On Target (46 page)

“Oh, if that were truly going to be my fate, I would be extremely disturbed, I can assure you. But I will
not
spend the rest of my days behind bars.”

“Not if I change my mind and shoot your ass right here.”

President Abboud laughed, low and rhythmic. “I don’t know if you can operate your weapon in your present condition.

“Try me.”

“No, no,” Oryx waved his hand. “I am happy to have you for an escort to Europe.”

“To prison,” Court said.

“Oh, for a few months, I’m sure you’re right. But offers have been extended to me, offers that I have refused until now, that will allow me to seek exile in any one of many third-party nations. The Ivory Coast is close to home, but at the moment I am leaning towards a certain Caribbean island that has been suggested. I enjoy the occasional cigar, though I pray you do not tell my wives.”

Court sat up straight, still Indian-style, against the wall of the shack. “Bullshit.”

“Diplomacy,” answered Bakri Ali Abboud with a smile.

“The Europeans are going to let you walk?”

The president shook his head slowly. He exposed his teeth in a smile. “Not just the Europeans. The Americans, too.”

Gentry was gobsmacked. He knew he was way too fucked-up to evaluate the micro-expressions set off by the president’s limbic system, to check for clues of deception. But the bastard unquestionably
seemed
sure of himself.

Abboud’s smile remained, but through it he said, in an exaggerated American accent, “As you said before. Nobody tells you nothing, eh, Mr. Six?”

“Why?” Gentry’s voice cracked.

“For the good of the world,” Abboud chuckled again. “What do you think would happen if I were assassinated in my hometown by SLA rebels? A civil war ten times larger than what we have now, except this would be worse. China wants their oil, so they will back my successor just as they did me. But Russia will support a military coup of the civilian successorship, and they will aid our neighbors to the west. Chad will invade, take north Darfur, and hand the bulk of the oil there to the Russians as payment. The IDP camps will be threatened, and UNAMID will be forced out, since the original agreement was with me and not with the government of Chad. China will push my successor towards a total war with Chad to retake Tract 12A, and my successor is, fundamentally, a weak man. He will submit to their will in ways that I would never agree with. China can own him with weapons and power and money.

“One year after I am gone, East Africa will be the center of a superpower conflict, tens of thousands will be dead, another million uprooted.”

“But won’t kidnapping you have the same effect?”

“There will be short-term chaos, but I will agree to terms that have been offered to me in secret for three years now. If I reveal details of Russia’s illegalities here in the Sudan, if I tell my followers, directly and forcefully, that the Russians are prepared to fan the flames of war against us, then there will be no Russian influence on the citizenry, and consequently, no civil war. If there is no civil war, then it is doubtful that Chad would invade. I can even let it be known that China was involved in my kidnapping. This will hurt Chinese interests in the region and return the minerals of the Sudan to the Sudanese.”

“China had nothing to do with this kidnapping.”

Abboud shrugged. “My followers will believe me. There is evidence to back me up, as well. Chinese Special Forces have been secretly training my troops in Port Sudan, to provide security to Tract 12A along the Chad border. China has known good and well that Russia covets their oil, and they knew that Russia wanted me dead. I can convince the Sudanese people that China and I had a disagreement, so they decided to get me out of the picture by trading me away.”

“That’s brilliant.” Court said. It sickened him to say so.

“Thank your coworkers. This was all part of a CIA plot, a plot to get me to voluntarily turn myself in to the ICC. As I said, I turned their offer of exile down.” He shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. “So here you are to enforce the offer.”

“So you are more beneficial alive than dead.”

Abboud shrugged. “Apparently so. You get me out of here alive, and I will play my part. As you said early this morning in Suakin, you and I are on the same team. Only you did not know the truth of that statement.”

The Thuraya phone rang.

“Hey, Zack.”

“You back with us, or are you still high as giraffe nuts?”

“I’m good to go; sorry about before. I was hurting pretty bad and accidentally pulled the wrong dosage of—”

“Forget it. We’ve got a problem. This whole op just went tits up.”

“What happened?”

“Langley says we greased some Chinks.”

“Say again?”

“We killed some Chinese guys.”

Court thought back to what Oryx had just told him. “Combatants.”

“No doubt, but apparently that’s still a no-no.”

Court knew who they were. “Special Forces, here training the Sudanese up in Port Sudan.”

“Yeah, that’s what Denny thinks. Probably from their Flying Dragon unit. Sudan Station didn’t even know they were in country.”

“Shit, Zack. How bad is it?”

“It’s not good, from the sound of it. Langley is dealing with the White House right now. The White House didn’t sign on for a dustup with a superpower.”

Court rubbed sweat from his eyes. The wound in his back was better from the meds, though it still stung. “How many Chinese did you guys kill?”

“Close to thirty, apparently. We’re guessing that Mi-17 Dan shot down was full of troops and a flight crew. That would account for that number of KIA. But seriously, BFD. Aren’t there like two billion Chinks? It’s not like they’ll miss them.”

“Dan didn’t, apparently.”

“Ha. Yeah, no shit.”

“What’s the fallout going to be on this?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I am to reestablish coms with Denny in thirty mikes. Worst case, we bug out.”

“With Abboud, you mean?”

“Let’s just wait till we hear back.”

“Roger that, Six out.”

Zack called back just after nine in the evening. Court had spent the last forty-five minutes talking to Oryx about the offer he’d received from the West. He seemed willing to do whatever he had to do to stay out of prison and to make his way to Cuba as a free man.

It was sickening, but Court understood that it was unquestionably the best of a long list of shitty outcomes.

Zack said, “Six, I need you to get far enough away from Oryx to where he can’t hear your side of this conversation.”

“Copy that, wait one.” Court looked at Oryx, still shackled to the center beam of the shack, turned, and left the tiny hooch. Outside in the cooling evening, he lowered onto his haunches and sat down at the rear bumper of the Skoda. “Okay, I’m alone.”

“I’ve got a big-time change to your op orders, Six. You ready for this?”

“Affirmative, go ahead.”

Zack paused. Then, “The Chinese are saying that this morning’s engagement in Suakin killed twenty-six non-combatant civilian advisors.”

“Bullshit. They weren’t civilians.”

“Of course not. They’re lying through their noodleslurpin’ teeth, but they can do that, and everyone will believe them.”

“Go on.”

“The White House has officially shit their britches. They want nothing more to do with this operation. Seems they have been working secretly on some big-ass trade deal with the Chinks, were going to announce it next month in Beijing.”

“So?”

“So the White House has ordered the director of National Intelligence to order Denny to order us to exfiltrate immediately, just drop all our shit and go. They do not want CIA fingerprints anywhere near the Sudan operation, for fear it would jeopardize the deal.”

“What about me?”

“I’m going to pick you up in the sub. I can be at the mangrove swamp at midnight. Can you make it by then, or do you need to go on another bender with your party drugs?”

“I can be there, but what’s all this going to do to Nocturne Sapphire?”

“There
is
no Nocturne Sapphire, and we all need to forget that there ever was. The rug’s been pulled out from under us. We just need to get out of Sudanese waters, get down to Eritrea, and not get compromised. Sudan Station will dump all the blame for this on the SLA.”

Court looked out at the grasses blowing in the evening breeze. “But . . . what the hell am I supposed to do with Abboud?”

“Give the fucker a dirt nap,” Zack said flatly.

Court hesitated. “But . . . he’s the one that can convince his people what the Russians are up to.”

“We’re not supposed to be here. There is no way we can hand Abboud over to the ICC now. Think about it! If we hand Abboud to the Euros, the Chinese Communists will get wind of it, and the Chicoms will pull out of the deal.”

“But Abboud is more important alive than dead. Isn’t that what the White House has been thinking all along?”

“Yeah, but the knockdown of the Chinese chopper was a game changer.”

Court shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a trade agreement. What is one trade deal in the scheme of things?”

“It makes the politicians look good.”

“So would ending an African genocide!”

“Not by risking a superpower war! The average Joe in the USA does not want to hear about us shooting it out with the Chinese over some dumb savages living in mud huts.”

“The Chinese aren’t going to go to war over this.”

“What are you, a fucking poli-sci PhD now? You are an operator, not a diplomat. The dips have their job and you have yours. Abboud needs to die! Kill the fuck! That’s an order!”

But Gentry would not let it go. “The
only
way to stop what is going to happen is with Abboud alive, in front of a camera, laying out to his people the involvement of the Russians and Chinese in his country’s internal affairs. That was the original motivation behind Nocturne Sapphire, because that is the only thing that will work. It
can’t
be done any other way.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re going to cap him and get your ass to the northern tip of the mangrove swamp for the exfil. What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy to dump some hollow points into that bastard’s snot box.”

“C’mon, Zack! We extract Abboud from here, get him to The Hague, and we can stop a war!”

“It’s not our job to stop a war! It’s our job to do
our job
, and our job is to waste Abboud, dump his corpse by the side of the road, and then get our happy asses out of here!”

Court’s jaw tightened, and he leaned his head back on the rear bumper of the Skoda sedan. “I need to think it over.”

“Think it over? Who the fuck do you think you are? You do what—”

“I’ll call you back. Six out.” Court ended the call. He dropped the phone to the grass and dropped his head into his hands.

Dammit. Court knew he could stand up right now, walk back into the shack, and put a nine-millimeter bullet into the head of the president of the Republic of Sudan without a single shred of remorse for the act. The man was a monster, certifiable and dangerous.

But he understood the logic that Oryx’s power could now be turned back against the atrocities and used for good. Yeah, it was complete and utter bullshit that down the road he’d get the last laugh. He’d be banging hookers in Havana after a lifetime of murder and corruption.

But hell, Court thought, that’s a problem for another day. Gentry himself could go to Cuba on his own dime and settle that score. He’d kill Abboud for his crimes, but not until the impending chaos of a post-Abboud Sudan was minimized.

And that could only happen with Abboud alive.

Court had been played by the Russians, lied to and manipulated to where he almost helped start a war, and now, he realized, killing Oryx would mean he’d been played by Langley into the same thing.

No. He would
not
kill Abboud.
Could
not. He would bring him to the International Criminal Court to stop one war and prevent another.

It would, no doubt, get the shoot-on-sight sanction reinstated, but it was the only hope for thousands of innocent Sudanese. Court put his head between his knees and covered it with his hands. He realized he wanted to storm back into the shack not to shoot Abboud but instead to shoot himself up with more of the morphine.

Its effects were wearing off quickly, with the struggle to concentrate obviated by the events of the past ten minutes.

Court picked up the Thuraya and called Zack back.