North of Heaven

By Frank Edwards

Father Norton Laird is a man with a history. Apollo is his brilliant but demented antagonist, hell-bent on destroying society and reconstituting it in his own image. North had left behind his years of service as a Special Forces operative in the Australian army after marrying a woman who he thought was lost to him. Choosing a more passive role as an analyst in the Australian Security Intelligence Organization, North pursues a life of wedded bliss, believing that this beautiful and erudite woman will be his salvation. His wife of eighteen months is torn from him, brutally murdered while North is away on an assignment. Shattered by the events, North cloisters himself in his church and immerses himself in the priesthood hoping to heal his broken psyche. But the Church has other plans for North’s particular skill set.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 1, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483553641

Frank Edwards

Frank Allyn Edwards (August 4, 1908 - June 23, 1967) was an American writer and broadcaster, and one of the pioneers in radio. He hosted a radio show broadcast across the United States in the 1940s and 1950s. Late in his life, he became additionally well known for a series of popular books about UFOs and other paranormal phenomena. Born in Mattoon, Illinois, Edwards broadcast on pioneering radio station KDKA AM in the 1920s, making him one of the earliest professional radio broadcasters. After WWII, the Mutual Broadcasting System hired Edwards to host a nationwide news and opinion program sponsored by the American Federation of Labor. Edwards’ program was a success, and became nationally popular. During the 1930s, Edwards continued his career in radio, but also worked a variety of other jobs, including a stint as a professional golfer. He was hired by the US Treasury Department during World War II to promote war bond sales. In 1948, Edwards received an advance copy of “Flying Saucers Are Real,” a magazine article written by retired U.S. Marine Corps Major Donald E. Keyhoe. Though already interested in the UFO reports that had earned widespread publicity since 1947, Edwards was captivated by Keyhoe’s claims that the U.S. military knew the saucers were actually extraterrestrial spaceships. He wrote several books on the subject. After Mutual, Edwards continued working in radio, mostly at smaller local stations. He created and hosted a syndicated radio program, Stranger Than Science, which discussed UFOs and other Forteana. In 1959, he published a book with the same title, largely a collection of his radio broadcasts. From 1955-1959 and 1961-1962, Edwards served as a commentator for WTTV television in Indianapolis. He was on radio station WXLW, also in Indianapolis, in 1964 and returned to television on WLWI in 1965. He died in 1967 at the age of 58.

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Epilogue

Prologue

The blades beat their familiar tattoo overhead and I adjusted the collective, my hand slick with sweat as I surfed the black Huey across the dark green froth of the jungle canopy; the door gunner lit up the trails below with fifty caliber fireflies. The customary stab of fear and the coppery stench of blood attuned my vision. I glanced across at my co-pilot and I could see that he had three fillings in his back teeth. His mandible had been shattered by a stray round from the jungle floor and the skin hung down loosely from his fragmented jaw like a red veined banana peel. Behind me, our guest who we had picked up less than ten minutes ago from a hot Landing Zone watched the gunner hose anything that moved below with the surprised eyes of the newly dead.

North woke with a start as the Qantas flight touched down in Brisbane. The recurring dream always left a sheen of sweat on his body and a faint smell of rotting vegetation in his nostrils. He waited patiently for the rows ahead of him to disembark and then walked briskly through the terminal where Father Patrick Kelly waited.

Welcome home North, how does the old town look to you? asked Father Kelly with a concerned look. I know you have some family business to attend to so I really appreciate you taking the time to come back to your old school and speak to the boys and girls.

North looked out the car window as fleeting images of the city that had been a partial home during his stint at Catholic boarding school. Not much has changed Father, and in some ways that is comforting. I guess you could call picking out a headstone for my father’s grave family business. I never cared much for the old man you know; he had no sense of humor and was all about his mates rather than his family. Maybe war isolates you from the ordinary.

The priest, who had been North’s mentor during his school years, took a quick sideways glance at his former pupil. Has it done that to you, North?

Father, they say that war is hell, said North with what seemed like an unhealthy chuckle to the priest. That is the ultimate understatement; history has shown us that it is not war that’s hell, it is the ideologies embraced by men hell-bent on dreams of power that drag young men from their ordinary lives into the nightmares of opposing ideological conflicts. The car pulled into the parking lot at Saint Vincent’s Preparatory School and the priest wondered at the wisdom of inviting this man who he didn’t know anymore to speak to his young charges.

Graduates, I would like to introduce Lieutenant Norton Laird. He graduated from Saint Vincent’s with honors and was awarded scholarships to five different universities, but chose to attend the Australian military college, Duntroon. He graduated from Duntroon, again with honors. Lieutenant North has just returned from a tour of duty in Vietnam and after a well deserved break he is headed to Western Australia where he has been accepted into the Special Air Services training program. Welcome, Lieutenant North. I will hand the graduates over to you.

North looked across the sea of faces praying for inspiration. It is not easy being a soldier today. Vietnam is not a popular war because there is no real bad guy like Adolf Hitler to hate. Instead we went to war to stop the spread of an ideology or belief system that we thought was a threat to our way of life. Do I agree with that? As a soldier that is not my decision. I took an oath to serve my country regardless of my beliefs. I could talk all day about right and wrong, good and evil but I would prefer to answer any questions you might have.

A young postulant, or novice nun, who was standing to the side of the auditorium, raised her hand. North nodded smiled in her direction. "Lieutenant, does the medal I noticed around your neck have any special significance?’

North’s hand immediately went to his neck, Yes. Sister?

Oh, I am not a nun yet, the young woman replied, a blush of embarrassment suffusing her face. Just call me Alice.

Well Alice, it’s significant to me. It is the Saint Michael Medal. Saint Michael is the patron saint of the warrior, who Catholics have designated as the protector of those who strive to preserve security, safety and peace. He was the field commander of God’s army and fought against and defeated the Archangel Lucifer-Morning Star who believed he was greater than God, because he was renowned for his great beauty and power. Soldiers want peace but know that peace can only be preserved through strength. On the other side of the medal is an icon of Saint George who is also a soldier’s saint.

Saint George who slayed the dragon? queried Alice.

North smiled at the young woman who was obviously attempting to draw him out and make him more comfortable. Well Alice there is a little more to the story. The dragon was probably a very large crocodile which inhabited a lake outside a city called Seline in what is now Libya. The crocodile was the bearer of a terrible plague which it spewed out on the population if they did not feed it with animal sacrifices. So the people of Seline feed their sheep to the crocodile to keep away the plague. When they had fed all their sheep to the beast they started to draw lots to see which of the unmarried girls would be sacrificed next. But then the king’s daughter was chosen. The king was distraught and offered all his wealth to anyone who could kill the dragon and save his daughter’s life. So, who do you think came riding up to save the day? asked North to his audience, who by now were totally engaged, thanks to Alice.

Saint George! the audience responded.

Yup, down the road he came on his white charger and saw a beautiful young lady chained beside the lake ready to be sacrificed to the huge beast. While Saint George was questioning the young lady the dragon reared out of the lake. He made the sign of the cross to fortify him and charged on horseback with his lance. Saint George grievously wounded the beast, and then he asked the princess to throw him the golden girdle from around her waist. Saint George put it around the crocodile’s neck and the dragon followed the princess like a puppy on a leash back to the town of Silene

Is that the end? asked a lad in the second row. I thought Saint George killed the dragon?

Well, like all smart warriors for God, he wanted something in return, said North. The people were still terrified of the dragon and the plague it carried, so Saint George told them he would slay the beast if they all consented to be baptized in the lake and become good and true Christians. Afterwards the king built a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary and Saint George, and from the altar of the church a spring arose and whose waters cured all disease.

The children seemed to love the happy ending and clapped their appreciation for the story, having expected to be bored by another lecture. For his part North was thrilled at their response having been more terrified of his audience than he was of the Vietnamese. Are there any other questions?

A boy several rows back stood and said, I have more of an observation to make rather than a question, but feel free to respond if you can.

Out of the corner of his eye North saw a shadow pass across Alice’s face and wondered at her reaction. At the same time he wondered from where this pretentious little snot had sprung. Of course, said North. Have at it, young man.

Great leaders and progressive ideas have been vilified throughout history. The Catholic Church has a history of suppressing learning and intelligent enlightenment in favor of mysticism. In your story Saint George blackmailed the King of Silene and his subjects into converting to Christianity in exchange for slaughtering a plague-spreading dragon. In the 9th century Libya was a protectorate of the Aghlabid Muslim dynasty who restored Roman irrigation systems in the province and encouraged modern day farming methods and learning. They were the most attentive of the Islamic rulers and foremost in their support of science and culture. My interpretation of the dragon slayed by Saint George is an insistence of a reversion to mysticism by the Church to gain power over a relatively enlightened culture. The dragon was science. Mysticism still plagues a huge percentage of the world and the results are there for everyone to see. Actual freedom from the human condition, surpassing spiritual enlightenment and any other altered state of consciousness, can be achieved by challenging all philosophy, psychiatry, metaphysics, including quantum physics with its mystic cosmogony, anthropology, sociology and any religion along with its paranormal theology. Discard all of the beliefs that have held humankind in thralldom for eons and we will discover the path that cuts through the tried and true and enables anyone to be, for the first time, a fully free and autonomous individual living in utter peace and tranquility. It is called intelligence and there must be the acknowledgement that there are certain individuals that are fit above all others to chart the course of mankind.

The auditorium was bathed in stunned silence. North could not help himself. He laughed which he immediately knew was a mistake. I apologize. What is your name, son?

Peter Halliday, Lieutenant North.

Well Peter, it is obvious that you have put a lot of thought into your view of the world. I would warn you about something my father told me: ‘Intelligence without direct application could be considered plain old arrogance.’ Trust me, as you grow and see more of life and the world your understanding of the way things work will mature and change.

North was ready to wind this whole episode down and was unprepared for the boy’s retort and the utter conviction with which it was spoken. I don’t think so.

Father Kelly stood and thanked North on behalf of the students and wished him well on all their behalves. North noticed Alice staring at Peter with undisguised loathing. He later found out that Peter was her younger sibling.

1

North woke from the old dream with a start, perspiration soaking his shirtfront and glanced over at his companion who was watching him with mixed emotions.

I was not sure whether to try and wake you or call a steward and have you restrained. Thank God you came to and saved me from the horns of my dilemma.

At thirty-five thousand feet over the Indian Ocean, half way between Singapore and Perth, the conversation that followed did not seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. North had two companions in Qantas first class, a delightful lady of the English persuasion named Christine, a masterful example of God’s creative endeavors, and a bottle of Benedictine, an amazing example of the religious longevity of the fine art of alcoholic mastery.

North was on the last leg of his flight from London. He thought the term flight was appropriate, both metaphorically and physically. North’s boss, Lt. Colonel Sorrow had told him, in no uncertain terms, along with the Australian Ambassador to the Court of Saint James, that his presence as a military attaché in London was no longer desired or tenable on either of their parts. His first companion on the Qantas flight was a professor of fine antiquities who was embarking on a lecture tour in several of Australia’s better universities as downtime from another collegiate-type at Oxford University, her alma mater, who wanted more than Christine was prepared to offer.

So, North, apart from being an avid consumer of the semi-religious grape, what else do you do with your life?

Under normal circumstances, North would have been a little more circumspect, but the heady combination of alcohol and jet lag made him give an honest reply. I am a purveyor of death and destruction to the enemies of my country and state; I am sanctioned from on high to deliver unequivocal messages of displeasure to those who distain the imperfect structure of democracy and have shown antipathy for lawful behavior in regard to their fellow human beings, whether it involves insurrection, the manufacture and dealing in the transportation of weapons or illegal drug-type substances to bolster their evil intent, it is me that conveys her Majesty’s displeasure.

Christine stared at him with mock horror, North, you surprise me; such a weighty undertaking for one man!

My lovely lady, I have not succumbed to this task as a lone ranger. I have the support of other like minded lads; we call ourselves the Australian Armed Forces and my particular branch of this somewhat esteemed group train very diligently to be proficient and efficient at our trade.

His flight companion set her shoulders and looked at him in a resigned way. She took a breath and her eyes cast downward. Seriously North, I understand the need for men like you, but I abhor violence and ultimately war and all the associated misery it drags out of the primeval closet.

At this point North realized that he was rather taken by this beautiful erudite English lady and felt the need to justify and give perspective to his chosen profession for the first time in years.

Professor, you will rarely find a soldier, unless he is unbalanced, who disagrees with you. However, there are truly bad people and rogue nations out there who intend our loved ones great harm. That harm may not be the direct result of a bullet or a bomb; it maybe a fundamental disagreement on religion, lifestyle or simply the basic belief that an individual has the right to live by his own choices, no matter how stupid or inane those choices may seem to the other party. Now, I am going to say a couple of things that may seem harsh or obtuse, but they are at the core of my belief system. I truly hope that they do not offend you as I am ready to mount a campaign to pursue my newly found companion if you will entertain that thought.

She looked dubious, but said, Go on.

Okay, I know that we natives of our rather large island that we lovingly refer to as the Lucky Country are mere outcasts from her majesty’s penal system and that we are a weird bunch, but we are fiercely loyal to the tenants of democracy. Here I speak for myself. I do not give a flying fuck what color, creed, race or sexual preference a person has, but if you are an arsehole, you don’t get a pass. People, who repress their own citizens in whatever way, while despicable, can be unseated from their evil thrones by an uprising of those repressed citizens, and well they should be. I have always held one tenant and although I am not an overtly religious being, I believe that there is an undercurrent of pure evil on this beautiful planet. If those forces, and again I believe that there is a driving force that seeks to align those individual philosophies, try to impact on my island’s way of life and the right of its citizens, one of whom I happen to be, I and my companions of the military persuasion will hunt them down, if so ordered, and wreak justice on their arses wherever my boss sees fit to send us.

Christine gave him an appraising look and settled her inimitably fine posterior back into her seat and crossed her long shapely legs.

Wow that was quite a speech. Was that a prepared discourse for the unsuspecting or are the Benedictine monks allowing a deep seated philosophy to take flight, if you’ll excuse the surroundings-based pun?

North looked at her and realized that he had exposed himself and his beliefs to another human being for the first time in his life. Deep down, I am a really shallow human being.

Christine looked at him, paused and said, I actually think you are really quite an exceptional human being, in a sort of simian on a white charger type of way.

2

North was sure that the five a.m. summons from his boss, Lt. Col. James Sorrow, was not a real, true blessing. At the best of times he was a hard task master and could be a real turd if he felt the calling. When North knocked on Sorrow’s office door the sound that reverberated from within shot from his knuckles to his Benedictine soaked brain and made his spine twist.

Come in Arsehole, screamed Sorrow. North stood across from him at full attention, which was no easy task considering the shape of his spine. Jesus H. Christ, Captain, what the fuck were you thinking?

To what particular time I was thinking do you refer? North’s reply seemed to elicit what he thought was an unwarranted retort. Sir?

Sorrow sounded like a banshee on her period having an excruciating menstrual cramp. Pardon? North stammered.

Sir, you fucking moron, I am your superior officer.

Aha, now the battle lines had been drawn and North got the gist of where this pre-breakfast meeting might be going.

What were you thinking robbing two English citizens at gunpoint at two in the morning in Hyde Park, let alone offering to share the spoils with the Australian Ambassador to the Queens Court in London? queried his fearless leader, who in North’s eyes was more fearsome than fearless at that very moment.

In my defense, North replied, they did try to rob me first. I was strolling back to the Ambassador’s home to report on the evenings travails when two yobbos with larceny in their putrid little hearts jumped out from some fernery with switchblades in hand and demanded my hard earned cash. After the meeting with that low level Russian or Czechoslovakian or whatever wrong side of the curtain the cretin was from, and the complete waste of everyone’s time and energy, these two wankers tried to stick me up. I assume Sir, that you have heard the old expression, never bring a clit to a cockfight? Rather than becoming an English pin cushion, I showed them my 45 ACP and explained that I was not in the mood to be fucked with, Sir.

The Lt. Colonel rolled his eyes. I believe you mean never bring a knife to a gunfight? You then proceeded to rob the robbers?

Sir, I believe that turnaround is fair play and I just took what they had probably taken from someone else, kicked them in the arse and reported back as ordered, Sir.

Sorrow took a deep breath, more of a gasp really, and continued on relentlessly. So, instead of keeping your nefarious little habits to yourself, you decided, on top of your one man crime wave to be the resurrection of Robin fucking Hood and redistribute the wealth with the goddamn Ambassador and his seventeen year-old daughter as the recipients?

Again, Sir, in my defense, his daughter did seem rather taken with the gold chain that was on offer and the Ambassador though the idea of spending their fifty pounds on a steak and a good bottle of claret was a fine suggestion.

Jesus, North, if you call me ‘Sir’ one more time during this conversation I will personally ensure that your misdeeds of the last 72 hours are loosed outside these walls and will result in a court martial. Understood?

The two men had a history that stretched from two tours of Vietnam, action against the drug cartels in the golden triangle, to a peace keeping advisory role in the Congo. As a result of honorable mentions, and some unmentionables, North had been given, as a reward, the slightly cushy job in London as the liaison to the Australian Attaché. Which meant he got to go to various cocktail parties, look for anyone who wanted to shoot or harm the Australian contingent in any way, and practice a little harmless spy craft among other slightly darker little adventures.

Now, down to business; after your assignment in chilly old London, I have decided that a short sojourn in sunnier climes and a reunion with your former motley crew should revive your flagging spirit, said Sorrow.

North did not like the sound of that one little bit.

Our American friends, and I use the term loosely, have a problem. As you have had experience in both the geographical area in question, as well as with the art of extracting people from tenuous situations, they have requested your assistance through higher channels. As you know, shitty duty just rolls right on down and you are the last stop, North.

May I ask of the particular geography to which you refer?

The Colonel looked at him in a mournful sort of way that set the metaphorical spine twisting thing in motion again. The Congo, he said.

With all due respect, Colonel, the last little adventure we had over there nearly got all our arses handed to us. I do not mean to be racially insensitive but the thought of hanging out with a bunch of jungle bunnies laced with the local pommbe, and this time probably brandishing AK 47’s instead of pangas, does not exactly enthrall me. Added to the hardware our little Russkie protagonists have supplied, there is the added bonus of crack-laced peace pipes making the rounds at the local virgin deflowering convention. These people fuck animals for Christ’s sake and have diseases that even John Hopkins would run from.

The Colonel did not even acknowledge North’s politically incorrect outburst. He walked over to the far wall of his office and pulled down a map of the Congo.

There is a scientist ensconced here, he said pointing to a junction of the Ebola River, and there seems to be some unpleasant shit happening in the general area. This gentleman seems to have some significant value to our friends and they would like him delivered safely back into the heartland.

With all due respect, North said, implying absolutely none, why the fuck don’t they go get him themselves or just buy him a ticket on Air I’m-getting-the-fuck-out-of-here Express?

"Captain Laird, the Americans feel that their involvement in the Congo is in a tenuous position at the moment, and has asked our assistance. In order to curry favor with our most powerful ally the General has obsequiously agreed to provide our assistance. Do we hear loud and clear? the Colonel uttered with barely restrained fury.

North stood for a second, contemplating that awful land before replying, Sir, yes Sir.

The Colonel said one other thing that set a stone in his heart. As of now, we are on lockdown until your return.

Colonel, I have a date tonight with a very important lady.

North, I don’t give a rat’s arse if you were going to have tea with the Princess of Wales. I repeat, we are on lockdown and that means no phones, telegrams or smoke signals. Write a non-informational note to the lady in question, and I will see it is delivered to her after you are wheels up. Understood?

Sir, yes Sir.

The next ten days passed in a hive of activity. Once North was imbedded with his old group at the SAS training base outside Pearce Air Force base in West Australia, there was little time for anything except logistics, regional intelligence supplied by their erstwhile U.S. friends, weapons checks, alternative planning sessions and live fire training. People go to the movies and see these slick stories about rescues and sequenced fire fights. North and the others knew that these are complete bullshit. Everyone is afraid, which is healthy from wheels up to home base return. It is a healthy fear and is kept under control by rigorous repeat scenario and alternate scenario training. The SAS, or Special Air Services Group, is an outreach from the old commando groups. They employ similar training and have rigorous requirements that exceed the standards applied to the U.S. Seal teams; coupled with Israeli-type Mossad techniques, they go about their missions with precision and a lethal understanding that the killing, while necessary on occasion, is not a primary goal.

The Ebola River in the northern Congo is the headstream of the Mongala River, a tributary of the Congo River. It is roughly 250 kilometers in length. Their landing point on the Dark Continent was to be Yaoundé in Cameroon, a place where they could refuel and there would be two Bell UH-1 Iroquois, or as they were popularly known, Huey helicopters at their disposal as a result of some prearranged pecuniary undertaking by their North American friends. North’s crew was experienced with the Hueys and between four of the crew of eight, had a combined twelve hundred hours on them back in those dark Vietnam days.

His team was to oversee the refueling of the Hercules, the pilots remaining with the venerable escape bird while they flew the Hueys 250 clicks to the Ebola River. There they would pluck the target scientist from his hutch and return to civilization without a shot being fired. The best laid plans of men.

Gather round my merry men; we all understand what is going down over the next 72 hours. Lock your cocks and load your kit. We take off for exotic parts to meet new and interesting people and this time, try not to kill them.

That got the usual scattering of laughter, but they all knew that there was something really wrong with the mission. They just did not know what. They were wheels up at 4:30 am and the flight time was 26 hours. There was one stopover for refueling in Madagascar as it was 6,600 miles to the drop-off point and the 130-Hercules had a range of 4,500 miles. The distance to Madagascar was 4,200 miles. There was very little room for error but as they were only carrying 12 persons including crew and some assorted weaponry, they added 10,000 pounds of emergency fuel to augment the 38,000 pounds in the fuel tanks.

They landed in Yaoundé pre-dawn and proceeded to lock down the fueling arrangements and do pre-flight checks on the Hueys. With a flight range of 500 kilometers for the Hueys and airspeed of 110 knots or 125 mph it was touch and go range-wise so they again loaded extra fuel. Locked and loaded the team took off so they would land under cover of the winter darkness. Having no clearance for the flights into the Congo, they kept at tree top the entire way.

There it is, North said into the mike as he saw the Ebola River meander its way into view.

Weapons check. Our target is downriver about 5 clicks. We are going to land about 3 clicks out and hump to the village. They feathered out, landed and bailed into the suffocating air. Even though it was winter, the humidity next to the river was unbearable.

OK, you guys know the drill, two here guarding the Hueys and the rest of you guys on me. Let’s rock and roll. They took off at a steady pace, maintaining a quick jog covering the 3 clicks in less than seven minutes.

Hold up; those are the hutches. Let’s ease in from north and east to make sure there are no bandits to deal with. The area was clear and seemed to be shrouded in a deadly quiet. North’s hackles rose and the tension within the group was palpable.

Let’s find this fucker. By my understanding he is the only white face we are going to see on this little safari, gents. By the numbers: look in each of the hutches until we have our man. Don’t bother knocking, the natives could be restless sleepers and waken in either sour or combative moods.

But North was in no way prepared for what the early dawn would show him when he entered the first hutch. It seemed to him like he had stepped into a pond of blood. The smell was familiar, the coppery tang soaking into his nostrils. Initially he thought that there had been a massacre, but on closer observation, there were no wounds, just blood oozing from every orifice of the five bodies that lay on soaked mats on the earthen floor. He recoiled, not so much in horror, but in disbelief and confusion and the feeling that he had led his men into a situation that was a trip down hell’s dark hallways.

Got him, North heard his sergeant say through the fog of his disbelief.

He turned and walked up to the man being frog-walked towards him by Jack and said, What in God’s name is going on here fucker? What has happened to these people? Are you responsible and who the fuck are you?

I am your responsibility and you are to provide me safe passage. Who I am and what I am doing here is none of your concern. We need to move out of here and get to somewhere that has a decontamination facility. And by the way, this village needs to be incinerated before we leave.

Sir, my orders are certainly to escort you from here to safety. I was not ordered to commit mass murder.

Captain, these people are dying of a dreadful disease. We cannot allow there to be any remnant, and the only way to ensure that is to annihilate this village.

North looked at his men. In the half light he saw the fear in their eyes. These men who had been to hell and back, never once shirking a fight, showing absolute resilience in the face of overwhelming odds, were now terrified. Okay, do it. Hey, Fucker, whoever you are, we are going to have some serious words on the flight back. Is that all your gear? A backpack and that metal suitcase?

Yup, that’s it. Let’s hit the road and leave the remains to the hyenas.

North looked at him and for a split second a dark cloud of premonition passed through his mind. From somewhere at the base of his snake brain he heard, Kill this man and throw him and his kit into the hell flames that were consuming the village.

Mount up guys; we have to leave before any of the locals get curious.

The trip back to the Hueys and the ensuing jump back to Yaoundé were uneventful. The 130 was fueled and ready, and they took off for their return hop to Madagascar. On board there was none of the Mission accomplished bullshit and rousting that usually accompanies a successful extraction, rather a dark quiet that was exemplified by the distance kept not only from their passenger, but from their leader.

As soon as the 130-Hercules had leveled out at cruising altitude, North took their guest down to one of the empty cargo bays because he did not want anything that was said to be overheard by his team members.

Look, Mr. Mysterious, I don’t know who you are or what you were doing there. However, I want to know what killed those people and what is in that steel case that you have been guarding like your first born.

"I do not owe you any explanation; and you, Captain, will have completed