A page from one of the files was under the scanner lid. He pointed to the computer. “Take this out to the chopper. Load the prisoners and make damn certain they’re tied securely, then grab all the papers and let’s get back to Atlanta soon as we can. Where’s Captain Russell?
“Here, sir.”
“Good.” He pointed to one of Qualluf’s representatives. “You stay here with this man. Both of you search the place—together—and collect any other evidence you find. I’ll leave you a couple of men in case any more of these scum show up. Just sit tight after you finish searching this place and I’ll send for you when I have time.” Captain Russell was one of his finest staff officers and one of only two army men on the mission, besides himself, who realized exactly what they were after. Lieutenant Waller was the other one, and even he wasn’t in on all of it.
Minutes later, the helicopter was in the air, heading back to the naval base where he had borrowed it and where their plane was waiting. Very soon, Christian knew he was going to either be hailed as a hero or tied to a post facing a firing squad. However, if they made it back and he got a chance to pass the information on to Craddock, and perhaps the vice president, chances were better for him to live.
Business. Why hadn’t he gone into business?
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
“What you find out?” Qualluf said as soon as Doug’s chair was wheeled back into the room they had been using from the start of negotiations.
“In a minute. Did you get any rest, Mr. Taylor?”
“I took a good nap.”
The reply was short, but Doug noticed he seemed to have lost his glower. “May I have some coffee? I got a little rest, but most of my time went into patching me up enough to keep going.”
Surprisingly, Qualluf poured the coffee himself and brought it over to his wheelchair.
“Where’s Fridge,” Doug asked? Qualluf had only one other man in the office, an assistant he hadn’t met yet.
“He’s sleeping. Should I wake him?”
“Depends. Let me call Colonel Christian and see how he’s doing. If he found what he went after, I want everyone here.”
Qualluf nodded.
Doug dialed Christian’s number. He answered almost immediately. “Christian.”
“Colonel, this is Doug Craddock. Where are you?”
“Just landed at the airport. We’ll be there shortly. Have some coffee ready. Maybe even a bottle. We might need it before the day is over.”
The line went dead, causing Doug to smile sadly. Christian reminded him of Gene, the way he handled things so abruptly and efficiently. But a bottle? He must have found whatever he had gone for. Goddamn.
He turned to Qualluf.
“Do you ever have a drink, Mr. Taylor?”
“Alcohol? I’ve been known to.”
“The colonel says we may need one. I think he found the treasure,” Doug said, glancing at the other man.
He didn’t know whether Qualluf’s aide was in on the secret or not.
Qualluf noticed. “Good. The folks getting impatient. And you can trust Franklin. Frank, this is Mr.
Craddock. He runs the security for CDC. Also, he’s got the VP’s ear.”
Doug noticed this was the first time the preacher had used his name. Maybe it would work out yet.
“Well, while we’re waiting, I can tell you a bit more news. The CDC Director is out of surgery and will live. Johannsen is out of surgery, but still in bad shape. He’s in intensive care and can’t talk now, but the docs think there’s a good chance he will live to be executed. You may get him yet Mr. Taylor, because—”
Qualluf leaned forward in his chair. “Mr. Craddock, it appears we’re going to have to be working together, maybe for a while to come. I think we can dispense with formality except while outsiders are present.”
Doug was immensely relieved. The man appeared to finally be willing to work constructively toward reducing the violence in the country. “That suits me fine. By the way, if you still want Johannsen after this if over, you can have him as far as I’m concerned. But ask me before he’s handed over. I think I’ve come up with an appropriate punishment.”
Qualluf gave Doug the first glimmer of a smile he had ever seen the man cast his way. It wasn’t much, but it was there. “If you’ve thought of an appropriate punishment, it’s more than I’ve been able to do.’
“I’ll let you decide. And now, I think it’s time to get Fridge back in here. The colonel should be arriving soon.”
The next few minutes passed in idle talk, with Doug asking questions about Qualluf and the Church of Blacks. He had read the usual articles but if he was going to be working with the man, he wanted his facts direct from the source. Qualluf proved to have an interesting background. An origin in the ghettos of Chicago, juvenile detention, a mentor who had finally got him interested in learning, a wife and family that Doug realized had rarely been mentioned, even after his name and church became prominent. Like Fridge, his family had suffered. One of his grown sons was missing and presumed dead in Africa, where he had been doing environmental work, and one of his adult daughters had just shown the first signs of infection. So far, his wife and the child still at home were well, but Doug could tell by the way he talked that the disease was like a specter, always hovering in the background. He wondered how he would feel in a similar situation, where death wasn’t imminent, but loomed like a poisonous creature that would inexorably find him. When the talk died, he called the vice president’s office and asked that she be standing by.
“Here’s the situation,” Colonel Christian said as he tried and failed to hold back a yawn. “We’ve got proof positive that Edgar Tomlin has been mixed up with that little gang of white supremacists for years.
The only reason I can see that it never got out is that his contacts never put anything on a computer or used email.”
“Then how did they keep in touch or coordinate anything?” Doug asked.
Christian grinned. “I wondered the same thing, but on the way back I… persuaded… Shane Stevenson to spill his guts. He didn’t want to at first, but when I threatened to kick him out of the plane without a parachute, he got real vocal. Those guys kept things so damn simple we might have never found them out.”
“How?” Doug, Fridge and Qualluf asked almost simultaneously.
“The bastards used the post office! Anyone who opened their mail could have found them out, but who would have thought of that?” He shook his head in disgust at the irony of it.
“Be damned. I would never have suspected them of sending such sensitive material through the mail,”
Doug admitted.
“That was the beauty of it. No one else would have, either.” Christian took a big swallow of coffee laced with bourbon. “God, I needed this. The galley on the plane was out of coffee, and soda doesn’t do it for me. Okay, he said lots of things and I’ve got it all recorded. One matter is so sensitive we need to make copies of our conversation along with copies of the paper and computer files and put them in a very safe place, one where no one would ever think to look—or can get to if they do. Suggestions?”
“How about the CDC safe for our copies. Qualluf?”
“I got a place. It would take the whole damn army to get into the bowels of the church. But… if it’s that important, I think we need a second party in on it.” It pained him to make that admission, but he hadn’t got where he was by being a fool.
“The vice president,” Doug said emphatically. “If we can’t trust her, we may as well all go turn ourselves in.”
“Okay, but I talk to her,” Qualluf insisted. “What is it you found, colonel?”
Christian surveyed the room. “Anyone can be made to talk. How about just us three for right now, with copies for each of us?” He eyed Qualluf’s aide whom he had just been introduced to. “That’s no reflection on your
