his plane and drop to her bag, pull out a book, and thumb through it. He watched her pause to read the page, then stand slowly with her hands on her hips. Then she began retreating, slowly but unmistakably, to the terminal, well aware, Gentry had a strong suspicion, that the aircraft behind her was not supposed to be there.
Yep, this white woman was definitely going to be a problem.
Court remained in the background of the conversation and listened to the pilot Gennady speak English with the Sudanese military officials at the foot of the ramp. The trucks coming to off-load the guns were behind schedule; it would be another hour before they reached the airport. Fuel for the Ilyushin was available and would be provided immediately, and an airport official would show the men the way to the washrooms and the restaurant. They had parked alone at the far end of the taxiway. This was to keep the few civilians and foreign aid workers milling about the terminal from getting near enough to the unmarked cargo plane to see something they shouldn’t. Still, Gennady and his flight crew were invited by the Sudanese to enjoy the comforts of the terminal while they waited for the plane to be unloaded and refueled.
After the Sudanese had wandered off, Gentry asked Gennady to keep his men on the aircraft. From a security perspective, Court saw no benefit in the Russian men wandering among civilians. But the pilot was in charge, not the stowaway, and he told his men they would be wheels up in three hours and would need to be back to the aircraft in two, but until then they could do as they pleased.
Twenty minutes later Court and the Ilyushin’s flight crew stepped out of the oppressive late afternoon heat and into a stairwell at a side entrance to the terminal’s concourse. Court almost stayed behind himself, but he wanted to keep his eyes on the Russians to make sure they behaved themselves. He did not have any gear with him at all. His gun remained back on the plane in his pack. He had no idea what security measures he might find here and did not want to run the risk of getting frisked by some local version of the TSA. Only his wallet full of euros, rubles, and Sudanese pounds bulged the lines of his olive-drab flight suit. The stairs led up one level into a nearly empty concourse, smaller than a typical American supermarket. A few locals milled about, and GOS soldiers sat on the floor or strolled around with their assault rifles hanging upside down off their backs. The flight crew, with their secret foreigner hidden in with them, found the bathrooms and used them, then found the tiny restaurant and sat down. A waiter who proclaimed himself Egyptian, as if these Russians cared, energetically greeted the men and passed around menus. None of the Russians spoke Arabic. Court, on the other hand, had spent more than enough time in the Arab-speaking world to order a meal, but he held his tongue. He was not about to differentiate himself from the rest of the flight crew by becoming their translator.
Gennady ordered for the table. He’d been here in Al Fashir many times before, which, Gentry realized, should not have come as a surprise. Flagrant disregard for international sanctions by the government of an African despot was de rigueur, as was the Russians’ eagerness to benefit from it, as was the United Nations’ shock and outrage each and every single time that they became aware of it.
While they waited for their food, Court’s eyes continued scanning the environment. They were still adjusting to the low light inside the terminal compared to that on the tarmac. He looked back over his shoulder down the hallway and cringed inwardly.
Shit. Here comes the white woman.
This he didn’t need.
“Excuse me. Do any of you gentlemen speak English?” Ellen smiled broadly, directing her question towards the pilot as she knelt next to him at the head of the table. She could tell he was in command by his countenance and bearing; he sat erect at the table full of men in sweat-soaked jumpsuits.
There were five men in the flight crew; all wore matching green uniforms, no names or emblems or markings of any kind. None of the men were particularly military looking in their hairstyles or fitness levels, but Ellen knew better than to draw too many conclusions too quickly. These could