The Golden Hour

by Todd Moss

  The first report described secret surveillance of a mosque in Gao and a meeting between two suspected terrorists during Friday prayers. The report listed the case officer as “DATT1,” which he presumed to be the defense attaché. The contact source was “HOGONSIX.”

  The second report, on the activities of Pakistani traders in Kidal, also cited DATT1 as the handler and HOGONSIX as the source. The third report detailed money being passed between a Nigerian courier and a known Libyan jihadist at a café in Timbuktu. Also DATT1 and HOGONSIX. Same for the fourth report. And the fifth.

  Sunday pushed the chair back from the terminal and scratched his head. He looked over his shoulder toward the door, half expecting someone to be watching him. No one was there.

  Sunday checked his watch, then turned his attention back to the screen. He exited back to the full list of reports from Mali. He entered HOGONSIX into the search field and a new list appeared on the screen. On top, the computer flashed, “Total Found: 19.”

  45.

  NIGER RIVER CROSSING, SOUTHWEST OF TIMBUKTU

  WEDNESDAY, 4:45 P.M. GMT

  “I know you’re pissed off. Larissa, let me explain. . . .”

  “Do you know what fucking chief of fucking mission authority means, Judd? I know you think you can rise above all the goddamn government bureaucracy, but chief of mission authority means the ambassador is in charge in her country! That’s me! Just because we are friends doesn’t mean you can take advantage. I am responsible for you and I am ordering you back to the capital before you get killed!”

  “Okay, okay. I’m coming. . . .”

  “How? I have no idea how to get Durham’s chopper back up to you. I don’t even know who to call.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got a ride,” said Judd. He was standing on a small river ferry, a rusty old Toyota pickup truck packed in tight by a herd of loudly bleating goats.

  “You’re driving back to Bamako? Are you fucking kidding me, Judd? Is this one of DoD’s crazy ideas? Are you with the contractor?”

  “No, Durham’s guy had to leave. He didn’t say why. I’m driving myself back. In the Grand Imam’s pickup truck.” Judd smiled to himself, knowing what was coming next.

  “You are fucking kidding me!”

  “The Imam lent it to me.”

  “For God’s sake, don’t tell Washington.”

  “A good sign. Maybe I’m a diplomat after all?”

  “When will you be back here?” asked Larissa, ignoring Judd’s attempt to lighten the mood.

  “I need to stop in Bandiagara, but I will be back in Bamako late tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Bandiagara? What the hell for? You aren’t making any sense. Do you have any idea what’s been going on back here? Any idea at all?”

  “It will all make sense soon, Larissa. You have to trust me. I’ll be back tomorrow, no later than five o’clock.”

  “The Pentagon is having a fit that one of their envoys got shot on an unauthorized mission in a mosque up in a restricted zone, the embassy is on lockdown because of a new security threat, the intel guys have their hair on fire, and I’ve got the goddamn Senate Foreign Relations Committee chairman arriving!”

  “McCall? He’s coming here? To Mali?”

  “We’ve had a break in his daughter’s abduction. The Malians have received proof of life from the kidnappers and they assure us they can quickly resolve the situation. McCall is coming to try to get his daughter back and make sure we don’t screw it up. He lands tomorrow afternoon. See what you’ve been missing?”

  “By the Malians, you mean Idrissa? His people are handling the hostage negotiations?”

  “Right.”

  “I thought we don’t pay ransom to terrorists.”

  “We don’t. We also don’t ask questions when one of our allies offers to safely recover a senator’s daughter.”

  “That’s bullshit, Larissa, and you know it. You served in Central America.”

  “What are you talking about, Judd?”

  “School of the Americas, death squads, you remember all that? Not the finest moments in American foreign policy. I just want to be sure we aren’t making the same mistakes all over again.”

  “We won the Cold War, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Of course we did. And the Soviet Union could have annihilated us. Just like al-Qaeda wants to do. But I also know we also got played by every tin-pot dictator who knew we would jump whenever they shouted, ‘Communist.’ Jump or turn a blind eye.”

  “Judd, you aren’t making sense.”

  “That’s why I’m up in Timbuktu. That’s why I’m going to Bandiagara.”

  “What do you know that I don’t?”

  “I can’t say for sure yet, but this whole thing is wrong. I think you know it, too. It’s all ghosts.”

  “I don’t know anything of the sort.”

  “Okay, fine. What about Maiga? Any news on him?”

  “Nothing. Right now we are on heightened alert. That’s all we are focused on. We are anticipating an attack on a military installation or possibly a foreign embassy. We are pulling everyone in. That includes you.”

  “Attack? What kind of reports?”

  “I can’t say anything on a goddamn unsecure cell phone.”

  “Is it Ansar?”

  “Come on, Judd. It’s credible and imminent, that’s all we need to know. The fact that they tried to kill you and Durham only corroborates the seriousness of the threat. They have already targeted U.S. personnel and wounded a special Pentagon envoy. You see where this is going, don’t you?”

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  “Well, you better get yourself together, Judd. A Task Force Mali meeting is scheduled for nine p.m. tonight. You are supposed to be back here to run it from the embassy videophone. I don’t know what to tell them.”

  “Postpone it. I need more time.”

  “You can’t do that. Rogerson is already wheels up. Everyone knows he’s on his way back and they are just waiting for it. Once he lands in Washington tomorrow morning, it’s his task force. You are being overthrown.”

  A coup d’état. How ironic.

  “Judd, it’s over.”

  “Don’t give up on me now, Larissa. Patch me in at nine o’clock and I’ll run it by phone.”

  No reply.

  “I’ll take that as a yes, Madam Ambassador.”

  “Judd, you’ve got another problem.”

  “What is it?”

  “I was hoping to talk to you in person, but it obviously can’t wait.”

  “What is it?”

  “Does the name Papa Toure mean anything to you?”

  “Why?”

  “He’s the guy in Idrissa’s photographs. The courier. The one accepting the envelope of cash.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “The Malians now say they have a thick dossier on this guy. They say they have evidence he is running money from radicals in northern Nigeria into Mali. And they believe the envelope pass they witnessed on Monday evening was part of the payoff for the current terrorist plot. Idrissa is willing to share the whole file with us, but on the condition that we help take the target down. Houston wants to unleash his guys to help the Scorpions capture or kill this Papa Toure. And his coconspirators. Before it’s too late.”

  “But our military cooperation is suspended.”

  “Houston can request an exception, given the circumstances, and what do you think Washington will say? I’ll be forced to agree.”

  “We can’t let that happen.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re wrong.”

  “Is that because . . . you do know him?”

  “Larissa, I can’t explain on the phone.”

  “Judd, Malian intelligence is linking Toure directly to . . . you. Is that true?”

&nbs
p; No answer.

  “And it gets worse, Judd. They also claim they have proof that you have been feeding this man information. Judd, is this true? Have you been in contact with this Papa Toure? Why would you be in touch with such a person? Fine to lie to Idrissa, but why would you be lying to me?”

  Fuck.

  “Judd, my neck is on the line here, too. What the hell is going on here?”

  “Larissa, look.” Judd took a deep breath. “Yes, I do know him. I’ve known him for years. But he’s not what they’re saying. He’s no radical. He’s a goddamn hydrologist. You have to trust me on this. The reports are all bullshit. Papa is straight. I’ll stake my career on it.”

  “You already have, Judd.”

  “Don’t worry, Larissa.”

  “It’s too late, I’m beyond worried. Either you have gotten way out of your depth, Judd, or someone is coming after you. Someone serious. I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  No reply.

  “Just hold off Houston as long as you can. Will you do that for me?”

  No reply.

  “Larissa, will you? Please?”

  “Yes,” she said, with a loud exhale. “I will try. But you better hurry up. Once Rogerson is back, I won’t be able to protect you.”

  “I understand. One last question. Were any of your people from the embassy in Britain last week?”

  “What? Why?”

  “Please, Larissa. Were any of your people in Great Britain last week?”

  “Well, yes, Colonel Houston was in Wilton Park outside London for a security conference. How is that remotely relevant?”

  “It’s relevant. He’s the soccer fan, right?”

  “Yes. He’s a big soccer fan.”

  “I’ll bet he roots for Chelsea, right?”

  “Who knows? Judd, at a time like this, how can a soccer team possibly matter?”

  “Thank you, Larissa. It does.” Click.

  46.

  UNKNOWN LOCATION

  WEDNESDAY, 6:40 P.M. GMT

  The ropes were so tight they had rubbed away the skin around Katie’s wrists, creating bracelets of red, raw flesh. But her hands had gone numb, so it wasn’t her wrists that hurt. It was her ribs. Each time the truck crested and then skidded down a dune, she slid helplessly, like a sack of yams, against the side of the open truck bay. Engine roar, slide, thud, crack.

  Katie was blindfolded but could see speckles of waning daylight through the cloth wrapped around her eyes. She could feel the Saharan heat that had yet to subside. She’d lost track of time, but comforted herself with the small knowledge that it was still daytime. And she knew that she was being taken far away. It had been several hours of driving, a daylong roller coaster up and over the soft sand dunes. Painful, but probably good signs. Progress?

  The rhythmic motion reminded her of the summer she’d spent sailing across the Atlantic on her college roommate’s father’s yacht. What a summer! Sailing from Boston to the French Riviera sounded so glamorous, so luxurious and carefree. The kind of thing she dreamed about. What it meant to be worldly. She hadn’t bargained for the hard work, the sleepless nights, the exhaustion. The seasickness. She was especially unprepared for the endless, relentless waves of the open sea. Desert and ocean, perhaps not the opposites she once thought.

  At the peak of the next sand dune, she could hear the truck’s engine roar. She clenched her teeth, her stomach churned, and she tried again, fruitlessly, to brace herself. Slide, thud, crack. Please, God, when will this end?

  No, wait, she thought. That’s not the right question. What I really need to know: Where are they taking me?

  47.

  SAHARA DESERT, SOUTHWEST OF TIMBUKTU

  WEDNESDAY, 9:00 P.M. GMT

  HOURS SINCE THE COUP: SIXTY-FIVE

  “Sorry, everybody, we had to reschedule this task force meeting so many times. I appreciate the flexibility. I’m also sorry I can’t be there in person, but these are unusual circumstances. It’s now four o’clock Eastern Standard Time. Let’s get down to business.”

  “Where exactly are you, Dr. Ryker?”

  Good question. “I’m sorry. I can’t say.” Judd rotated 360 degrees, peering out into the darkness over the vast desertscape all around him. I’m not lying.

  Judd was alone atop a desolate sand dune. He held his cell phone to his ear, underneath a head wrap keeping the blowing sand from his face. Even though it had been several hours since sunset, his shirt was drenched with sweat.

  “We’ve got Embassy Bamako on the line, right?” asked Judd. “We should be scrambled and secure. Ambassador, what are the latest conditions on the ground?”

  “Thank you, Dr. Ryker. Bamako appears to be calm. We are unaware of any significant changes in the political situation.” Larissa had an odd waver in her voice. “However, everyone, we have a new and serious security development, to which I’m turning the floor over to my defense attaché, Colonel Randy Houston.”

  Judd realized he recognized Larissa’s waver. Terror.

  “Thank you, Ambassador James,” said Houston. He sounded hyped up and confident. Bordering on giddy. “A few hours ago, we received a disturbing report directly from the Malian military that early this morning a Scorpion strike team, one of the units that we trained under the regional security platform, was ambushed while on patrol north of Timbuktu. All indications are that the Scorpions were attacked by an active cell of Ansar al-Sahra, led by a notorious terrorist named Bazu Ag Ali. We are gathering additional information on this character and his whereabouts. Because of the pullback order following the coup, we did not have any Americans embedded with the strike team at that time. That means no U.S. casualties. I repeat, no American personnel were directly involved or have been harmed. But the exclusion order also means we have no U.S. eyes to corroborate the attack or any of the details. We believe the entire team is KIA. The initial report indicates that their throats were slit, the bodies dismembered and displayed in a gruesome manner that I will not describe now. The killings are similar to what we’ve seen terrorists do in Iraq and Afghanistan. This attack by Bazu Ag Ali’s cell has all the hallmarks of al-Qaeda.”

  He waited a moment to let those listening use their imagination. “The bodies were discovered by a Tuareg civilian who is now in custody for his own protection. We will assess photos when they come in to verify the reporting, and we will attempt to debrief the civilian in coming days. In the absence of countervailing evidence, we are treating this incident as an indicator of the acceleration of the ambition and capacity of Ansar al-Sahra.”

  Houston paused and the line was dead silent. He continued, “Our initial assessment was that the attack was designed to send us a message, but we weren’t sure what that message might be. Now I believe we do know. Within the past thirty minutes, we received new information that Ansar’s next target may be U.S. Embassy Bamako. We have indications that Bazu Ag Ali is planning an imminent attack, possibly within the next twenty-four hours. As a precaution, we have locked down the embassy, shut down consular services until further notice, expanded the setback perimeter, and pulled in all our people. Most have now complied.”

  Judd shook his head. Subtle dig.

  “We are, of course, still assessing the information and cross-checking it with SIGINT data and other intelligence. But as of now, the local authorities believe the threat is credible. Our assessment concurs. We are therefore treating the threat as credible.”

  We get it. You think it’s credible.

  “This is State counterterrorism office,” interrupted a voice. “Does this new information suggest that Task Force Mali should be shifting from coup reversal to a security and counterterrorism mandate? My office would support such a change, given the circumstances, and I have it on authority that the White House and Pentagon concur. What does the seventh floor think? Has Landon Park
er weighed in here?”

  “No,” interjected Judd. “I have no new instructions directly from Mr. Parker or the Secretary. That means no new mandate. This task force is chaired by S/CRU and we are still under direction to reverse the coup. Those are our orders. Embassy Bamako, continue with lockdown protocols. I am confident that Ambassador James and her team will take all necessary measures to keep everyone safe. And please keep us apprised of any additional developments. Do we have any updates on President Maiga or his condition?”

  “This is narcotics and law enforcement. We have new reporting that President Maiga may have been using his old bank, BamakoSun Bank, to transfer funds for a Russian mining company that we now believe is a front company for narcotics smuggling in West Africa. There are Russians running cocaine from the coast, up through the ungoverned parts of Mali, and then into Europe via Algeria and Tunisia. We have other sources indicating suspicious Russian Antonovs landing at a remote airfield in the north, coming in via Yemen with unknown cargo. The new Malian attorney general has shared with our FBI liaison that he has a growing dossier on President Maiga’s business interests and plans to bring formal corruption and money-laundering charges, possibly as early as tomorrow. He shared in confidence that presidential immunity from prosecution may be on the table as part of his resignation negotiations. We understand those negotiations are already under way.”

  Resignation negotiations under way? A new attorney general assembled a dossier in just two days? Nothing in Africa happens this fast.

  “Mali’s attorney general has also requested that the U.S. Department of Justice freeze bank accounts linked to Maiga here in Washington. His daughter, Tata Maiga, is living here and has an account at the Georgetown branch of SunCity Bank. They are asking DoJ to scan for suspicious transactions and to put an FBI tail on her.”

  “This is S/CT again. We also have fresh reporting on Maiga. We suspected he was soft on extremists, but there may be additional evidence that he was channeling Saudi funds to disaffected Imams in the north using couriers based out of Nigeria. We will check for a SunCity Bank link, or anything connected to his daughter.”