by Todd Moss
“Diallo is dead,” said Idrissa dismissively.
“But I saw him at the airport!” insisted Larissa James. “Barely an hour ago! We all saw your men take him into custody!”
“Yes, he arrived home today. But General Diallo died in an unfortunate accident. It happens in Africa.”
“What about my daughter? Where is she?” demanded the senator, turning sharply toward Idrissa.
“I don’t know. Your Dr. Ryker and his wild fantasies have put her life at risk,” said Idrissa, shaking his head. “She is still in the custody of the terrorists, and there may be nothing we can do to save her now.”
The doors burst open. “Daddy!” Katie McCall rushed into the room and into the senator’s arms. They were quickly enveloped in a bubble of security men.
Judd looked around, as surprised as the rest of the room. Trailing behind the girl was a calm Bull Durham, his arm wrapped in a sling, wearing a huge grin.
Judd gave Durham a puzzled look.
“Who else can get a Black Hawk in Mali on short notice?” He was still smiling. “Not you.”
Judd nodded in agreement.
“You know, there’s an old saying we use in Afghanistan about working with what you have,” continued Durham. “‘Until the desert knows that water grows, his sands suffice.’”
“Jessica?” asked a wide-eyed Judd.
“It’s Emily Dickinson. Who’s Jessica?” asked Durham, with a shrug.
Larissa turned to Cyrus. “Did you have anything to do with this?”
“No, ma’am,” he replied firmly.
Senator McCall interrupted. “I still don’t know what in the name of sweet Jesus is going on here. Why on earth would they do all this to us and to my little girl?” he asked.
“The bombing, the kidnapping, the sniper attack, the terrorist warnings,” said Judd, regaining his composure and stepping forward. “They were all meant to create a false sense of insecurity. To get us nervous about terrorists, more forward-leaning on equipment and cooperation. And to soften us up for his power grab. When President Maiga learned what was happening and tried to stop it, Idrissa arrested him. Then Idrissa set up Diallo and Bazu Ag Ali to take the fall. And we played right into his hands. It very nearly worked.”
Larissa James then asked the question suddenly on everyone’s mind: “So . . . now what . . . ?”
All eyes turned to President Boubacar Maiga.
Maiga looked around, assessing the room. He nodded in satisfaction. Maiga gracefully stood tall, puffed out his chest, and inhaled deeply.
The crowd was frozen in anticipation. The big man had yet to speak, but he had already recaptured his audience. Idrissa sunk meekly into his chair. The Red Berets surrounding the Americans retreated, then silently stood at attention behind Maiga.
President Maiga spread his arms wide.
“My brothers . . .”
62.
U.S. EMBASSY, BAMAKO
THURSDAY, 7:45 P.M. GMT
Senator Bryce McCall stepped up to the podium. A volley of camera flashes erupted, and the television cameramen zoomed in close to record this historic event. The podium was adorned with a bouquet of microphones on top and a seal on the front that read UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF STATE. Behind him were the red, white, and blue of the American flag, alongside the green, yellow, and red of Mali’s flag. Ambassador Larissa James stood behind him, just within the camera shot. Next to her was Colonel Randy Houston, wearing a freshly pressed formal service uniform adorned with medals, and a dark green beret. Judd leaned against the back wall, strategically positioned near the exit.
“Thank you for coming to this press conference on such short notice. As you all just heard a few minutes ago, President Boubacar Maiga addressed his nation on national television to report the successful resolution of the political crisis in Mali. President Maiga, a long and reliable friend of the United States, has fully resumed the powers and duties of head of state of the Republic of Mali. The military officers who were responsible for the temporary situation have agreed to stand down and retire to their home villages. This is a triumph for democracy in Africa and for the peaceful resolution of political differences.
“The events of today are also a victory for American diplomacy. I began my peace mission to Mali today with modest hopes for bringing together the parties and avoiding bloodshed. I am so pleased that my efforts as mediator produced this positive result. Our quick and responsive diplomacy contributed to today’s outcome, and our bilateral security cooperation provided the enabling environment for the transition of power back to President Maiga this evening. Thanks to the hard work of the mediators, harmonious cooperation of the different branches of the United States government, and extensive support from the international community, we have been able to resolve this situation in a way that will strengthen Mali’s democracy and cement the resolve of Mali and her partners to fight the international scourge of terrorism.
“I want to also congratulate President Maiga for his leadership at home and his partnership in the region. I cannot confirm any details at this time, but an attack by a new and even more lethal terrorist group known as Ansar al-Sahra was successfully repelled earlier today by Malian security forces, working hand in hand with American advisors. While this new threat is disturbing, the failure of today’s attack, even in the midst of our political negotiations, is a sign of Mali’s growing capability to secure its own borders and its importance as a national security partner of the United States. Therefore, I am pleased today to announce that the United States will soon launch the U.S.-Mali Transnational Threat Containment Initiative. The USMTTCI is an expanded partnership that will include enhanced training, advanced high-tech equipment, joint exercises, advisors in the field, and other collaborative efforts to further strengthen our mutual commitment to fighting terrorists like Ansar al-Sahra in every corner of the earth. . . .”
Judd quietly slipped out the door before the senator finished his speech.
EPILOGUE
KITTY HAWK, OUTER BANKS, NORTH CAROLINA
FRIDAY, 6:05 P.M. EST
HOURS SINCE THE COUP: ONE HUNDRED FOURTEEN
Jessica reclined in a beach chair at the water’s edge. The sun was just starting to touch the horizon. She watched over her two young boys playing in the sand. Building a castle with tall spires and perpendicular sticks protruding from the corners, they were just out of earshot.
Jessica wore a simple black bikini and straw cowboy hat, which mostly obscured the headset into which she was talking quietly.
“Let’s make sure the whole Purple Cell team gets recognized for their work this time. I don’t want it to play out like the Nairobi affair. We need to avoid that. You understand?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied Cyrus.
“And our man in Germany, too. Let’s take care of him. We may need to conjure up a chopper again, and we’re going to need his assets. Let’s keep him sweet.”
“Yes, ma’am. Anything else?”
“I’ll be recommending service awards for Ezekiel and Sunday. They certainly deserve it. Papa, too.”
“I agree. They performed above and beyond. I hope the senator sees to it to weigh in on their behalf as well.”
“I doubt it.” Jessica spied the headlights of a taxicab pulling up to the beach house. “I think we are done here. Until next time.”
“Ma’am . . . I’m sorry to ask, but do we need any . . . er . . . cleanup on your end?”
“Meaning what, precisely?” Jessica watched Judd step out of the cab and pay the driver.
“Is your cover blown, ma’am?”
“No.” Judd was on the pathway, walking toward the beach. “I think we are all set.”
“Are you certain, ma’am? We can have a team put together a new backstory. We can have the whole Purple Cell sanitized.”
“Negative. Not necessary.” Jess
ica unclipped the headset and slid it into her beach bag. She removed her hat to let the gentle ocean breeze blow through her hair. She turned away from Judd’s approach and picked up a goblet of chilled white wine, the glass speckled with drops of condensation.
“Hi, Jess.” Judd dropped his duffel bag in the sand and bent down to plant a long, soft kiss on her lips.
“Daddy, Daddy! Look at our sand castle!”
“Fantastic, boys. Looks just like the Great Mosque of Timbuktu.”
“So, did you fix it?” Jessica got right to the point while handing him a glass and pulling a wine bottle out of her beach bag.
“Not really. Things are calm in Bamako. Maiga is president again.”
She delicately poured wine into his glass. “Well, that sounds fixed to me. Isn’t that exactly the outcome we wanted?”
“Idrissa will retire. Diallo is the scapegoat, but he’s dead.”
“I see. Not ideal, but still a good result.”
“Yes, I suppose.”
“And you did it in less than a hundred hours, right?”
“I guess so, yes. About eighty-five hours. If I were counting.”
“Right. So you just proved the Golden Hour? Let’s toast.” She held up her glass.
“No.”
“No?” She dropped her arm. “Well, then maybe you need to go back to the drawing board.”
Judd didn’t answer.
“Maybe your little experiment in government is coming to an end and it’s time for you to go back to your students. Maybe it’s time for us to all go back home?”
“I don’t think so. Not yet.”
“Maybe you need to go back to your data, Judd.”
“My data didn’t reverse the coup in Mali. Neither did whatever you’ll read tomorrow in a tiny story buried in the back pages of the Post.”
“I see. . . . Then, Judd, dear,” Jessica asked with a suppressed smile, “how did you do it?”
Judd finally raised his glass. “Backchannel.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Golden Hour would never have been possible without the opportunity to work inside the U.S. government, an experience for which I am grateful to many people, but especially Jendayi Frazer and Bobby Pittman. I want to thank all those who read early drafts and helped to make the story both more readable and more realistic, including Bill Trombley, Bobby Pittman, Tony Fratto, Charles Kenny, Markus Goldstein, Dennis Moss, Kassy Kebede, and Liya Kebede. I am appreciative of the many supporters who helped me to navigate the new world of fiction, in particular Evan and Leslie Semegran, Charlie Spicer, Jeffrey Krilla, Stephanie Hanson, Tammy Poggo, Lynne Rienner, Dennis Wholey, Arvind Subramanian, Basia Sall, and Tammi Sharpe.
Some of the references in the story come from Eamonn Gearon’s wonderful The Sahara: A Cultural History.
Huge thanks go to my agent, Josh Getzler, for championing this project with such energy and support. I’m also thankful to Amanda Newman for her enthusiasm for the book and her fortuitous timing in watching BBC News. Thanks to Danielle Burby at HSG and Sara Minnich at Putnam for their patience and diligence.
I’m eternally grateful for the advice, and humbled by the trust, from my editor, Neil Nyren.
Most of all, I thank my family, Gabriel, Leo, Max, and especially Donna, without whose love, encouragement, and sensible editing this never would have been completed. Yallah!
