The Aden Effect (30 page)

“He has had good teachers,” Stark replied, “including you. Come here, Ali,” he shouted. Ali expertly galloped over to the railing and brought the Arabian to a perfect halt—not so fast as to risk injury to his horse, but fast enough to show a little panache. Stark reached out and stroked the horse's head, admiring the delicate bone structure.

“You see, Uncle Connor,” Ali beamed proudly, “you were right. I am good! Shall we have another fencing lesson this afternoon?”

“Yes, Ali, before we eat. And I won't go easy on you, either.”

Golzari followed this conversation carefully. The commander was truly beginning to fascinate him. He knew about guns no naval officer should know, he gave riding lessons to a young princeling, and now fencing? Fencing had been his own sport at Cheltenham. He intended to watch the fencing lesson to see just how good this Visigoth was.

“Someday,” Ali said before galloping away again, “I will be an Olympic athlete like the great Connor Stark!”

Olympic athlete?
Golzari hated to be wrong. But every additional fact he learned showed this man to be less and less the Visigoth. Fencing, riding, and shooting were three of the five events in the modern pentathlon. What other surprises did Connor Stark have to offer? He made another mental note to look a bit deeper into Stark's background when he returned to the embassy. At that moment, he realized that Mutahar was speaking to him.

“You are Connor's driver.”

“Yes, sir,” he said humbly.

“Where are you from?”

“The United States, sir.”

Mutahar looked at him in disbelief. “You don't speak like an American,” he pointed out, “and you don't dress like one either.”

“America is a land of great diversity, sir,” Golzari replied. “I'm as American as the good commander here.”

Mutahar tapped the railing as he looked back and forth between Stark and Golzari.

“I am a good judge of men,” he said finally. “And I believe there is more to you than meets my eyes. But let it be as you say—for now. You are here with Connor, and you are my guest. Welcome to my home. May I present my oldest son, Faisal,” Mutahar gestured to the young man standing beside him.

Golzari and the young man exchanged cordial nods. Golzari knew that Mutahar had pegged him as being from the Middle East. People here could tell the difference between Saudi, Iraqi, Omani, and others as easily as an American could tell the difference between southern, West Coast, and New England accents. So Mutahar almost certainly knew that he was of Persian descent as well.

At that moment Faisal's cell phone rang. He excused himself politely and walked away from the others as he answered it.

Although he made no attempt to listen, Golzari could hear Faisal's part of the conversation quite clearly. “Yes? . . . Was it you? . . . What time did it happen? I see. No, no, I will go there. I will call you when I arrive.” He flipped the phone closed and returned to the group. “I am sorry, Father, but I have to return to Mukalla. There has been an accident.”

“Oh? What is it?”

“Ahmed al-Ghaydah is dead. He fell off a hotel balcony last night.”

“His family, peace be upon them, will be grieved. But I cannot say that I am surprised. He indulged too much in khat and foreign women and paid too little attention to his job. I hired him only as a favor to his father.” He reached out to embrace Faisal. “Go now. See his father and tell him that we are very distressed and offer our support.”

“Farewell, Father.” He nodded at Golzari. “Connor, we will see each other again?”

“I hope so, Faisal.”

Faisal smiled. “As do I.”

C. J. was surprised to see Eliot Green's face next to Secretary of State Helen Forth's image on the VTC. “Eliot is joining our conference because of the level of interest at the White House on your status, C. J.,” the secretary said. Green nodded without changing expression. Forth looked away from the camera and toward some papers—probably Eliot's standard talking points, C. J. thought. Eliot always demanded structure in meetings, his structure.

“Madam Secretary, thanks for taking my call.” A formality since C. J. doubted Forth would have allowed the call without Eliot's permission. “I expect to have good news from the Yemeni government very soon. They've indicated that they're ready to talk about the oil agreement. There's another initiative I'd like to discuss with you today, though. If it works out, I hope it will bolster Yemen's willingness to work with us in other areas.”

“Oh?” Helen Forth's face expressed interest. Green's remained wooden.

C. J.'s voice was alive with enthusiasm as she began describing her plan. “I just returned from a one-day evaluation trip to Socotra. I'm not sure whether you're aware of the earthquake that recently damaged the island's villages. It didn't make a lot of headlines. The people there are suffering, though, and I think we could do a lot of good if we were to conduct a small humanitarian operation. Any assistance we provide will be helpful and will create goodwill. You should also know that China has already begun such an effort.”

“What kind of aid do you want to provide?” her superior asked.

“Simple things. Medical supplies and personnel, food, water, clothing. If this works and the Yemeni government sees firsthand our sincere desire to help, then we can expand our effort by working with them.”

“C. J.,” Green chimed in, “just hang on here. Some of those things might be possible, but medical personnel have a higher priority in Afghanistan. And I can't begin to say what we'll need if the naval blockade of North Korea isn't successful.”

“How do you suggest carrying this out if we do approve?” Forth asked.

“There are two possibilities: airlift or sealift. The island has a small airport, but we'd have to charter something larger and faster than the embassy plane here in Sana'a. Round trip for our plane is more than five hours, so using that isn't practical. Ideally, we could purchase the materials here in Yemen, supporting the local economy, and transport them on an American ship. Bill Maddox has a few support vessels in the region, and I'm sure he'd be willing to help. Even one shipload would be beneficial. And I'm not requesting military medical personnel, Eliot. I can get civilian volunteers from some of the NGOs.”

“Eliot?” Forth asked, seeking direction as usual.

He looked unconvinced. “It's a bit risky given that the piracy situation hasn't abated. Maddox's firm probably can't get a ship safely to Socotra.”

C. J. crossed her fingers and took a chance. “I'm convinced that the Yemeni Navy will provide escort ships.”

“Well, that's a change,” Secretary Forth said.

“Yeah.” Eliot leaned forward into the camera, as he often did when trying to make a point—his point. “What's changed?”

“There are new negotiations which I am convinced will be fruitful.”

“C. J., does this have anything to do with your new defense attaché, Commander Stark?” Green drew out the last name.

“It does, yes. He is currently speaking with people in the government. I'll have a report for you later today.” She was buying time with that last statement, hoping that Stark would indeed show up with good news.

“No.” Green's voice indicated a final decision. “It's not a good idea.”

C. J. refused to give up. “Eliot, I can do this.”

“Your friend Stark is an incompetent troublemaker. He'll fail.”

“He won't,” C. J. insisted. “Not this time.”

“Why are you so sure?”

“Because the Yemeni government will talk to him.”

Green flipped his fingers as if swatting away a fly. “That's not enough.”

“If the Yemeni Navy agrees to escort Maddox's supply ship, will that be sufficient for you?”

Eliot's eyes suddenly narrowed as an idea came to him. “No. If we—the president—decides aid to Socotra is a good idea, and if the Yemeni government agrees, I'll have a U.S. Navy ship assigned to assist you. The
Bennington
is in the region.” Green smiled and looked down at the papers he was shuffling on his desk. “Once Secretary Forth and I read your report, we'll reevaluate. Madam Secretary, does State concur?”

“State concurs,” she responded obediently.

“Thank you, Helen,” he said. “I wonder if you'd give Ambassador Sumner and me a moment now?”

The feed from State cut out, leaving only Green and Sumner.

“Okay, C. J. Let's talk about your pal Stark. You never told him the full story of that court-martial, did you?”

She inhaled deeply. “No. There was no reason to.”

“It would be a shame if he found out the truth after all these years.”

C. J. clenched her fists helplessly as Green's face disappeared from her monitor. She wished Eliot Green would disappear altogether.

Servants removed the remnants of the meal as the men sat back and smoked. Mutahar licked the last of the honey cake from his fingertips before one of the women brought out wet towels for those who remained. After dessert, Mutahar excused everyone from the room but Stark, his cousin the Yemeni Navy admiral, and his older uncle, the foreign minister. The security guards remained outside the closed doors.

Stark cleaned his hands and face and again praised the food of the house of Mutahar before turning to the business at hand. “Gentlemen, I am always honored to visit Mutahar. He is among my most valued friends, and he knows that I would do nothing to dishonor him, his house, or his family,” he punctuated the latter with a nod especially to the foreign minister.

“Connor, please do not take this as an insult,” the foreign minister began. “You are an American, and you are also an officer in the U.S. Navy. Mutahar has told us that we can discuss anything with you as you are a brother of this house, but I believe that we should also establish rules before we begin. Are you agreeable to this?”

“Yes, of course,” Stark answered. “May I suggest we try the simple approach and offer one another complete honesty?” Stark displayed open palms as he said this.

“Connor, I have been the foreign minister for some years now. One thing I know is that you are required to report to your ambassador and also to your Defense Department.” He inhaled deeply from the water pipe.

“That is true, I suppose. But I have never been a defense attaché before. I was returned very quickly to active duty here without formal training. So perhaps I never learned what's expected of bureaucrats?”

The three other men sitting at the table laughed heartily, the foreign minister loudest of all.

Connor continued. “Gentlemen, I have assured Mutahar that nothing you say will be reported back to my government unless you wish it. I need the information I seek now so that I can know how to advise Ambassador Sumner. She wants to work with you. And as I said last night, she is very capable of doing that.”

“Very well, Connor. Only that which is explicitly agreed upon will be shared with Ambassador Sumner.”

“Thank you. First, Ambassador Sumner has always had an interest in helping victims of disasters. She believes it is her responsibility and her privilege as ambassador to provide assistance when it is needed. The recent earthquake affected many people in Socotra. They are in need of supplies. We would like to provide medical assistance along with food and water for the victims, all in accordance with Islamic law and with your approval, of course. Ships owned by the firm operated by Bill Maddox could carry the supplies.”

The foreign minister pondered this offer. “So long as it is not too much American presence. Representatives of our government should be there with you under our flag, as they are with our Chinese brothers who are also offering assistance on the west coast of Socotra. Tell Ambassador Sumner we will grant this.”

“Thank you, sir. I will inform her of your benevolence for your people and work out the details. Perhaps the admiral would be an excellent representative of your government. It would be a good opportunity to exercise your ships, and we could use the protection from the pirates.”

The elder statesman leaned back and chuckled. “Connor, it is well you are not a businessman—you would give even Mutahar strong competition in
negotiations. Ambassador Sumner has been trying since she got here to have our ships patrol. I see what you are doing!”

“I am not asking for the admiral to patrol, only to escort. That is a great difference,” Stark explained, dancing around the central issue.

The foreign minister turned to his cousin the admiral. “What do you think?”

The admiral paused to consider the question. “My ships have not been to Socotra in some time. Perhaps Connor is correct. This would be a good opportunity to practice with the new ships.”

“Would you then also consider providing escorts for ships resupplying the oil platforms to the south?” Stark knew he was entering more dangerous waters here, but he would have only one shot at this.