by Todd Moss
32.
U.S. EMBASSY, BAMAKO
WEDNESDAY, 6:15 A.M. GMT
Judd was escorted back down the hallway to the ambassador’s office. Larissa was on the phone behind her desk with her back to the door. On either side of her were American and Malian flags resting on tall poles.
One wall of her office was a bank of windows, looking out onto the manicured lawns of the embassy compound. Through the fence, off in the distance, Judd could make out a long snake of people waiting for the consulate to open, waiting for the chance to try their luck at the chess game between themselves and a young Foreign Service officer—usually on their first tour overseas and scared to death of making a mistake—shielded by thick plate glass. The Malians were also anxious, arriving at the American fortress with stacks of neatly folded documents, desperately trying to prove the validity of their claims, hoping to make it through, to win that ultimate lottery prize: a U.S. visa. Young boys were walking up and down the visa line, hawking boxes of gum, hard-boiled eggs, car air fresheners, Chinese-made flip-flops.
The other wall of Larissa’s office was a rack of bookshelves, floor-to-ceiling, littered with plaques, statues, and medallions of every shape and size from every ministry and government office in the country. The empty tokens of appreciation of bureaucrats and politicians for a brief meeting with the representative of the president of the United States. The detritus of diplomacy.
“That’s a lot of courtesy calls, Larissa,” said Judd as she hung up the phone.
“Tell me about it. Every one of those tchotchkes is an hour of my life lost,” she replied. “But that’s the job we all signed up for. Right, Judd?”
“Not me. I didn’t give up the sweet life to be a real diplomat. I’m supposed to be the cleanup guy.”
“That’s right. And we don’t have much time, so let’s get straight to it. Are you ready for Idrissa?”
“I think so. Wasn’t Houston supposed to find soft spots in the junta? Isn’t that why we invest in having a defense attaché who is plugged in so he can reach the generals when we need to?”
“Houston tried. But he hasn’t gotten anywhere. He said that Idrissa has the whole military hierarchy lined up already. If there are any loyalists to Maiga left in the army, they aren’t showing themselves.”
“They will. We just need to give them the opportunity. They will bend to the wind if it blows the other way.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“But I’m worried about what the embassy is telling Idrissa. I mean, what they are really telling him. Houston and Cyrus are entirely focused on security. They’re not vaguely interested in the coup. That’s not our message. Don’t they realize why I’m here?”
“Of course they do. But they are watching their backs. They have to follow our lead. I’ve got chief of mission authority, and they work in my embassy. But you know they have other masters back in Washington with their own agendas. They may even be getting mixed signals from other offices inside State.”
“Come on, Larissa. You know I can’t control all the channels coming out of Washington. I’m just trying to keep the front channel clear.”
“I know, Judd. But they are hedging. That’s how the game works.”
“I’ll deal with State. I need you to help me contain the mixed signals the embassy is sending to Idrissa. I can’t go in there and talk tough, and then have your Colonel Houston give him a wink and tell him not to worry about some Girl Scouts from the State Department. We just can’t have that.”
“I’ll make sure he understands.”
“Houston already asked me to lift the hold on military engagement, for fuck’s sake, Larissa. I’ve been here less than a day and they’re already clamoring to work with Idrissa.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. I ignored the request.”
“That won’t be the end of it. These guys aren’t built to go away just because you ignore them. You should know by now that’s not how it works.”
“I know. I’m just going to buy as much time as I can. But I need you to be open with me. I’m going to need your help.”
“You have it, Judd.”
“And what about your station chief?”
“He’s prickly, but he gets the job done.”
“I asked him about any French connection to uranium in Niger, and his face almost fell off.”
“Well, Judd, you stepped on a land mine there. Cyrus was with the Agency in Niger during the run-up to the Iraq war. You remember yellowcake? Valerie Plame, Joe Wilson, Dick Cheney? He was smack in the middle of all that.”
“Holy shit. No wonder he’s touchy. What was his role?”
“I don’t really know. But it’s definitely made him wary of visitors from Washington, D.C. You should tread carefully.”
“Good advice. I will.”
“And what about your man? That big fella you brought? Durham?”
“He goes by Bull.”
“Of course he does. Can you trust him?”
“Too early to tell. So far he seems straight up. Doesn’t say much, but he seems efficient.”
“Okay, Judd. And . . .” Larissa paused, looking down at her shoes.
“And?”
“How are you, Judd? You holding up okay?”
“Of course. Why do you ask?”
“You . . . you need to be careful.”
“What do you mean, Larissa?”
“It’s more of a hornet’s nest down here than you think. Keep things close hold. Especially now, while everything’s in flux.”
“I’m not getting you.”
“Look, Judd,” she said. Then she stopped, stuck her head out her door, peered up and down the corridor, then closed her office door and stared hard right into his eyes. “I’m going to be straight with you. There are concerns about some of your . . . acquaintances.”
“Mine?”
“I know you have friends here in Mali. We all do. But you need to be careful. Envelopes of money change hands often here in West Africa, as do loyalties. You know that.”
“Of course. I know that.”
“Idrissa will look for anything to undermine you. You can’t give him anything. Don’t underestimate him.”
“I’ll be more careful.”
“All right, then. It’s showtime. Are you ready?”
“I need three minutes and a quiet office before we go,” said Judd.
Larissa leered at him.
“I will be careful.”
Larissa hesitated, then stepped out and closed the door behind her, leaving Judd alone in her office.
Judd sat behind Larissa’s vast desk and removed his cell phone from his jacket pocket and reinstalled the battery. As he waited for the phone to power up, he noticed a small bust on her bookcase of a woman’s head, the kind tourists picked up for a few dollars at the souvenir market in central Bakamo. A small inscription at the bottom read IN APPRECIATION FOR AMERICAN SUPPORT FOR OUR COMMON FIGHT, FROM GENERAL MAMADOU K. R. IDRISSA, COMMANDER OF THE SIXTH NORTHERN ZONE. His irritation was interrupted by an answer on the other line.
“Allo?”
“This is Judd. I’m now in Bamako.”
“Ah, très bien. Very good.”
“Do you have anything new, Luc?”
“Oui. We have sent word to Mamadou Idrissa that his little game is over. It is fini. We understand he was frustrated. But now his time is up.”
“And how did he take that?”
“What do you expect? Idrissa is an arrogant bastard. His big head, it is swelling. For now, he is resisting,” said Luc.
“Well, I’m about to go see him. The car is running. I’ll give him the same message. Maybe it’ll help if he hears from the French and the Americans.”
“Yes. He will feel cornered. But we have to give him a path. I
t is too early to make an offer, but you have to give him a way out of this. He must see some escape.”
“Agreed. Speaking of escape, what are you hearing of General Diallo?”
“I think you should be telling me.”
The French were indeed paying attention.
“Yes, Luc, I saw him. Clearly, he wants to return home. Diallo definitely sees himself as the statesman to save the day. He thinks he is Mali’s savior. And he thinks Idrissa has given him another chance.”
“Yes. It is an option we will need to consider.”
“Are you encouraging him? He seems to think he has support from Paris already. What kind of signals are you sending?”
“It is far too early for anything like that.”
“Well, I’m not sure Washington is going to be too comfortable with the Diallo option. Replacing one coup plotter with another is not exactly supporting democracy.”
“I understand,” replied Luc. “But we need to keep all options open. Idrissa must not see any doors closed.”
“Are you hearing anything else?” asked Judd.
“Yes. I have the same warnings ringing in my ears that you are receiving, Judd. I am sure of it. My people in Bamako are getting the same stories. We are all hearing the same.”
“Do you believe it?”
“It doesn’t matter what you and I believe. It doesn’t even matter what is real and what is a façade, a mirage in the desert. We just need to control our people. We have to stay in front of this, or it will be lost.”
Lost.
That word hung around in Judd’s head.
“We can’t allow that, Luc.”
“Absolument, Judd. Good luck with Idrissa. Bonne chance.”
33.
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?
34.
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.”
