they have been working secretly on some big-ass trade deal with the Chinks, were going to announce it next month in Beijing.”
“So?”
“So the White House has ordered the director of National Intelligence to order Denny to order us to exfiltrate immediately, just drop all our shit and go. They do not want CIA fingerprints anywhere near the Sudan operation, for fear it would jeopardize the deal.”
“What about me?”
“I’m going to pick you up in the sub. I can be at the mangrove swamp at midnight. Can you make it by then, or do you need to go on another bender with your party drugs?”
“I can be there, but what’s all this going to do to Nocturne Sapphire?”
“There is no Nocturne Sapphire, and we all need to forget that there ever was. The rug’s been pulled out from under us. We just need to get out of Sudanese waters, get down to Eritrea, and not get compromised. Sudan Station will dump all the blame for this on the SLA.”
Court looked out at the grasses blowing in the evening breeze. “But . . . what the hell am I supposed to do with Abboud?”
“Give the fucker a dirt nap,” Zack said flatly.
Court hesitated. “But . . . he’s the one that can convince his people what the Russians are up to.”
“We’re not supposed to be here. There is no way we can hand Abboud over to the ICC now. Think about it! If we hand Abboud to the Euros, the Chinese Communists will get wind of it, and the Chicoms will pull out of the deal.”
“But Abboud is more important alive than dead. Isn’t that what the White House has been thinking all along?”
“Yeah, but the knockdown of the Chinese chopper was a game changer.”
Court shook his head in disbelief. “It’s a trade agreement. What is one trade deal in the scheme of things?”
“It makes the politicians look good.”
“So would ending an African genocide!”
“Not by risking a superpower war! The average Joe in the USA does not want to hear about us shooting it out with the Chinese over some dumb savages living in mud huts.”
“The Chinese aren’t going to go to war over this.”
“What are you, a fucking poli-sci PhD now? You are an operator, not a diplomat. The dips have their job and you have yours. Abboud needs to die! Kill the fuck! That’s an order!”
But Gentry would not let it go. “The only way to stop what is going to happen is with Abboud alive, in front of a camera, laying out to his people the involvement of the Russians and Chinese in his country’s internal affairs. That was the original motivation behind Nocturne Sapphire, because that is the only thing that will work. It can’t be done any other way.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen. You’re going to cap him and get your ass to the northern tip of the mangrove swamp for the exfil. What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you’d be happy to dump some hollow points into that bastard’s snot box.”
“C’mon, Zack! We extract Abboud from here, get him to The Hague, and we can stop a war!”
“It’s not our job to stop a war! It’s our job to do our job, and our job is to waste Abboud, dump his corpse by the side of the road, and then get our happy asses out of here!”
Court’s jaw tightened, and he leaned his head back on the rear bumper of the Skoda sedan. “I need to think it over.”
“Think it over? Who the fuck do you think you are? You do what—”
“I’ll call you back. Six out.” Court ended the call. He dropped the phone to the grass and dropped his head into his hands.
Dammit. Court knew he could stand up right now, walk back into the shack, and put a nine-millimeter bullet into the head of the president of the Republic of Sudan without a single shred of remorse for the act. The man was a monster, certifiable and dangerous.
Go kill him. Just get up and go kill him.
But he understood the logic that Oryx’s power could now be turned back against the atrocities and used for good. Yeah, it was complete and utter bullshit that down the road he’d get the last laugh. He’d be banging hookers in Havana after a lifetime of murder and corruption.
But hell, Court thought, that’s a problem for another day. Gentry himself could go to Cuba on his own dime and settle that score. He’d