UNKNOWN LOCATION
WEDNESDAY, 6:35 A.M. GMT
She smelled cigarette smoke and sour milk. She tasted dried blood on her lower lip. Her mouth was parched.
Katie was up but not wholly awake. It felt like morning, but she wasn’t certain. She couldn’t see anything because the burlap sack was back over her head, tied tightly around her neck.
She hadn’t gotten much sleep the previous night because the rope holding her wrists was rubbing the skin raw and the pain jolted her awake whenever she moved. The pain and the fear.
Katie’s initial terror had receded intermittently and been replaced by the boredom and confusion of long hours in the dark with nothing but her own thoughts. As she opened her eyes and saw nothing, the same questions immediately churned in her head. Who would kidnap me? What could they possibly want? Does anyone even know I’m here? Where is here
?
The past hours provided no answers to those mysteries. No clues. She was, in every sense, in the dark.
The questions faded and the dread returned whenever she
heard footsteps approaching. Crowding out everything else,
Am I going to die?
Katie comforted herself with the fact that she was still alive. If they had wanted to kill her, she’d be dead already, she repeated in her head. With the exception of a busted lip from being thrown into the truck—she had stupidly tried to resist—no one had hurt her.
Other than some broken English demanding that she read into a camera a nonsensical statement about U.S. troops leaving Mali and Pakistan, no one had even spoken to her. Would that wind up on CNN? Would that be her fifteen minutes of fame, instead of the life of noblesse oblige she had expected of herself? That her father had expected? How distant those plans now felt, captive, lying on a dirt floor, hands bound. How ludicrous.
C’est ridicule.
Her thoughts of self-pity were broken again by loud shouting. She couldn’t tell what direction it was coming from, but it was definitely getting closer. She didn’t recognize the language. It was neither French nor Arabic. Was it Tamasheq, the Tuareg tongue?
That would be better than Arabic.
Her hands were sweating. The yelling grew louder. Her throat started to burn. Suddenly the shouting stopped, and she exhaled in relief.
Then the door banged open. She was pulled up by her elbow and yanked violently to her feet. She started to scream but quickly realized it was pointless. Flooding back into her head,
Am I going to die now?
PRESIDENTIAL PALACE, BAMAKO
WEDNESDAY, 7:15 A.M. GMT
The convoy turned onto the wide road leading up to the palace. On each corner were small groups of soldiers, some appearing no older than sixteen, holding oversized automatic weapons. They were chatting casually and did not appear nervous. As the ambassador’s car passed, they jumped to attention and saluted.
Judd scanned the boulevard for armed personnel carriers. He nudged Larissa. “I would have thought the street would be lined with troops and hippos as a show of force. Where is everybody?”
“It’s a sign of normalcy. Idrissa is trying to project the image that everything is fine. New president, but it’s all business as usual. Nothing to see here.”
“So he’s not worried about a countercoup?”
“Apparently not. But you can be sure he has his spies in every unit.”
“Those are not elite troops on the outer perimeter,” interrupted Durham from the third row of the Suburban. Larissa and
Judd turned around in their seats to face him. “It’s likely the general is deploying weaker units on an outer ring as a warning mechanism. The crack units will be closer to the palace and out of sight until something goes down. Those kids are just the trip wire. Countercoup fodder.”
Larissa gave Judd a little nod of approval, and they both turned back to the front.
As they passed through the final gate, Judd’s BlackBerry bonged with an alarm, signifying an urgent message from headquarters. He glanced down to see it was from Serena.
Middle of the night in Washington.
The car pulled up to the circular driveway at the entrance to the palace. There was a line of dignitaries ready to greet them. Judd turned to Larissa. “I have to read this.”
She nodded knowingly and said to the driver, “Hold here.” The driver waved away the guards trying to open the doors. They obliged, and suddenly everyone was in pause. The car was idling. The welcome committee was standing in the breeze. All were waiting for Judd.
Serena: Task force screaming. I’ve held them off by scheduling & canceling to buy u a few hours. But running out of excuses. Others are pushing for new chair. Rogerson called. Still no ETA. Hurry.
Judd suppressed the
Fuck!
in his head.
Jessica was right. Again.
Judd: Thx. I’ll run the TF from the embassy. OK to reschedule. Keep ears open.
Judd pressed send, then turned to Larissa. “We are going to need a Task Force Mali meeting by videoconference later today. Can the embassy handle that?”
“I’ll have my people set it up.”
“Then let’s go.” Judd turned to Durham. “Colonel, you ready for the general?”
“Yes, sir. Yallah.”
• • •
Judd Ryker, Ambassador Larissa James, and Colonel David “Bull” Durham had been sitting in the green waiting room for more than an hour. Judd glared at Larissa with aggravation.
“He’s just showing us that he’s not in panic mode,” she said. “Don’t take it personally.” Judd nodded back but wasn’t convinced. His feet tapped with impatience.
The green sofas, with their dainty lace arm covers, were exactly as Judd remembered from his last visit to this room, eight months ago. He’d found them quaint last time. Now they were irritating.
Durham sat calmly, unfazed by the delay. He was dressed in his formal dark green service uniform, insignias on the shoulders, declaring his attachment to the Third Special Forces Group, and a chest full of badges
.
Just then, a petite man arrived and escorted them, with a slight bow of apology, into the next room. “Monsieur President will see you now.”
Once inside the presidential office, Judd’s sense of uncomfortable déjà vu was immediately reinforced. Idrissa, in a civilian
boubou, sat behind the presidential desk. Nothing else seemed to have changed in the office. Idrissa had simply moved in.
The general greeted them with stiff handshakes. Judd met Idrissa’s gaze as they gripped each other. “Thank you, General, for seeing us on such short notice.”
“It is a great pleasure to have you back in Mali, Dr. Ryker,” he said. “We are facing many threats together, so I am so pleased that you have come to see us now at this important time. Yes. Mali and the USA have a strong partnership. We must promote security together.”
Judd turned and glared at Larissa.
Is he for real?
“With all due respect, General, I’m not here to talk about cooperation. I’m here to explain to you, in no uncertain terms, the position of the United States. As you will have seen from our official statement by the Secretary of State, we condemn the coup d’état and are calling for the immediate release and restoration of President Maiga. He is still the recognized president of Mali. This is our firm position. I have been sent here specifically by the president of the United States to tell you this.”
Larissa shot Judd a look of displeasure.
“Our aid program to Mali has been suspended,” Judd continues, sitting up as straight as he can. “And we have ordered all of our military advisors to return to the embassy. If this isn’t resolved in the next few days, then all programs will be terminated, the money will be reassigned to other countries, and our military teams will be sent home. Permanently. It’s an outcome we all want to avoid, General.”
“Thank you, Dr. Ryker,” replied Idrissa, gently shaking his
head. “That is most disappointing, I’m afraid that we do not agree. Security first, yes. Return of the weak and criminal Maiga, no. It is impossible. We cannot allow that. That would be irresponsible. Too dangerous. For Mali, and for the United States. Do not be deceived by propaganda, Dr. Ryker. It would violate the sworn pledge I have taken as chairman of the Council for the Restoration of Democracy. The CRD principles cannot be violated. I am sorry that you do not understand this.”
“I think I understand perfectly, General.”
“So we are at an impasse? We can live without your aid. We do not need your charity. But there is no reason for our military cooperation to cease. We are working together against common enemies, and the enemy is gaining strength. Even right now as we sit here talking, we are gathering evidence of their plans, and tracking their activities. Our Scorpions, which we built together hand in hand, are ready to defend the country and attack the enemy that lies in wait, set to pounce.”
Idrissa paused for dramatic effect. “Dr. Ryker, I know you have personally suffered from this threat. I must tell you that my intelligence service has reported a break in the investigation of the despicable bombing of you and the honorable ambassador. Yes. We have identified the culprits and they have close links to these same terrorists who have stolen the senator’s daughter. We are tracking them now and I am certain we will have them apprehended very soon.”
Judd eyed Larissa.
Idrissa knows who tried to kill us? He drops this now? I thought he was in contact with the kidnappers.
Larissa returned a slight shrug.
“You see, Maiga was too weak to deal with criminals and terrorists, but I am not,” continued Idrissa. “I am confident we can agree to let our brave soldiers work together for our common security. The operation can continue. Yes. I think you will want this, no? I think your people will want this.”
“General, we would welcome any information about who is responsible for the bombing and the kidnapping. A team from our FBI is being assembled to assist the case. But that is not the issue today. We have to address our immediate problem. I have Colonel David Durham with me here. He was dispatched by the Department of Defense to join me, so there is no confusion about the position of the United States government. No ambiguity.” Judd turned to Durham, sitting in his full uniform, medals across his chest. “Colonel?”
“General, I am here on the direct orders of the Secretary of Defense.” Durham stood at attention. “We have appreciated the cooperation with the armed forces of Mali. You have been a close and reliable ally of the United States in our war against the forces of chaos and terror. But the United States can no longer work with you after this illegal and immoral act. You have disgraced your command. You have disgraced our profession, sir.” Durham was physically growing larger as his speech reached a crescendo, ending with a booming, “As one proud soldier to another, sir, I urge you to stand down!”
Judd and Larissa were both taken aback, but exchanged looks of satisfaction.
Idrissa was even more shocked, his eyes widening. The room was hushed as Durham took his seat again.
After a few moments, Judd broke the awkward silence.
“General, we want to find a graceful and honorable way out of this for everyone. What can we do together?”
Idrissa stared at his shoes, refusing to make eye contact. “When the time is right, we will organize new elections. But we cannot do this tomorrow. No. It will take time. We need to secure the nation first. We must first restore security. Security, yes,” he said, lifting his head to finally meet Judd’s eyes. “Perhaps elections can be held next year.”
“General, you don’t want to drag this out for a year. That would be totally unacceptable. We must resolve this immediately. How can we find a way out of this problem right now? We can fix this, perhaps even today.”
“There is nothing that can be done now. No.”
“I urge you to rethink that. You can contact me through Ambassador James. When you know what you need, you can reach out to her. Let her know what we can do. I am hopeful we can find a way forward that is good for you and for Mali.”
Idrissa stared ahead, through Judd.
Does he hear me?
“General, I also need to be clear on our firm expectations for the treatment of President Maiga. The president of the United States and the Secretary of State are personally concerned about his safety and well-being.”
“I can assure you he is safe,” interrupted Idrissa.
“Why not take me to see him? Let’s go right now. It would be a sign of good faith. Washington would view that as a positive signal of your intentions.”
“I’m afraid that is impossible. We will deal with the former president when the time is right.”
At that moment a uniformed soldier entered the room and whispered in Idrissa’s ear. The general nodded, then turned to Judd. “I apologize, Madam Ambassador, but urgent business of the state demands that I call our meeting to a close. As you are aware, these are precarious times. National security is our top priority. Mali is under attack as we speak. By enemies of the state and enemies of civilization. By criminals and terrorists and kidnappers.” Idrissa paused, snapped his fingers at his aide, and motioned for him to come. The aide handed the general a large brown envelope.
“Before you go, Dr. Ryker, I have one more matter to raise with you. I’m afraid that we have detected a foreign plot on our soil.” He handed the envelope to Judd, who opened it to find a stack of grainy black-and-white photographs.
On top was a photo of a plump African man with a salt-and-pepper beard, hugging an even larger man wearing a suit and aviator sunglasses. Judd flipped quickly to the second photo, which showed the same man sitting alone in a crowded restaurant, or perhaps a club, bottles of beer crowding a small table. The next photo showed a waiter approaching the man, an envelope clearly visible on the underside of his tray. The final picture was of the man tucking the envelope into his jacket. The man in the photos: Papa Toure.
“These were taken just thirty-six hours ago here in Bamako by my special intelligence unit. We have been tracking this man for years as he has traveled between Mali and Nigeria. We believed he was a courier for Nigerian criminals expanding their business into Mali. But we now know he is in fact working for foreign
jihadists based in northern Nigeria. You see the envelope?” Idrissa was pointing to the photo. “It is an envelope of money. The funds are intended for the north of Mali. For extremist Imams trying to radicalize our youth.” Idrissa stared straight at Judd. “Dr. Ryker, you know this man, yes?”
Judd glared back at him, then down at his old friend Papa in the photos. He handed the photos back to the general with a shrug. “No. Never seen him before.”
“Why don’t you pick him up?” asked Colonel Durham.
“We were following him, but this morning he disappeared. We believe the culprit has fled Bamako to the bush. But we will find him. We will get him. Dr. Ryker, you can be very sure we will get him. And his accomplices.”
Abruptly, Idrissa rose. “Madam Ambassador, Colonel, Dr. Ryker. You also know how to reach me. Please enjoy the rest of your visit to Mali.”
Idrissa turned as the Americans were escorted out. Judd’s meeting with the coup maker, the reason for his hasty flight to Africa, was finished. It was over just like that, and he was no closer to resolution.
Empty-handed.
• • •
Back in the car, Judd turned to Larissa. “What do you make of that?”
“Well, I think he was genuinely surprised that you threatened to pull our military cooperation. Especially the advisors to his
Scorpions. Colonel Durham, you hit him right between the eyes. I can see why they call you Bull.”
Durham acknowledged the ambassador’s compliment with a slight tip of his hat.
“But will it work?” asked Judd. “He called our bluff.”
“Let’s wait and see. Let everything simmer. I suspect he’ll be in touch one way or another before the end of the day.”
“So, what now, Larissa?”
“We wait. I’ll ask Cyrus to follow up his claim of a break in our bombing case. And also about this Nigerian courier. Why would he think you know him?”
“No idea. Probably just trying to rattle me. . . . Something’s not right.”
“Let’s just sit tight and see what he does next. We’ll go back to the residence and wait.”
“I can’t just sit.”
“Be patient, Judd.”
“I can’t just sit here on my hands while Idrissa is calling the shots. Why can’t we shake things up?”
“Let’s wait for Idrissa to move first.”
“I don’t trust him, Larissa.”
“Of course you don’t trust Idrissa. We shouldn’t trust anyone right now.”
“‘Love all, trust a few . . .’”
“What is that?”