Deadly Force by Keith Douglass Page A

he’s working on a list of demands that he will be sending to you soon.
    â€œÂ â€˜In the meantime, tell my wife and family that I am being treated well and that the food is remarkable, if a little different. We eat lots of fruits here. I’ll be back in touch soon. Sign that: Marshall Adams, Vice President of the United States of America.’ ”
    General Lawford snorted. “Hell, he would have to take a poke at me. Never has appreciated me.” He looked around. “So, okay, no massive military strike. What the hell else can we do?”
    â€œSimple,” the President said. “We sit here and wait until we hear from this Washington or from Adams. There seems not to be the extreme emergency that we had thought.”
    â€œSeems like we should be doing something,” the CIA man said. Donaldson scowled. “Hell, we at least could send the SEALs into the capital city and have them sit on their hands if they have to. Better to have some kind of presence there beside our twenty Marines at the embassy.”
    Billings, the Chief of Staff, nodded. “Yeah, soundskosher to me. We send our favorite platoon down there, which certainly can’t be labeled as a massive military response. How soon can they get there, Mr. Donaldson?”
    â€œI’ll check with the Chief of Naval Operations, but I’d say with the business jet it should take no more than twenty-four, maybe thirty-six hours at the most.”
    The advisors looked at the President. “Yes, I know some of these SEALs,” he said. “We’ve used them before. Reliable. They won’t go off half-cocked. Yes, Donaldson, let’s get it in motion. Send the Third Platoon of SEAL Team Seven to Sierra City, Sierra Bijimi.”
Sierra City, Sierra Bijimi
    General Kiffa Assaba paced his office. He had just heard about the slaughter of twelve of his best Army Rangers and the capture of the American Vice President. This had to be the work of Mojombo Washington. His face turned red and he hurled the riding crop he always carried across the room. It hit a lamp, knocking it over and smashing the brittle shade. Assaba didn’t react to the broken lamp. He continued pacing.
    How could the terrorist have known where the convoy would be going? There had been some plans made, but certainly no announcement. The general public would have no idea of the motorcade itself or its direction or destination. So there had to be a spy within the top elements of the Army or the government. Which one?
    He should take a thousand men, charge up the river, and kill everyone he found. Sooner or later he would run down Washington and his ragtag bunch of misfits. Yes, he must do that. He would talk to the President about it today. This new attack would be just cause. He could say they were going to rescue the kidnapped United States Vice President.
    A knock came on the door. Then his aide, Major Kabala, came in. The tall soldier smiled wearily.
    â€œGeneral Assaba, sir. That matter we spoke of early this morning is ready. We have set up a court-martial in the old Supreme Court room. Everyone is there ready to proceed.”
    Assaba let out a tired sigh. He rubbed his hand over hiswolfish face and blinked large eyes. Then he nodded. “Yes, it must be done. I’m ready.”
    They walked out of the office, down the hall of the Government Building, and into a courtroom recently vacated by the Supreme court. Now it was military-oriented. Six officers sat on the high bench, with two tables in front of them. At one stood a prisoner dressed in a bright orange jumpsuit. He was handcuffed and his legs bound together with a short chain. He had not shaved recently, and his beard showed as dirty smears on his more brown than black face.
    One man stood beside him, his Army-appointed defense counsel.
    General Assaba marched up to the high bench, sat in the empty chair at the center of the six men, and rapped with a gavel that lay in front of