vending
Similar Books
