Francisco nodded silently. The plan had been a simple one. A rebel force was dispatched to Cottica to make the Suriname government think that there was a large uprising of local tribesmen along the eastern border. The army would be dispatched to put it down, the rebel forces would pin the army down, and the Legion would redeploy after the coastal cities were taken and crush the army completely.
A simple plan, but something had gone wrong. The army reached the rebels, found them better organized than expected, and had suddenly withdrawn. Now, neither the rebels near Cottica nor the Legion had any idea where the army was. That meant that a sizeable military force was still at large somewhere inside the Suriname borders, and while the rebel forces and the Legion outnumbered the army by a three-to-one margin, the element of surprise or a superior ground position could negate numerical superiority quickly. Plus, the army was completely loyal to the President, which made destroying the army even more imperative.
Francisco and the Legate felt the mobile command post begin moving, and they sat down for the short trip into the city. Less than an hour later, the mobile command post came to a stop, and Francisco and the Legate stepped outside to the sound of cheering troops. Waving to the soldiers, Francisco and the Legate entered the Presidential Palace with Carlos and a large honor guard following close behind.
The President heard the cheering and knew that he didn’t have long to wait to find out who his captors had been waiting for. Moments later, he saw three men enter the room. The first man who walked in was a stranger. The second man, a tall European, was also a stranger to the President. But the third man was someone the President recognized immediately. It was one of his former Finance Ministers – Carlos Baptista!
“You!” the President spat out as he realized Carlos was one of the rebels.
Carlos smiled. “You remember me, Mr. President? I’m flattered. I’d have thought that you’d forgotten me like you forgot everyone else you stepped on to become President.”
“I never stepped on you, you ungrateful rat, but I wish I had.” The President remembered Carlos being an excellent organizer, but he had felt that Carlos lacked leadership skills, so he named another man to be his chief Finance Minister several years earlier. Carlos always believed that the job should have been his and left government service soon after.
“Gentlemen,” the first man who walked into the room began, “as much as I enjoy reunions, we have business to discuss. Mr. President, my name is Francisco Baptista. My forces have seized the cities, mines, ports, and all other population and economic centers inside Suriname. We are now in complete control of this country.”
“What about the army?” the President asked.
“We’ve dealt with the army,” Francisco lied. “My forces outnumbered your little army many times over.”
Looking at the tall European, the President remembered reports of mercenaries entering South American through Brazil. “Are you part of the forces that slipped into Brazil?” he asked.
The Legate nodded curtly, but said nothing.
Turning back to Francisco, the President asked, “What do you want? What’s so important to you about controlling this tiny little country?”
Francisco smiled. “I’d love to lay it all out for you, but frankly, I just don’t have the time right now. Perhaps later, though. For now, I require some information from each of you. You have codes, account numbers, treaties, and other information vital for the transition of power to be completed quickly.”
The President realized that he had guessed correctly. “You’re not going to get any cooperation from us,” he said. “We give you those codes, and our lives are over.”
Francisco had expected the President to be defiant. “Actually, it’s more accurate to say that if you don’t give us what we want, your lives are over.”
Francisco drew out his pistol, pointed it at the Vice President, and pulled the trigger. A pink cloud burst out of the back of the Vice President’s head as he fell off his chair and onto the floor, dead.
“The same fate awaits anyone else who doesn’t give us what we want,” Francisco said, holstering his pistol and looking at the shocked and sickened faces of the remaining captives.
Turning to the guards, he ordered, “Take them to separate rooms and hold them so they can’t talk to each other.”
Turning back to the captives, he said, “I’m going to talk to each of you individually. Those who give me what I want will be taken to the processing area where the rest of the government officials are being held. Those who don’t will meet the same fate as the Vice President. It’s your choice.”
Francisco, the Legate, and Carlos left the room, and the guards came in to take the captives to separate holding areas. The President watched with a mixture of rage and sadness, as the sound of the gunshot that killed the Vice President continued ringing in his ears.
3
Saturday, November 9, Afternoon
Paramaribo, Near the U.S. Embassy
The Prior held up his hand, and the group stopped. The Prior motioned for everyone to take cover, and the group ducked into the shadows of an alleyway. A moment later, several patrol vehicles passed by. The group stayed hidden until the sound of the vehicles faded. The Prior looked around and motioned for everyone to follow him again.
This was the fourth time that the group had been forced to hide from patrols since leaving the Commandery and heading south, and Tom realized that, the closer they got to the U.S. Embassy, the more frequently the patrols passed by. It was fortunate that the afternoon sun was creating long shadows along their path; it provided excellent cover when the group had to get out of sight quickly.
Less than a mile later, the Prior held up his hand again and motioned for everyone to move into the shadows next to a large building on the corner of a major intersection. The Prior moved forward to take a look around. A moment later, he came back.
“There’s a checkpoint ahead blocking the way to the Embassies from this direction,” he said. “We’ll see if they’re letting anyone through. Wait here.”
The Prior motioned for one of the Commandery Knights to follow him. Emily handed the Knight the surveillance camera she was carrying. The Knight took it and nodded, understanding that Emily wanted the camera placed where it could observe the checkpoint and the Embassy entrance in case another attempt to reach the Embassy was made later.
Tom and the rest of his party stayed in the shadows and waited for the Prior and the other Knight to return. About ten minutes later, the Prior stepped back into view and motioned for Tom to follow him. Tom patted Emily on her shoulder and ran to catch up to the Prior, who had disappeared around the corner again.
When Tom reached the Prior, who was hiding behind a staircase in front of a building just down the street from the checkpoint, he saw a large military force covering the full width of the road leading to the U.S. Embassy and several other embassies and consulates. Tom knelt next to the Prior and watched the soldiers direct traffic away from embassies where Tom and his party wanted to go.
“Are they letting anyone through?” Tom asked in a whisper.
“No, and they’re not letting anyone out, either,” the Prior replied. “But so far I’ve only seen them turning away cars trying to drive towards the Embassies. I haven’t seen any pedestrians try to get past.”
“Are they checking passports?”
“Not that I’ve seen.”
Tom thought about this for a moment. “Do you think that we should chance it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t look