Chapter 5
“Holy shit,” Ashlin cursed as quietly as she could when her butt landed onto the back seat once again. It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d gone flying, nor the tenth, when Father James hit a pothole.
“If this is what the South Sudanese consider an improved highway, I’d hate to see what they consider unimproved,” Kira complained from the seat beside her.
“You’ll get to see one of those in about an hour and a half,” Father James said with a chuckle from behind the wheel. At least he had something stable to hang onto. “This is a beautiful road compared to what it used to be. They just finished it in twenty twenty-three.”
Ashlin ripped one bare thigh, then the other, off the fake leather seat.
Her short shorts didn’t cover much beyond her butt cheeks, and the air conditioning in the SUV was practically nonexistent in the third row.
Her sweat was making her skin stick to the stained, ripped Naugahyde that may have originally been beige.
She hoped their college-girl costumes were distracting enough to get some good shots throughout the camp.
As they had walked through the city of Juba yesterday to observe college-aged women working for NGOs, clothing had run the gamut from almost nothing, like the Ladies were wearing today, to jeans and long-sleeved shirts.
Father James was right about one thing: girls aged eighteen to twenty-two certainly took a lot of selfies.
Fortunately, Team 2 had been trained by the CIA to take pictures covertly.
Ashlin wasn’t sure how stealthy they were going to need to be.
The plan was to get a lot of pictures of the camp and as many men as they could, then immediately upload them to their “social media” accounts.
Homeland Security had set the team up with fake Instagram and Facebook accounts, where their pictures would be sent to the Ops Center in Washington.
“We still have over an hour,” Father James announced. “Does anybody have any questions? You can ask me anything. It doesn’t have to pertain to the mission.”
“Is polygamy legal in South Sudan?” Piper asked. The women had all noticed her frowning several times as they had seen well-dressed men in Western-style business suits walking with several women trailing behind them, many of whom were pregnant.
“Not only is it legal, but it’s a sign of status and wealth.” He chuckled. “In this country, a man can have as many wives as he can afford. Juba, being the capital, has some of the wealthiest men in the country.”
“It looked to us that the people were either extremely wealthy or extremely poor,” Kayla pointed out from the front seat next to Father James.
“Very observant,” he said with a nod. “Statistics say that over seventy-five percent of the population is at or below the poverty level. I’d venture to say it’s even higher than that. South Sudan is one of the poorest countries in the world.”
“Why is that?” Mia asked. “Our research showed that it has an abundance of natural resources.” Their butts were in the air once again after the vehicle hit another pothole.
She continued after a grunt when she was seated once again, “It obviously lacks infrastructure, but teaming up with the right companies could resolve that problem quickly.”
“Absolutely,” Father James agreed. “And many deals have been made to drill for oil, which is our largest export. But corruption runs deep and wide. Most international corporations have been screwed over by the government and won’t return until it stabilizes.”
“Did you just say screwed?” Ashlin could see his smile in the rearview mirror.
“Screwed may be a socially acceptable word, but it is not a swear word, according to the Bible. I could have said fucked over, but I was told you are Ladies and didn’t want to insult your sensibilities.”
“Fuck you,” all five women quipped at the same time.
“Unfortunately, that’s not a possibility.” The good father grinned from ear to ear. “I have taken a vow of celibacy, which I take seriously. Swearing not so much, but I will never take the Lord’s name in vain nor break any of the ten Commandments.”
“So does that mean I can swear?” Mia questioned hopefully.
The good father chuckled. “I’m available for confession twice a week after services on Sunday and Wednesday.”
“Changing the subject,” Kayla announced, “you were talking about natural resources.”
The father smiled at her over his shoulder and almost fell into a deep pothole before yanking the SUV to the right.
“We have so much untapped potential here: gold, diamonds, copper, not to mention the productive land. The Nile has been flooding for thousands of years, depositing rich soil along its banks, which are over a thousand miles long in our country. South Sudan has the potential to grow enough food to feed not only our country but much of Africa. But our government can’t seem to get organized enough to help the farmers like they do in Egypt, further down the Nile.
As a result, our resources are stretched, and people often starve.
Our jungles are filled with fast-growing timber, yet our homeless population is one of the highest in the world. ”
He shrugged before continuing, “The fact that thousands of families flee Sudan and end up in our refugee camps puts more stress on the struggling economy.”
“Why do they come here?” Kira inquired. “Aren’t other countries willing to take them?”
“We are primarily a Christian nation, and many are fleeing persecution,” Father James explained. “That was the primary dividing factor during our civil war. In the end, the Muslims went to Sudan, and the Christians came to South Sudan.”
“So, if I’m hearing you correctly,” Kayla summarized in her leader role, “if the government wasn’t so corrupt, which really means the politicians are just greedy, this could be one of the leading countries in Africa.”
“Exactly.” He nodded and swerved around another deep pothole.
They bumped their way down the highway, soon reaching Bor, which meant they were getting close to the terrorist camp.
Kira’s gaze never left the window as she commented, “This city looks huge.”
“It is,” Father James replied as he stayed on the main road that curved along the riverbank.
“It has nearly a million people, not that anyone has ever counted. It’s been here for several thousand years.
In 2500 B.C., Egyptian southern pharaohs controlled what is now northern part of Sudan.
They mentioned a great city upriver where they would go to trade. ”
Ashley looked out her window at the wide, gentle-flowing river. She saw half a dozen boats that looked to be handmade. “Are those boats even safe?”
He laughed. “These people and their ancestors have been fishing this portion of the White Nile for over a thousand years. They’ve been making those boats for the same amount of time. Are they safe? They’re floating, aren’t they?”
“Is fish their primary export?” Piper asked.
“No. They catch fish to eat. Bor is a large agricultural center. They grow a lot of cattle here and grain.” He pointed to the river.
“From here, much of their products are carried downriver. Most traders do not go beyond Rabak, Sudan, which is about fifty miles north in Sudan. It’s far too dangerous to go any further.
Many bring back staples they can’t grow or make here, but they make the real money in carrying refugees. ”
A thought crossed Ashlin’s mind. “Do you think they’re smuggling the men into the terrorist camp?”
“That’s highly probable,” Father James admitted.
“Those men could easily get into Sudan, since it’s at war and a Muslim nation.
They certainly wouldn’t stick out. They would just need to make their way to the Nile and catch a ride on one of these boats.
It’ll be interesting if we find a dock on the property.
None of my records of the original school mentions a suitable landing site. ”
“Kira and Mia, find your way to the water,” Kayla ordered.
“Yes, ma’am,” they replied at the same time.
Ashlin looked at Piper over her shoulder. “Kayla, are we still on barracks and classrooms?”
“Yes.” She turned from the front seat to face the other four women. “Don’t forget to get as many shots of the men in camp as possible. We know they’re headed to the United States. We could use facial recognition software to identify and stop them before they enter.”
“Or T and T,” Mia suggested and glanced at Father James.
They all looked his way, searching for any sign of recognition of the term.
There had been no micro movement, so their gazes returned to Kayla.
The acronym stood for tag and track, another handy skill they had been taught by the CIA.
With a simple bump, they could plant a tiny transmitter onto someone’s skin and follow them for up to five days.
The trick was to find skin. Hands got washed too often, arms were rarely bare, the neck was perfect but difficult to attach.
The houses at Bor began to thin just before Father James made a hard left-hand turn onto a path that looked more like a farm road than one often used.
The SUV rocked from side to side as they made their way into the jungle, which quickly swallowed them into darkness.
He had to turn on the headlights and light bar over the windshield.
Light green leaves the size of skateboards smacked the sides of their vehicle as they splashed through mud puddles that came to the rims of the tall off-road tires.
The Catholic priest handled the vehicle with the ease of a man who did this every day.
“Act like a tourist,” the father commanded, barely moving his lips. “They’re watching us.”
Ashlin immediately looked out her window and widened her eyes. She pulled up her phone and pretended to take pictures as though she’d never seen a jungle before.