45 |

Aksum, Ethiopia

 

There are a lot of white boys here today.

Hassen Tesfay sat in his truck, parked outside the small airport in Aksum, an airport not known for tourists, and certainly not groups of four to ten men arriving together on chartered planes and transports.

Something was up, and he had no doubt it had everything to do with the contract he was now on. His handler had never told him who he was working for when hiring him, though he was certain it was the American government, most likely the CIA.

He didn’t care. It was money. Good money in a place like this. It fed his wife and children—three sons and two daughters—as well as his mother.

But the work was dangerous. Extremely dangerous in a country like Ethiopia. Here people would kill you for your shoes or your phone, though he had heard the same was true in America.

Now there was the dream. He hoped eventually he’d be able to ask his handler to move him and his family there once he had proven himself useful. The possibility had been suggested when he was recruited, but nothing had been mentioned since, and he was afraid to bring it up lest his handler drop him.

He was stuck between keeping the job that could get him killed, or asking for the implied promise to be fulfilled, and risking losing the job that kept his family alive. And if he were found out? They would all be dead for certain.

And that was why he had never told his wife what he did, how he kept them fed. If she told the wrong person, it would all be over.

He watched a little girl walk by, one hand held by her mother, the other occupied by a candy hardened around a small stick, the little girl licking at it furiously.

He smiled, the precious thing reminding him of his youngest daughter.

He snapped some more photos of another set of new arrivals, then squinted as his primary target strolled into the sunlight, a group of men climbing out of their car and embracing him as if he had been away on a long journey.

Yet Ganno had only been gone for a few days.

Apparently, these men were rarely separated.

They climbed into their car, Ganno getting the prized passenger seat, then pulled into traffic. Tesfay started his engine, cranked the wheel, and was about to hit the gas when a pickup truck skidded to a halt, cutting him off. A man leaned out the window and wagged a finger at him, then produced an AK-47. Tesfay shoved his door open and rolled out onto the pavement, covering his head, as the assault rifle opened fire, sending the crowds screaming and fleeing in all directions.

Then it stopped, his assailants roaring away in a cloud of dust. He pushed to his feet, assessing himself for damage, then checked to see if anyone else had been hurt.

None.

Except his poor truck.

Steam hissed from the engine compartment, and as he approached, he cursed at the sight, the couple dozen rounds emptied into the hood having done their job. He climbed back inside and activated his comm as he collected his things.

“Control, this is Whiskey-Alpha-Four. I think I’ve been made, over.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Umm, the thirty rounds in my engine block.”

Control chuckled. “Yeah, that might suggest you’ve been noticed. Did you ID the car?”

“Yeah, it’s a white Toyota sedan traveling south from my current position. He’s probably only a couple of hundred meters from here.”

“Stand by.” There was a pause, though only for a moment. “Okay, we’ve got him for now. Get another vehicle and we’ll guide you in.”

“Roger that. I’m going to upload some photos to you. There are a lotta white boys here today. Tough guys, if you know what I mean.”

“Mercenaries?”

“They look the type. Some Middle Eastern looking gentlemen as well that match the profile. I’m guessing whatever is going on is attracting some outside interest.”

“Any indication they’re following our target?”

“Negative, but maybe they’ve got eyes in the sky too?”

“Or they’re just pre-positioning, awaiting intel. They probably know our professors are already there, just not where.”

“Copy that.” He spotted a group of soldiers rolling up on his position. “Control, I’m drawing attention. I’m going to find a secure location then upload those photos. Whiskey-Alpha-Four, out.”

 

One big break is all I need.

But if big breaks were easy to come by, everyone would be getting them. Captain Mussa had joined the military as an escape from the never-ending cycle of poverty his family had been trapped in for generations, and to take advantage of an uncle who had made out like a bandit after the civil war and was able to secure his nephew a position as an officer.

The gateway to riches.

Or so he had been told.

The lion’s share of any bribe went to the highest officers, and as he climbed through the ranks, his share kept improving. But the real money was in discovering some score where those caught were so desperate, they offered princely sums for their freedom.

The big break that could change a life forever.

He was still waiting for his.

Gunfire in the distance had him standing upright in his technical, his sergeant firing up the engine.

“Sounds like someone just emptied an AK into someone.”

Mussa agreed. “Sounds like it’s coming from the airport. Could be trouble. Let’s roll, see what we find.”

It only took a couple of minutes to arrive on the scene, the only evidence of any wrongdoing the smoking engine of a truck, the apparent victim of the AK, his fellow countrymen already going about their daily business, whatever had happened forgotten.

And it didn’t surprise him.

Gunfire was simply a way of life in Ethiopia. It wasn’t as bad as it had been in the past, but to call this a peaceful country would mean one was a liar or simply ignorant. He was neither. This was probably some traffic dispute gone wrong, or a message being sent to the owner. Either way, there would be no financial gain today.

Heavy gunfire erupted farther down the street and he rose in his seat to investigate. Two groups of heavily armed men were firing on each other, both hidden behind sets of vehicles, both definitely not local.

That meant foreign money.

If they survived the day.

“Call in the rest of the unit. This is going to get ugly.”