James Swain - Bad News Travels

Not many people could say that a chicken had saved their life.

But Jon Lancaster could. It had happened in the Republic of Mali, in West Africa. The region had been infiltrated by an Al Qaeda franchise called AQIM, which funded its terrorist activities by kidnapping foreign ambassadors and oil executives, and holding them for huge ransoms. It was nice work if you could get it, and AQIM had become one of the richest terrorist cells in the world.

Lancasters SEAL unit had been sent to Mali to rescue an oil executive named Duncan Farmer. Farmer and his wife had been hosting a dinner party in their home when an AQIM team burst in, executed several guests, and spirited Farmer away. The next day, a ransom note was delivered to the local American embassy.

The SEAL units marching orders had been simple. Rescue Farmer and bring him home, and give AQIM a taste of their own medicine.

Lancaster was the front man, his relatively short stature and potbelly allowing him to mingle easily with the natives. Hed been born with gastroschisis, a condition that gave him a big stomach. People thought he was fat, but it was an illusion. Dressed in flowing robes and his face darkened by charcoal, he shuffled down the dirt road leading into town without drawing suspicion.

Hed left before dawn. It was quiet, and he saw only a handful of people, mostly women going to fetch water. As he neared town, a chicken ran out onto the road, and started squawking up a storm. Not just any chicken, but a variety called a naked neck, a prodigious layer of eggs. Hed encountered naked neck chickens during missions in Africa before, and was ready. Reaching into the pocket of his robe, he removed a handful of corn, and sprinkled it liberally on the ground. The chicken quieted down and pecked away.

Where are your buddies? he asked.

It was an honest question. No one in Africa owned just one chicken; they owned a brood, and kept them for eggs and their meat. Having just one chicken would be like owning an aquarium and keeping a single fish. It didnt feel right. He needed to find out why there was only one chicken, or risk putting himself and his unit in danger.

The chicken cleaned the ground and squawked for more. Kneeling, he held the rest of the corn in front of the chickens face, tempting it. Clearly irritated, the chicken flapped its wings, and the squawking grew louder.

A faint bock bock bock reached his ears, the sound originating from a mud house sitting a hundred feet off-road. The house had no electricity, the only sign of life a billow of smoke coming from its chimney. The bocking sound grew into a chorus as the brood, which he assumed was locked in pens behind the house, joined in.

He let the corn sift out of his hand, and the chicken started eating.

He wondered why the brood was locked up. There had to be a good reason, only it wasnt coming to him. Had their owner been ordered by AQIM to lock up the chickens so they wouldnt be a distraction? If so, then he was walking into a trap.

He decided to leave. Using a Garmin GPS, he got his coordinates, then walked back to his unit, who were hiding in the bush a half mile down the road. He relayed his suspicions to the officer in charge, and gave him the reading off his phone.

The OIC called the base, and requested a reconnaissance satellite spy on the area. A half hour later, the base gave them the bad news. Twenty armed men were hiding up the road from where hed met the chicken. He wouldnt have stood a chance.

The OIC asked for a drone to drop a bomb on the men. Then, the unit hunted down the villager whod given them the bad information, and persuaded him to reveal where Farmer was being held prisoner. The next day, bruised and beaten but still very much alive, Farmer was flown back to the States with his family.

Lancaster thought about that chicken often. If it hadnt run into the road and made a fuss, he would have walked into a trap, and probably perished. He owed that dumb bird his life, and for the longest time, he hadnt ordered poultry when he was in a restaurant.

It seemed like the least he could do.

Memorial Presbyterian Church in Saint Augustine was a towering structure of poured concrete and crushed coquina stone, with architectural details painstakingly created with terra-cotta. Looking at the building took your breath away, and Lancaster couldnt think of a more fitting place for Martin Danielss funeral to be held.

He had never met the man, but had heard so many stories from his daughter Beth that he felt like he knew him. Although it sounded trite, Daniels had been a pillar in his community. Surgeon, college professor, philanthropist, church elder. Everyone he had touched had come away better for the experience. Hed made the world a better place, and several hundred people had turned out to pay their respects.

Dad would be embarrassed, Beth said under her breath.

Your father didnt like spectacles, did he? he asked.

He hated them. Not that theres anything we can do about it.

Hed had to park several blocks away. As they neared the church, he asked if the knot in his tie looked okay. They stopped for Beth to check, and he gazed into her eyes. Shed been crying for days, and she looked like hell. It didnt matter how old you were; when your last parent died, you became an orphan.

You going to be okay? he asked.

Im managing, she said.

Grief had a way of robbing a person of their strength, and he knew of only one thing that would make Beth feel better. He hugged her.

Thank you, she said, and kissed his cheek.

The church was on a brick-lined street called Sevilla. As they crossed, a black Charger with tinted windows and black exhaust billowing from its tailpipe caught his eye. There were a dozen parked cars on the street, but the Charger was the only one occupied.

He stopped to stare while Beth kept walking.

Its nothing, she said over her shoulder.

Theyd been dating for a few months. Long enough for Beth to be able to read him, and know what he was thinking.

How do you know its nothing? It looks suspicious, he said.

Its broad daylight, and its a church. Come on, were going to be late.

It doesnt look right.

Get over it. Please.

He quickly caught up. Melanie met them at the entrance. The sisters embraced, and Melanie gave Lancaster a hug. She was a wreck, and barely holding on.

Nolan and Nicki are in the front row. They saved you seats, she said.

How many people are inside? Beth asked.

At least three hundred. Its standing room only.

Dad would be mortified.

I was thinking the same thing. I guess its better than the church being empty. There are some FBI agents from the Jacksonville office who said they knew you.

How nice. Ill have to make sure to say hello.

Lancasters guard refused to go down. He shot a glance over his shoulder, and saw that the Charger hadnt budged. It just felt wrong.

When did the people start arriving? he asked.

The question caught the sisters by surprise.

About an hour ago. Why? Melanie asked.

Just curious.

Holding hands, the sisters started to go in. They hadnt always been close, but that had changed when Melanies daughter had become the target of predators, and Beth had joined forces with Lancaster to stop them. Since then, theyd grown tight, and were now doing a good job of emotionally supporting each other.

I left my phone in the car. Ill join you in a few, he said.

You better hurry. The service will be starting soon, Melanie said.

He hurried down the front steps, and walked around the front of the church to Valencia Street, then began circling back to Sevilla. If people had started arriving an hour ago, then so had the Charger, otherwise it wouldnt have gotten a parking space. So why had its occupants chosen to remain in their vehicle, with the engine running? That was the kind of thing undercover cops did, or criminals looking to settle a score. As far as he knew, Martin Daniels had led a clean life, but you could never be certain. As the naked neck chicken in Mali had taught him, it was better to be safe than sorry.