Chapter 5

Yeah, right. Here I was sitting in an air conditioned, luxury, armored SUV, packing an assault rifle, sidearm, live rounds, screaming down a paved road in a third world African nation, concerned about the dripping condensation from my bottled water.

With Joe driving, the trip through the outskirts of Kinshasa and into downtown was like an E ticket at Disney Land. There were no streetlights at any of the intersections. The only form of control was a raised pedestal on which a traffic cop stood complete with white gloves, whistle and pith helmet. How he was able to every make it back to the sidewalk alive will remain a mystery. Joe would just sort of slow down at the intersections, do a quick look in both directions, and then floor it across the street. I was half tempted to draw my weapon and force him to come to a complete stop after several near hits from cross traffic. He all but ignored the traffic cop and just roared down the road slowing or stopping only when he felt it necessary. Our vehicles drew some stares from the passerby but most didn't really care.

With tinted windows, no one could tell who was inside. We pulled up under the covered entrance of the Inter-continental hotel and came to a tire shrieking, bone shuddering stop. I glanced at Joe who had a wide smile on his face before I opened my door and stepped out. The oppressive heat hit me; I had grown acclimated to the air-conditioned truck. I looked around and saw the rest of our little convoy pull up with the stake trucks going around to the back. We gathered under the overhead cover before moving inside, the security element moving to the flanks, lead and drag.

The Inter-continental was an immense structure, taking up one entire city block and standing 21stories. We walked inside, through the double doors and up to the front desk. Webb broke us down into groups and sent some over for the luggage carts, shooing away the bellboys.

I found it a little strange to stand at the desk of what was most certainly a five star hotel with a tactically slung rifle, sidearm, TAC vest and request a room key. The check in clerk didn't bat an eye at my attire, which was equally strange as she handed me my key.

I was in the last group to get my key so most of the guys had already gotten their gear on the carts. I slung my ruck and duffle on top of one of the carts and helped push it into the elevator. We rode up to the 21st floor, and got off. I looked down the hall and saw some the guys already unrolling coax cable along the floor and taping it down with duct tape. I pushed the cart to the center area where the ice machines and Laundromat were and pulled my stuff off. I finally looked at my room key. It was one of those card keys with the room number imprinted on it. I slung my ruck, grabbed my duffle and moved on down the hall.

Team members were wrestling pelican cases off the freight elevators and stacking them against the wall. I found my room and fumbled with the lock until I got it open. It was an actual penthouse suite with a full kitchen, separate sitting room, full bath with jet tub and an excellent view of the city. I dropped my stuff in the short hall and walked through the rooms.

If I didn't know where I was, I could have sworn I was really in any major U.S. city and at the Radisson or a Red Lion. I was just heading back for my stuff when there was a knock at the door. I opened it and there was Craig Watness, our resident computer techie with a spool of cable and a large bag hanging off his shoulder. He said a quick hello then spooled the cable inside and across the sitting room to the desk, asking me if this is where I wanted the laptop set up, before I could answer, he cut, spliced and connected the cable to the laptop he pulled out of the bag, telling me that it was hooked up to the satellite dish on the roof that they had installed.

He as gone before I could ask about what satellite dish and where the cable led. I followed him to the door and ran into Webb coming in.

He stopped and asked what I thought about the accommodations. We stood and talked for a few minutes and I asked about the cable, laptop and dish. He told me that we now had a secure server, for the laptops, an encrypted modem and satellite commo that covered just about the entire area so that when we used our portable commo units the dish would act as a relay tower. This also allowed us to access satellite television to keep track of the news. I didn't even bother to ask why we would need that kind of set up, I knew that this was a large bankroll and whatever we wanted we just had to ask. He went on to tell me that the president, Laurent Kabila, had tried to get the U.S. to help him clean up the mess of the former dictator but they had told him that until he cleaned up the human rights issues, there would be no aid package. He was most happy that we had come to his country and without State Department approval or authorization. He wrote us a blank check for any equipment we needed.

Putting all my gear away didn't take very long. I was just about finished when my sat phone rang. It was Clint calling me from down the hall. We had a short conversation discussing the plan for the next day.

I had just put the phone away when my room phone rang, this time it was the front desk letting me know that someone was downstairs waiting for me. I hung up and thought about whom I knew here. I speed dialed Webb and told him, he was as perplexed as me and told me to wait for him at the elevator and we'd both go check this out. I speed dialed Clint and Smiley and informed them of our visitor.

We all met at the elevators where I directed Clint and Smiley to take the freight elevator down and we'd check the lobby. We had all taken off our tac vests and sidearms but I noticed that Smiley and Webb had put on what we called the 'fag bag', which was a waist pack/fanny bag that was really a concealed carry device for a sidearm. It was a term meaning Fast Action Gunbag. I just tucked my sidearm into the back of my pants and let my shirt hang over it. On the ride down, I did a commo check with Clint and Smiley. The steel and concrete didn't appear to affect the signal. The elevator stopped and the doors opened. Webb stepped out to one side and I took the other. The elevator lobby was clear. Webb took the far side of the hall and moved ahead a little so we were staggered in positioning. I heard the sliding door open from the freight elevator and a squelch break on my earpiece letting me know that Clint and Smiley were down and moving. Webb stopped just at the edge of the hall and looked into the main lobby using a large potted plant for concealment. I checked out the hallway ahead of me that led to one of the restaurants and did a quick sweep of our six.

Webb motioned me forward and when I stepped close enough, he whispered that the lobby and front desk were empty. I looked at him, shrugged and stepped out of the hall and walked over to the desk. The same check in clerk was there and looked up as I approached. She greeted me by name, which was a little unusual, but we were the only people in the hotel at the time, and told me that a gentleman was waiting for me in the lounge. Webb had hung back a few steps behind me and heard. When I thanked her and turned, he was whispering the information into his radio.

We walked over to the lounge and looked inside. There was only one person at the bar so that had to be him. Webb entered first and hugged the wall to the right, moving behind and diagonally across the room. Clint whispered in my earpiece that he and Smiley were in the kitchen and holding position at the service door. I walked up to the bar and took a seat one stool away from the man. He looked up and swiveled his stool to face me. He looked familiar but I couldn't quite place the face. I ordered a Coke and looked at him, neither of us speaking. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Webb moving towards us. I checked the guy out, tanned face, loafers with no socks, lightweight slacks and an Izod shirt complete with little alligator. Finally, he said something. He asked me if I had found any work down here and then it hit me that this was the same guy that had shown up in Costa Rica on the beach. I stood and looked at him. I told him that if I had, so what? He then began to tell me that what I was doing was potentially dangerous and could cause problems for others and some of the team that had retired from the service could lose their pensions.

He went on to elaborate that it could be construed as a form of terrorism. The operation we were about to undertake wasn't sanctioned by the State Department and there could be consequences if we went through with it. He paused and I just fixed him with a blank stare as I sipped my Coke. Webb moved up beside me and said something like 'Hi Asshole'. The guy just kind of smirked and then like he was reading from a book identified Webb by name, former rank, branch of service, and last duty station. I was a little amazed at the info he rattled off. He seemed to be pretty smug with what he had just said. Webb just looked at him and asked who he was.

The guy pointed to me and said that I knew who he was. Webb turned to me and I said that yeah I knew him and he was just some asshole that that I had met awhile back. The guy actually got a little red at that and was about to stand when Smiley put his hand on the guys shoulder, on the collarbone area and held him in his stool.

The look on his face was priceless, he hadn't heard Smiley come in and to have that meaty hand on his shoulder must have just about made him shit himself. I watched as Smiley began to squeeze. The guys face turned white. Clint walked from around Smiley and introduced himself. The guy muttered something that apparently only Clint heard because Clint pulled a Sykes-Fairbairn commando dagger from the sheath at the small of his back and held the point maybe an inch from the guy's groin. Clint leaned forward and whispered something in his ear and I watched as his face went pale and fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Webb told him that now would be a good time to leave. He was further advised that if we saw him again, Webb wouldn't be able to control the reactions of his men and it could be potentially dangerous for him and there could be 'consequences' this being a third world country and all. Bad things happen everyday and it would be most unfortunate if he found himself the victim of a traumatic experience. Smiley had continued to squeeze the entire time and I noticed that his knuckles were white; he had a maniacal grin on his face.

Clint leaned in again and whispered in his ear, then moved back and slipped the dagger into a sheath that was horizontal across the outside of his belt at the small of the back, letting his shirt fall back over it. We all stepped back and the guy visible relaxed. You could tell that his collarbone must have hurt like hell but he didn't show it. His smug smirk had changed to an almost sneer. He slammed back his drink, thunking the glass on the bar and then stood and told us one more time that what we were doing would have repercussions as well as jeopardize our chances of returning to the U.S. He threatened to make us all persona non grata, and Webb just told him to keep talking shitball. We 'escorted' him out of the lounge and told him on the way out to take his best shot; it was against US foreign policy to interfere with a sovereign democratic country's governmental right to hire outside contractors to increase its population's quality of life as well as internal security. What we were doing, the US had done several thousand times in the past. He tried to bluff but we had called it. Smiley gave him a friendly little shove out the doors before Clint flipped him the bird and we went back to the elevators.

The next morning at breakfast, we talked about the incident and laughed it off. We were still the only people in the hotel which I thought was a little weird but then this wasn't exactly a garden spot for tourism. Joe walked in as were finishing up and made his way over to us. Today was the day we were to meet the representatives and the troops and get some more gear from the airport. I was going with Clint and one of the other guys, a former SWAT officer from Seattle whom I had met at the initial meeting and then talked to a little on the trip over. He was big guy, about an inch taller than me but far more buffed. The three of us went up to our rooms, gathered the day's gear and met in the lobby by the doors. Ed, the SWAT, had his rifle slung like mine but had a 203 attachment to it. I took note that his vest had several loops for the 40mm grenades and he had a large dump bag at his waist. Clint had the soft case for his Barrett.

I had elected to leave mine in the room, call me a wuss, but it's a heavy weapon and I was trying to get acclimated to the weather here. We went outside and over to Joe's Suburban. He already had the a/c going so it was a nice reprieve from the heat. Joe burned rubber and headed back out to the airport. The trip wasn't much different than before and we shrieked up to the hanger that we had started at. I stepped out and wondered if I should hug the ground in thanks for arriving in one piece. We walked over to where three large Conex containers sat on an apron out of the airport traffic pattern. Already there were two inspectors going through one of the containers. They had pulled just about everything out of the 53' container and had it piled up to one side. One of them stood and checked items off on his clipboard while the second inspector pulled stuff out and showed it to him. We had brought over a large amount of medical supplies for the hospitals here and it consisted of gurneys, hospital beds, overhead lights, IV trees, mattresses, saline solution in IV bags, syringes, different size needles, portable X-ray machines, and other odds and ends up to and including prescription medication that hadn't been fully used. As we walked up, the inspector inside came back with a prescription bottle he held between his thumb and forefinger. He showed it to the other who shook his head and then spoke into his radio mike clipped on his shoulder.

Both turned to look at us and motioned us to stay where we were as a fuel truck roared up and stopped a little bit away. The other walked over to us and began to yell in his native language. We all looked at each other and then back at him. Finally, Joe walked over and told us that he had found something that had less than a year expiration date and that the entire container was to be destroyed. I started to say something but the driver had already started spraying fuel on the piled supplies. Both inspectors looked angry with us like we had any control over what they found. The inspector, the one who had found the 'suspect' bottle, lit a cigarette, puffed it a few times to get the end nice and red and then threw it into the pile. A dull, deep whump, preceding a wall of flames, incinerated the supplies. I walked away a little bit, pulled out my phone and speed dialed Webb. I told him what had happened and all he said was don't worry about it, he had planned for that. The inspectors walked over to the other containers and checked them off without opening them. Clint tagged along with them and they talked to Joe and he translated for Clint. Ed stood by the vehicle and just watched from behind mirrored shades. Clint and Joe came back over and related what the inspectors had said as our two-flatbed stake trucks turned onto the apron and headed for the remaining containers.

We got back in the vehicle and headed over to where Doc Q and Johnson were setting up an aid station in conjunction with Catholic Relief Services who had supplied some doctors for the main hospital just a few blocks away from the national palace and the American Embassy. The embassy didn't have an ambassador in residence, so it was mainly a traveler's aid facility with a short platoon of Marines. Webb had advised us that we weren't contacting the embassy under any circumstances. He had also requested that the pilots we had brought along station two Pumas on the roof of the hotel and make sure the aviation mechanics kept them in working order but for all intents and purposes, were 'red-lined' and non-flyable. That was our backdoor out of here in the event it went to shit. The drive over took us past a large open market fronted by a huge warehouse that was surrounded by a tall chain link fence and looked like it had seen better days. I didn't pay attention to it, as it looked deserted.

Doc Q and Doc Johnson, plus the two other guys that were EMT trained, had unpacked most of the medical gear we had brought over on the first trip and were just starting on the two flatbeds when we arrived. It had taken us more time then the trucks to get here and I made a note of that for future reference. I went up to Doc Johnson and asked how it was going. He told me that he couldn't find his medical bag. Doc Q came over and said the same thing. They had looked around and searched the containers and found no trace. I again speed dialed Webb and informed him of the situation and he said to take Doc Johnson and a bag of the local funny money and go downtown to find some replacement medical supplies. I grabbed Johnson, who quickly made a list and with Ed in tow, Clint, Joe and I climbed back in. Joe took us downtown to the really bad areas, like there was a distinction, and told us where to go and who to ask for. He was going to sit in the truck and make sure no one stole it. As I got out I heard him hit the power locks. I looked around the area. It looked like a bomb went off and no one knew. Clint and I shared a look and then spread out with Doc Johnson in the middle and Ed bringing up the rear.

Doc went and asked for the individual we were supposed to see until finally someone pointed to a two story, office, warehouse style building that was missing windows and doors and had graffiti on it. I casually moved my hand and flipped off the safety. I heard a squelch in my earpiece and knew that Clint letting me know he had done the same. I noticed movement on the roof of the building and then all hell broke loose.

The stuttering chatter of an AK on full auto pierced the din of the gathered crowd. Immediately, everyone who could scatter did. I took cover behind a large concrete column and tried to find the source of the fire. The concrete chipped above my head and I ducked down and moved around the column. I glanced Clint firing and moving along the far side of the street, Doc Johnson was down behind a car, sidearm out and looking for targets, Ed had ducked into an alley and was checking our six. I went to move to another column and the sidewalk in front of me chipped and spit up concrete from the as yet unseen shooter. I heard someone return fire and then the clump of a 203 spitting out a grenade. Ed had popped smoke in the street between the building and me.

I ducked and ran across the street, using it as a screen. I held up behind another column and looked around. A spent AK magazine fell beside me and I looked up. I could make out someone above me and quickly looked to find Clint. The smoke blocked my view of the rest of the street so no one was visible. I thought about calling on the radio but then maybe the person up top would hear me. I moved to one side and fired a short burst upward that chipped the tiles on the roof before ducking back and moving towards the door. I heard the return fire and ducked as several rounds whistled by my head. I dove inside and rolled out of the doorway. Several more rounds followed me inside and tore apart the furniture. I dropped out the magazine and slapped a fresh one in. I called Clint to let him know where I was and he told me over firing that he was moving up. I snuck a look out the door at ground level and couldn't see anyone. I jerked back when I heard the roof creak as weight was shifted. I got up into a crouch and fired a short burst into the ceiling and then ran across the room. An answering burst ripped up the dirt floor where I had been.

I noticed a blanket hanging over a doorway and moved through it, weapon ready. I was in a small room with a ladder leading up into a square of sunlight. I used one hand to hold the ladder, the other on my weapon and started up. I slowly peeked over the edge and looked around. In the corner by the street, a gunman was crouched behind the low wall that surrounded the rooftop and was firing short bursts down at the street.

I clambered out as quietly as possible and started moving towards him in a crouch to lower my profile. Suddenly several rounds whistled past my head, I spun to my right, dropped to one knee and saw another shooter on the roof next door. I brought my rifle up and stitched him with a short burst that caused him to drop and fall backwards. I spun back around to face the primary shooter and saw that he had just snapped a fresh magazine into his AK. I moved towards him, firing into him but he refused to drop as he returned fire. Several rounds went by me so close I felt their warmth. I was almost at barrel length from him when his firing went wild; he staggered forward maybe two steps, leaned over to one side and dropped off the roof. I kept putting rounds into him until he fell out of view. I reloaded and went to the edge to verify that the target was down.

Clint ran up and checked the body. Ed and Doc Johnson jogged over and secured the immediate area. I eased my finger off the trigger and let my rifle hang from the sling as I made my way over to the ladder and back down to street level, breathing hard and dripping sweat, trying to ride out the adrenaline rush before I hit the street.

Joe rolled up as we were moving back to the main street. He jumped out and ran over and asked what had happened. Clint told him and he acted remorseful and said that this was a really bad part of the city and there were gangs that still controlled parts of it. About that time I heard some sirens coming closer, in that European two tone that they favored. Some of the vendors had returned to their booths and were watching us real close. Two little white fiats turned onto the street, their roof mounted lights flashing and sirens wailing. Four policemen jumped out, white gloves, pith helmets, revolvers on a white lanyard, and ran over to us.

Behind them came a Mercedes army truck, which disgorged several heavily armed troops. Behind the truck, Webb pulled up in one of our Suburbans. The policemen began to talk and gesture animatedly to us while the soldiers formed a cordon around the building and us. Joe tried to keep up with the rapid-fire exchange of French and a native language until it was settled that French should be used. Webb stayed outside the circle and watched, his sat phone to his ear. The head officer stepped forward and motioned me to hand over my rifle. I shook my head and then he began yelling at me in French. Joe translated and I didn't like what I was hearing. Webb pushed his way inside the circle and handed the phone to the officer. At first the officer was reluctant to accept until Joe translated for him. He held the phone to his ear and immediately his entire disposition changed. He became humble and very cooperative, finally handing the phone back to Webb and telling us through Joe that we were free to go.

Doc Johnson piped in that he was still missing two med bags and the head officer snapped his fingers to get the attention of the army officer in charge of the squad that had responded and they put their heads together. The army officer spoke into his radio and three soldiers moved off through the street vendors.

We walked back to our vehicle with the head police officer and the army officer accompanying us as the head policeman apologized and thanked us for ridding him of known criminals. The three soldiers ran up carrying the med bags and handed them to their officer who handed them to the policeman who handed them to Doc. We thanked him and he gave us a slight bow before turning away. The army officer spoke quietly with Joe for a few minutes and I checked his gear out. The officer appeared to be experienced and could have possibly been one of the few highly trained soldiers left in country. His uniform was well maintained, as were his troops, his weapon was clean and slung tactically cross body. The response of his soldiers spoke a great measure of his command ability and their training. His men were well disciplined and motivated. Joe walked back over to us and I asked what was talked about. Joe beamed a big smile and told us that we were invited to the officer's headquarters for dinner that night as his way of thanking us for our actions today.

The following days after the market incident went by quickly. We had gone to dinner that night and talked to the officer in charge. The meal was easily forgettable but the uncomfortable feeling of being inside a prison like compound lingered.

Captain Mubassa, the officer in charge of the re-act team that had arrived after the market shoot-out was a gracious host and I got the feeling that he wanted to know more about our operation.

Two weeks after that incident, I came down to breakfast and noticed another person in the restaurant. He was an older guy, dressed for the weather and deeply tanned. He was sitting alone at a table by the window. I went into the banquet room that we had been using and asked Webb if we had guests in the hotel. He just shrugged and filled his plate from the buffet table. I put it aside and followed his lead.

This was the day we were starting the training for the DRC security detail and airborne troops. I sat and talked to Clint about the schedule and Ed, Clint and myself reviewed the needs of the troops. We would send four guys with the pilots to make sure that they had protection when they were at the airfield doing their part of the training, Steve, one of the maritime mechanics, a former Coastie, would get one guy plus driver, he was trained for hostile boarding and knew weapons well enough that he could go with a lighter detail. Ed was sticking with me and Clint had duty with Doc Q and Johnson. Ed and I would be going back out to the airfield as the bulk of our training gear and weapons were coming in today. The rest of the group filed out by ones and twos until it was just Ed and myself sitting there using a napkin to take notes on. Webb was standing by the coffee urn filling up his traveler's mug when the door opened and the old guy from the main restaurant came in. He looked around and stepped inside letting the door close behind him.

He walked over to our table and sat down. Ed and I looked at him, not saying a word. He poured himself a cup of coffee and looked at us. Webb finished up and walked over to stand behind us. The old guy looked at him and then back at us, making eye contact with us each in turn. Webb finally asked what he was doing in here, as it was a private room. He calmly took a sip of coffee. I unconsciously moved my right hand down to my sidearm and stopped when I realized I had done so.

I looked around the room, what had made me do that? I didn't see anything out of order. I puzzled over this when the old guy started to talk. He told us he knew why we were there and how we had flown in with a load of supplies. He went on to tell us that certain parties were very interested in our operation and would pay whatever we wanted, within reason, he added, to get information on the status of the DRC armed forces. Webb told him in no uncertain words that what we did or how we came to be in this country were strictly on a need to know basis and he didn't have a need. I swear the old guy smiled at that and took a sip to keep from laughing. He told us that Africa was a continent that everyone knew what the other was doing and he knew what we were doing. He stood and left his card on the table telling us that if we changed our minds, he could be reached at the number on the back.

We watched him leave before saying anything. Ed was the first and said that was interesting. Webb picked up the card and read it before handing it to me. It was for the Israeli Consulate and listed the old guy as a Consular Affairs Officer. Yeah, right and I'm the president of the hair club for men. Ed handed the card back to Webb, stood and said that daylights wasting. We all left the room and headed out to our assigned tasks.

The drive out to the airport was uneventful and fairly quiet. The gear that we were going to supply the training cadre for was in five large Conex containers. We had purchased it through various sources with the majority coming from the global company, Maximus Ballisticus. Now with the proper equipment, we could outfit them with identical sets of uniforms, load bearing harnesses and weaponry. Smiley was already there with his team and they started sorting the items out by type. He was overseeing the unloading of the surplus Hummers and making sure that they were in usable condition.

Joe rolled us up to a, now typical tire-screeching stop in front of the hangers we were using to store the vehicles in. Later this week, the rest of the vehicles would be arriving by ship and we would be making a check of them as well. Webb had arranged for Smiley and some of the mechanics to fly to South Africa and get replacement Land Rover parts later in the month once the maintenance records were updated and he had a list made.

We spent the next few hours sorting through the paperwork and arranging for transport to the training site. Ed and I went over the manifest on the weapons containers, popping them open to verify what we actually had and then making sure they were loaded properly and sent on to the range areas. This ate up most of the day and when we headed back over to the cantonment area; it was starting to get dark. We stopped along the way and picked up Clint and Doc Johnson. Joe pulled behind their vehicle, pretty much riding the bumper. I mentioned to him that we weren't attached to them by a hitch and to back off. He got jittery and told me that this area of the country was a little wild and sometimes a militia clan would set up a roadblock to hassle travelers. I passed the word forward to Clint and told Joe to open up some space between us anyway. The sun was going behind the mountains and I pulled off my shades and was putting them in my vest pocket when a bright, blinding light followed by a tremendous roaring freight train of thunder erupted from in front and rolled over us.