B.B.U.S.A. (Buying Back the United States of America) (21 page)

“Are you nuts? I’m going to take you down and pin your ass to the floor till you start making sense.”

“I bet that works with your grunts, right? You know what? It doesn’t do much for me. You’re big and strong but you were never that fast. In the first place you couldn’t ever catch me.” Leo reached over and picked up the cordless telephone receiver from its base on the kitchen counter. “What’s the number? I’ll dial it for you.”

“How in hell does Sarah put up with you? Look at the time. I can’t call anyone at two in the morning, even if I wanted to give into your lunacy.”

Leo double checked the time. “Oh well, what time would be appropriate to call?”

“On a Saturday? Not before ten o’clock!”

“Well then, at least it’s settled.”

“Settled! What’s settled?” Doug was showing his frustration, and at the same time enjoying the companionable patterns of their youth.

“We’ll leave tomorrow morning right after you call whomever it is you need to call.”

“Suppose for a moment that I can get off, leave to where, and why?”

“It’s obvious.”

“I’m beginning to lose patience with you. What’s so damn obvious?”

“Okay, all joking aside now, Doug, I have a feeling, call it a premonition if you must, but I don’t think we are safe here. These guys are super smart and desperate. We are going to have to find out what’s on that flash drive and make it public, or my life is over, and perhaps yours too, now that I’ve involved you and told you way too much. I hope not, but I suspect you’ll have to work on that flash drive for a while to break the code and you’ll need a quiet safe place to do that. It probably isn’t here.”

“I guess I can make a few calls in the morning in order to get out of here, but where do we go?”

“I already have a plan. Relax buddy, and trust me.”

“Yeah, isn’t that what the snake said to Mogli in The Jungle Book? Trust me, trust me, I hope those are not some kind of infamous last words. I think our fore-fathers might have even said that to the Indians.”

“Hey, buddy, together we’ll do just fine.” The two men finished their food and took the plates to the kitchen sink.

“Let’s go back in the living room where I can be comfortable while you further enlighten me of your plan,” Doug said dryly.

The two men agreed to leave the next morning for Challis, Idaho, where they had graduated from high school together. Leo’s grandmother still lived there in a large, two-story Victorian house that had been built in 1910 by Leo’s great-grandfather. The men knew the town and the countryside well. They had both spent an enormous amount of time exploring and hunting throughout the wilderness areas surrounding the small community. No one would know the country or surrounding area better than they would.

Doug agreed to bring his high-end laptop computer and would work on breaking the password while Leo drove back to Idaho. Leo had reasoned that no one would suspect his dear eighty-eight year old grandmother of harboring the two young men. Besides, if he remembered correctly, his grandmother would be leaving for a two-week cruise to Alaska in a few days. They would most likely have the house entirely to themselves. She would be out of any potential danger.

Doug volunteered to take his newer Dodge Ram Crew Cab truck, as it had four-wheel drive on-the-fly which could come in handy. There was still plenty of room to keep all their gear locked inside the cab if necessary.

In exchange for all of Doug’s help, Leo insisted on placing his friend’s name on the title and bill of sale for the sports car. Doug resisted for a while, but finally gave in, knowing how persistent his friend could be. Doug thought it was a delightful little vehicle, but, wondered how he would get his six-foot-four inch body into the small Japanese car. Perhaps he would end up selling it to pay off his truck instead.

It was after four in the morning before the men gave into sleep and quit trying to figure out the confounded password on the flash drive. They would finish packing in the morning and make the calls so Doug could leave town. Both of them welcomed the much, needed sleep.

Ervin watched the house for hours until all the lights finally went out and he felt there was no doubt whatsoever that they had settled for the night. He felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the results of his work. After chasing phantoms for the past two days he had finally caught up with Leo. He thought about taking them both on with his pistol while they slept, but he wasn’t sure that Bob would be pleased.

Instead he reached for his cell phone and placed a late night call to Boise. Carl informed him that the other team members were now back in Boise. Carl further assured him that he would relay the message to Bob. Ervin gave the operative his cell phone number and settled down to wait for further instructions.

He had slept very little in the last forty-eight hours. This worried him, because he needed to stay alert should Leo try to leave. He rolled a window partly down, for fresh air and to be sure the noise would awaken him if any cars started or a garage door went up. He relaxed his head against the front door frame and allowed himself to drift off into a light, guarded sleep.

Later, he was awakened by the persistent ring tone of his cell phone. Bob wanted to hear first-hand that Leo was truly in Denver, and assured Ervin that they would catch the next available flight out there. Thirty minutes later he called again, giving Ervin instructions to pick the five of them up at the Denver airport at eleven in the morning. They would finish up their business by the end of the weekend and be able to put the whole damned mess behind them once and for all.

Ervin marveled at Bob’s stamina, though he supposed they might catch a few hours rest before they left and could also nap on the plane. Still he was sure dedicated to the mission and quite the bloodhound. Finally, Ervin let his guard down and he purposely curled up on the backseat of the van, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as his eyes closed.

Sarah and the boys had a short layover in Pretoria before boarding their final flight to Windhoek, Namibia. She found a bank at the terminal and exchanged some of her money for South African rand, then gave both boys some money to put in their pockets. She hated all the times when she was a kid and had no money in her pockets. It was good to have some money in case they wanted to buy a snack or something. She had few doubts what Traykie’s money would buy him: anything that resembled food in any form. She sighed; it was an ongoing thing with him. She hoped he could curb his eating habits a little by the time he stopped growing so fast. She was truly amazed how he maintained such a strong, lean body with the amount that he ate.

She was nervous being in South Africa so near to the next general elections. Many people had supported Mandela, but the opposition since his time was often very militant. The airport was swarming with South African soldiers in uniform carrying machine guns. Traykie recognized some of the rifles from previous discussions with Leo. He was proud to announce that they were carrying R4 rifles, their version of the American AR-15 or M16, or even the Russian AK-47 assault rifles. None of this news made her feel any better.

Sarah felt she was dressed well for the climate. She was wearing a white T-shirt tucked into some tan shorts with light brown Birkenstocks on her feet. Her long thick brown hair was neatly pulled back in a tight French braid. She thought she could manage it more easily on the long flight this way. Her dark tan looked even darker with the white T-shirt. The kids were also dressed in light clothing showing off their Texas tans. The bridge of the noses on both boys was a little red. She expected that Chris’s nose would eventually peel as it was brighter than Traykie’s.

They had a snack at one of the many airport restaurants and practiced the few Afrikaans words that Leo had taught them. After their snack, the trio decided to stop at a gift shop to purchase some reading materials for their final leg of their trip.

The boys stopped to get a drink from a nearby drinking fountain while Sarah proceeded to enter the little gift shop. Upon entering the doorway, she noticed a rack of familiar American magazines at the back of the shop and headed for them. A harsh voice boomed as she passed a soldier standing near the front entrance. Since the voice was speaking in Afrikaans she could not understand what was said and continued towards the magazine stand.

Again the voice boomed. “Wag ‘n bietjie, Kaffir!”

Sarah stopped, recognizing the derogatory word for a black South African, but was utterly dumbfounded when a firm hand was placed on her shoulder, pulling her backwards. She was caught off guard and lost her balance. She started to topple over backwards but caught herself by grabbing on to a free-standing magazine rack on her left side. She remained standing, though the magazine rack toppled over, spilling its contents on the floor.

“Kyk wat jy doen Kaffir,” the soldier blurted.

She was totally perplexed, angry and curious all at the same time. What had she done? She looked around her quickly but didn’t see any Africans standing near her.

The man grabbed her arm and said; “Kom hier!”

She registered his previous statement as having something to do with “look” and calling her a “Kaffir”. She knew there had been some misunderstanding when the soldier jerked at her arm half pulling her towards the entrance. She yanked her arm out of his grip. Looking the young soldier straight in the eye, she glared back defiantly. “What is your problem, asshole?”

He yelled back. “Staan stil!” Which she clearly understood to mean ‘stand still’, but she was not one to be overly obedient and seldom took orders from anyone, let alone some young rude punk with a gun. He again reached for her arm, but she avoided his grip. Sarah was tiring of his game and becoming livid. Her nostrils flared as she was rapidly inhaling and exhaling short bursts of air. She had no idea what his problem was nor what his intentions might be, but since she had done nothing wrong, she certainly was not going to let him drag her off somewhere for some interrogation or body search, like she had seen happen in movies concerning foreign countries.

The man raised his voice again. “Luister na my!” He reached and took hold of the waistband of her tight shorts and pulled her to him. He used his free hand to feel her pockets and started to feel/touch her butt, poked at her crotch and moved up to her breasts with a swift movement. The entire process lasted a second or two, but seemed like an eternity to Sarah. She knew she was being treated like some sort of second class citizen. She felt violated and mad. It never dawned on her that he might have to frisk everyone entering the gift shop. When he reached for her purse, she could stand it no longer. He still had a hold on her waist band. She could smell his breath. She was not going to give up her purse where her money and their passports were stored. Her blood was boiling. If Leo was there he would kick this guy’s ass. But he wasn’t.

So, she quickly brought her right knee up as hard as she could, connecting solidly with the man’s squashy testicles. His eyes instantly dilated. He fell to the floor in a heap, and he hunched up in a fetal position, holding his crotch with both hands while groaning. He began sobbing as tears flowed freely down his cheeks and drool began dripping from the corner of his open mouth.

Sarah looked at him in disbelief, amazed at the solid connection her knee had made with the unsuspecting man’s scrotum. She felt both sorry for him and righteously indignant, thinking that he had only gotten what he so well deserved. She did not have time to think about the man sprawled on the floor any longer, as all the commotion in the store created an uproar. Worried shoppers anxiously cleared the store. The manger leapt over the counter like he was at the Olympics in the middle of a hurtle race and sincerely wanted to win the gold medal.

Both boys arrived at the main entrance just as the store manager slapped Sarah to the ground. Traykie realized this must be the moment his dad had warned him about and reacted instantly without planning his moves. He took three running steps towards the standing manager and then heaved his body in the air in a flying karate kick directed at the man’s chest. The shocked manager had no time to react. The full force of Traykie’s one-hundred-sixty pound body impacted in the small area of the upper abdomen where he connected directly with his leading foot. The man flew several feet through the air before landing on top of the already downed magazine rack, sending more glossy covers sliding across the highly polished tile floor.

The magazine rack under his hips, the manager’s head thumped on the tiled floor. The impact undoubtedly left the man with a concussion. Unconscious, the store manager was gasping for air.

Another armed soldier arrived at the entrance behind the still shocked Chris. Both Chris and the second soldier remained frozen for a moment as they watched the writhing commotion on the floor of the small gift shop. Chris did not know exactly what had taken place, but he was ready to help. He just wasn’t sure who to fight. Seeing the still-anguished soldier on the floor with his hand cupping his precious jewels and identifying the man behind him as wearing the same uniform, Chris decided that he too must be an enemy.

As the second soldier inquired, “What in bloody hell is going on here?” Chris lunged at the soldier, clinging to him like a monkey clinging to a vine above the jungle floor, and sunk his teeth into the man’s forearm. He was drawing blood, and looked like a vampire clinging to his prey. The man, who had been reaching for his handgun, quickly let go, occupied with trying to throw Chris to the floor. Traykie, seeing the predicament his younger brother had created, scrambled to his feet to come to the rescue.