Page 9 of Unintended Love

“Looking good from here,” the tech at Ops Center said through Ashlin’s own comm unit.

“I’m heading outside,” Piper announced.

“Give me five seconds to sweep the area,” Ashlin said as she stepped in front of Piper. She cracked the door and slid through it, crouching low, scanning the area left to right through her thermal scope. Nothing. “You’re good to go, Lady Leopard.”

Piper popped out the door and slapped a minuscule camera to the side at head height. Without saying a word, they both moved to the left until they reached the corner of the building. Ashlin used the small mirror on the extendable rod to peek around the corner. No one was visible. Rifle again at her shoulder, she scanned for heat signatures.

“Let’s go,” she whispered, barely audible. She knew Piper and the Ops Center would hear her. The two Ladies repeated their movements as Lady Tiger guarded Lady Leopard, who placed cameras around the outside of the hangar holding their precious helicopter. Once the Ops Center in Washington D.C. was satisfied ,they could see the surrounding area and every angle inside, Piper and Ashlin returned to the aircraft to retrieve the next defense system.

“Now for the fun part,” Lady Cheetah declared as she assembled and armed the last of the drones. Each team member picked up a controller and started their drone.

“All clear, Ladies,” the Ops Center tech declared. “Park them on the roof.”

They’d been through this routine several times and knew which corner each needed to guide her drone. As team leader, Kayla would take the center of the roof position. Once completed, their helicopter was as protected as possible in a foreign land.

They could see on their control unit when Ops Center took control of each drone. Although Black Swan Team 2 could check on their helicopter anytime they desired, and control their individual drones, the responsibility for protection had been moved to the techs in Washington.

Kayla’s satellite phone vibrated. “Bishop James, where shall we meet you?”

“Terminal Drive is about fifty feet outside the back door,” Kayla said when she hung up. “Let’s go.” She slung her gun bag over her left shoulder and picked up her other bag with her right hand, keeping her shooting hand free. Having a left-handed shooter on the team had come in handy during several missions. “I’m just glad we don’t have to walk all the way across town to the church.”

“What kind of vehicle are we looking for?” Mia asked as she headed for the back door. “A white Land Cruiser that’s ‘showing its age and miles.’ Those were his exact words, not mine.”

Ashlin almost didn’t recognize the vehicle. “He wasn’t lying.” The abundance of red dirt camouflaged most of the dents and blended with the rust. From a distance, it merged into the rust colored road in the darkness of night until he stopped.

The women quickly loaded into the well-worn vehicle, which was almost as dirty inside as outside. The women wobbled like toy Weebles as they zigzagged through neighborhoods made up of houses pieced together with plywood, tin sheets, and rough boards that looked like ripped-apart shipping pallets. Every now and then, a two-story house would be made of crumbling concrete with rusty rebar sticking out above the top floor. There were no lights anywhere, except those on the SUV, when the priest decided to turn them on, which wasn’t very often during the thirty-minute drive. Ashlin was thankful the bishop knew the route as they bumped along the dusty dirt streets, lit only by the half-moon.

“The satellite pictures looked as though there were wide thoroughfares through the city,” Kayla mentioned as she stepped onto a bare dirt lot once the vehicle stopped.

“Too many eyes there who would recognize my truck. That would lead to questions,” the bishop explained as he struck a wooden match against the small cardboard box he’d withdrawn from a pocket. He lifted the glass tube and lit the wick of a gas lantern like those used while camping back in the United States. The brightest light they’d seen since they left their sleek black jet in Djibouti hours ago filled the driveway and reflected off the century-old church.

“Follow me.” He held the light above their heads to illuminate the way, but it was only at his shoulder. When he stood to his full height, he was over seven feet tall. Ashlin wondered if he was from the nearby Dinka or Mundari tribe. Because there were so many unique dialects throughout all of Africa, it would make sense that the Catholic Church would send a priest back to his homeland, she concluded.

“You can sleep in the rooms that were initially built nearly a hundred years ago for the nuns who used to live here. They’re small and rather bare, but cooler than sleeping in the sanctuary on the hard pews. This time of night, there’s a nice breeze that flows through the bars on the windows and those in the doors. No one enters this private area, so you will be safe and unseen. We have people come and go all times of day and night from the sanctuary, especially refugee children. They run away from the camps and prowl the city for food or anything they can trade.” He shook his head. “Years ago, when they first started escaping the civil war in Sudan, we had parishioners who would work the night shift and give food to the starving children. Now, we barely have enough to feed our own. Money is meaningless here. Food is the most valued currency in all of South Sudan.”

“You don’t have nuns here anymore?” Kira asked as they stopped in front of three ancient timber doors strapped with hand-hammered steel to hold the thick wooden planks together.

“Not in about thirty years.” The bishop set the burning lamp on the small stand in the hallway and removed some jangling keys from the drawer. Ashlin got her first look at their local contact. For a man in his mid-fifties, he looked strong and healthy. Strands of gray shot through his nearly black hair. Light blue eyes, almost silver, popped from his deep black face. She’d consider him downright handsome if it weren’t for the gruesome scar that ran from the middle of his nose to under his right ear. It had been raggedly sewn together years ago.

“The church decided it was too dangerous for women. South Sudan has been at war for decades. In truth, probably a millennium like the rest of the people in North Africa. It’s only been fifteen years since they won their independence from Sudan, which is still in the middle of a civil war.” He unlocked all three doors. Two of the rooms had two twin beds, and the third had a single bed, but it was much smaller.

“I apologize for the inconvenience, but there’s only a single bathroom across the hall.” The bishop grinned. “Once the electricity comes back on tomorrow morning, give it about half an hour to warm up the water, and you can actually have a hot shower. One of my guilty pleasures in this place. If you need anything, my room is down the hall, but I’ll warn you, I’m going to bed and will be asleep within minutes. School starts at seven, with breakfast in the open-air pavilion we walked through. The cooks know there will be five more adults for breakfast.”

“Bishop James, we don’t want to stress your limited food supplies.” Kayla laid a hand on the priest’s arm. “We have food.”

“Don’t worry, they’re used to extra people. We often house NGOs.” He patted her hand and grinned. “Besides, the United States sent me a care package when they notified me you were coming. Monsignor Francis Gillpatrick took care of both of us.”

“We’ll be sure to thank him on our return. Will you be driving us back to our helicopter tomorrow morning?” Kayla asked and set one of her bags on the concrete floor. “I picked out a mountaintop for our observation.”

“You can’t see anything from above the canopy, even with thermal. The ISIS camp is completely hidden by layers of jungle.” The middle-aged priest leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “That area is in the upper part of the White Nile, lots of little islands, and often swampy. For a few miles, on either side of the river, it’s so wet it’s thick jungle.”

The women exchanged glances before Kayla spoke up, “Then how can we observe them?”

The bishop snickered. “I have a plan.” He stood up straight and ran his gaze down each woman. “My brethren, Monsignor Francis was right. I’m sure you can pass as college students.” Katlin had warned them during the initial briefing that Bishop James and her uncle, the Navy captain, Monsignor Francis, knew each other.

“One of you will have to be the chaperone in charge,” he explained. “I have a bunch of NGO T-shirts you can wear. They’re new, don’t worry. I’m going to drive you straight into their camp, bold as sunshine at the equator.”

All the women’s eyes went huge and round.