'A' for Argonaut by Michael J. Stedman Page B

sentiment.”
    He added: “There can be no more basic requirement of a legitimate judicial system than the need to reach a just result consistent with a system fine-tuned for efficient and swift disciplinary action within the military. While wrong-headed, Maran’s decision showed courage and commitment to uphold our ideals of American exceptionalism inasmuch as he almost lost his life defending those ideals.”
    With the unanimous support of the panel, Maran was cleared of the most serious charges and granted his request for relief based on his honorable intentions during the rescue attempt. They stained his honor, however, with a “dismissal” from the Army, the equivalent for a commissioned officer to an enlisted man’s Dishonorable Discharge, but they didn’t send him to jail or worse, give him the death penalty. Both options had been on the table.

Chapter 10

    Ten
    Presqu’ile de Banana, just south of Cabinda
    A mber and Boyko sat on a porch surveying the beauty before them. Boyko sipped a Marula cocktail garnished with a white orchid tinted with soft red tendrils that radiated from the protruding stamen and pistil. Amber polished off her second double shot of Absolut Peppar vodka. Now she was Boyko’s prisoner. The plantation overlooked the pristine beach in Presqu’ile de Banana, just south of Cabinda; it was just one among many villas he maintained in the world’s poshest playgrounds.
    “I think I’ve proven my trustworthiness to you. When do I get to see my son?”
    “Ah, Amber, my lovely,” Boyko slurred. He was on his fifth Marula. “Don’t be so anxious. We still have much work to do. We must get those stones to market soon. Plan demands it. You’ll deliver the stones. One last massive delivery. The final blow, then you’ll be back with your dear son, rich beyond your wildest imagination.”
    She smiled into his face, her hand sliding across the table to touch him.
    “Do I lie?” he grinned.
    They got up, moved through the large balcony doors, through the enormous living room, down a long hall and into his bedroom. Amber took a seat in a Queen Anne armchair with her feet on a large ottoman made from elephant hide. She threw down another vodka, reached for her iPhone to tune out Boyko and her grim situation. She cranked up “Pump Up the Jam” by Ya Kid K, Leki’s sister.
    The STU-III secure telephone rang with a soft hum; a harsh ring would be out of place in such a peaceful hideaway. Boyko rolled away from Amber. She lay sprawled on the bed next to him. He picked up the phone.
    “Alex, my friend. Always nice hear your voice,” Boyko said. He turned to Amber, awake now.
    “Alex Pajak, my favorite American,” he whispered.
    “Yadda, yadda, yadda,” Pajak snapped on the other end. Boyko’s hand cover didn’t do the trick. “You’re my favorite client too. Let’s cut the crap. So you need more oil.”
    “Right,” Boyko answered. “We need a large shipment from the Cabinda offshore fields for the tanks and helicopters you’ve delivered to our clients.”
    “You’ll go a long way before you find another source for M1A2 Abrams tanks and Apache helicopters, my friend. But you’re in luck. Angola is on board. President Bombe will have Global Oil deliver two-hundred-and-fifty thousand gallons to you.”
    “The deal?” Boyko asked.
    “Shoulder-launched Stinger missiles for his Angolan Army, more tanks, more helicopters.”
    “He’ll never get enough,” Boyko said.
    “That’s why we’re here,” Pajak added.
    U.S. President Hope Valentine had promised Bombe an increase in foreign aid in the form of cash and military support to protect U.S. Cabindan oil platforms. Her promise was officially linked to a roadside ambush of the popular Togolese National Football Team traveling through Cabinda to the Africa Cup of Nations. The Angolan rebels known as the Front for the Liberation of the Enclave of Cabinda claimed responsibility. They were another group fighting for Cabindan