by Todd Moss
“I don’t have a second life, Judd. It’s just professional cover.”
“So, who are you?”
“I’m me. I’m the same person. I’m Jessica Ryker. I’m your wife and mother to your children. We’re a real family. None of that’s changed.”
“Are you an agronomist?”
“Yes.”
“What else don’t I know about you?”
“With time . . . I’ll tell you everything with time, Judd. But just know our marriage is real, our love is real. That’s what matters most.”
“Is your water project in Ethiopia real?”
“No. That’s a cover.”
“Is Papa in the CIA, too?”
“I can’t say.”
“You can’t say or you don’t know?”
“Does it matter?”
“I don’t know what matters anymore, Jess.”
“Well, I do, Judd. I’ll tell you what matters. You just helped catch two mass murderers and depose a dictator. You, Judd Ryker, just helped bring justice to thousands, maybe millions, of people. Why aren’t we celebrating that?”
“Were you secretly helping me in Mali three months ago?”
“Yes.”
“And now you were helping me in Zimbabwe, too?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, okay . . .” he said, his mind still spinning. “Jess, I still don’t understand.”
“Understand what?”
“A lot. Why were you pushing me to get involved in Zimbabwe’s election? Why were you strategizing for regime change? What was . . . your agenda?”
“Redemption,” she said.
“Redemption for what?”
“And revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“Solomon Zagwe,” Jessica whispered.
“Ethiopia . . . the Red Fear . . . thirty years ago . . . I should have known,” Judd said aloud, talking to himself. “But you never mentioned Ethiopia to me before.”
“No, I didn’t. I didn’t need to.”
“You didn’t even ask me about Zimbabwe until”—Judd rubbed his forehead—“until last week, when that tourist jumped off the bridge at Victoria Falls . . . Wait, was that tourist one of yours?”
“Sort of.”
“What does that mean?”
“The tourist was a private investigator. I contracted him to help build an evidence base against Zagwe. I couldn’t discount the chance Zagwe might be arrested and I’d have to get him in court. But Zagwe must have caught him.”
“What about the Justice Department? They were tracking him, too.”
“I couldn’t count on that. Their special investigator, your friend Isabella Espinosa, she’s good, but she kept hitting brick walls. I just couldn’t take the chance Zagwe might escape. Or be captured and then somehow find a way to get off.”
“So the CIA hired a private contractor to collect evidence against a war criminal?”
“Not the Agency. Me.”
“I don’t understand, Jess.”
“Hunting Solomon Zagwe wasn’t an official operation.”
“So you went rogue to help me?”
Jessica nodded. “Or . . . you could think about it the other way around. More like you went rogue to help me. Even if you didn’t realize it.”
“So you’re the reason I was sent to Zimbabwe?”
“Indirectly.”
Judd was hearing this new information faster than his brain could process it. Then he froze. “Are you behind the firebomb that killed—” Judd stopped and held up a palm. “Scratch that. Actually, Jess, don’t say a thing. Don’t say another word. I don’t want to know.”
“If you’re asking whether I killed Zagwe, the answer is no. Chimurenga did. Did I have a hand in bringing about circumstances that led Chimurenga to believe he needed to kill his business partner? Well, there I think we both played a role.”
“Both of us?”
She locked eyes with Judd and nodded.
“So . . . the whole thing was never about democracy in Zimbabwe? Concern over the election was just another cover?”
“In the beginning, yes.”
“The supergrade uranium hunt was a ploy?”
“Sorry, yes. That too.”
“UMBRELLA ROSE was just a cover for your rogue operation?”
Jess nodded.
“How did you pull that off?”
“I had to get S/CRU involved in Zimbabwe and find a reason for you to fly there immediately, before the election window closed. That was the only way. I figured I could get you to help me to get Zagwe and at the same time you’d get the big success you needed to save S/CRU.”
“Helping me was a coincidence, then?”
“I think of it as collateral benefit,” she said. Then, realizing how cold that sounded, she softened her voice. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you. I’m sorry about everything. But it couldn’t be avoided. I just couldn’t miss what might be my only shot at Solomon Zagwe. I had to do it.”
“But why did you need me?”
“S/CRU was perfect. I had to force Zagwe out in the open. I needed to shake things up in Zimbabwe. I needed Tino to lose. And I needed you to make all that happen. We both needed the same thing to win.”
“How exactly did I do that?”
“Another time, sweetheart, another time. But just know we had to create a window of chaos. It was the heart of the plan.”
“Minute Zero,” Judd said.
“Exactly. Your idea was essential to our success. Creating Minute Zero was the strategy.”
“It worked.” Judd allowed himself to smile. “Minute Zero . . . worked.”
“Once we figured out what really happened at Kanyemba—that we could get two mass murderers instead of just one—we had to go for it. Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“‘We’?” Judd’s smile disappeared. “Who exactly is ‘we’?”
“Please don’t ask.”
“Who else is working for you? Bull Durham? Brock Branson? Sunday? Jessica, does Sunday really work for you?”
“Who do you really work for, Judd?”
He thought about that as he drank the rest of his beer. The Secretary of State? The President? Landon Parker? Some hidden puppet master?
He set down his bottle. “I guess I don’t really know.”
“Right. What matters now is that we all played our part. And we prevailed. Zagwe is gone, Chimurenga’s in prison, and Gugu Mutonga is president.”
“And S/CRU will get credit,” Judd realized.
“It all worked out.”
“We make a pretty good team,” Judd conceded.
“A powerful team.”
“So I guess you were part of my Justice League all along?”
“In a way, yes,” Jessica said. “If it helps you to accept all of this by thinking of it that way, Judd, then yes. Minute Zero was a success and the Justice League triumphed.”
“So . . . if I’m Superman and this is my team, then . . . who exactly are you?”
“Oh, you’re not Superman, Judd.”
“I’m not? Who is Superman, then?”
Jessica lifted her wineglass and blew her husband a soft kiss.
“Me.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Minute Zero would never have been written without the many people who helped me to fall in love with the beautiful nation of Zimbabwe. Mazvita Baba, Amai, Takudzwa, Tinashe, Blessing, and Biggie for your warmth and lifelong friendship. (Amai, you are greatly missed!) Andrew Meldrum and David Devlin-Foltz were influential early guides and still good friends. I’m grateful to Bobby Pittman, Bill Trombley, Charles Kenny, Markus Goldstein, and Kenneth Christian, who read early drafts and helped to make the story more readable and more realistic. Thanks to superagent Josh Getzler and Daniell
e Burby at HSG Agency. I’m tremendously grateful to my wise and coolheaded editor, Neil Nyren, and the amazing Putnam team, including Ashley Hewlett, Kate Stark, Elena Hershey, Alexis Welby, Anna Romig, Lydia Hirt, and Sara Minnich.
Most of all, boundless appreciation and love to Donna for your editorial clarity and eternal encouragement. Ndinokuda!
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