On Target - By Mark Greaney Page 0,43

If she was married—no. Where she was from—Vancouver. How long she’d been in the Sudan—a month. Court saw no deception in any of the answers she gave. But he did notice her looking at him, perhaps picking up on his scrutiny of her, and this caused Gentry to look away again.

They are all buying it except the darker one. He is suspicious. He knows I am full of shit.

Ellen tried to give a big smile to the man at the end of the table, but he turned away, bored. Unlike the rest of the crew, he did not leer at her. No, other than his earlier comment to Gennady, he had not been a part of the conversation, but it was clear to her he was listening. Either he understood her perfectly or he was struggling to do so.

But more important than the quiet man at the end of the table was the big airplane at the end of the taxiway. She just had to get a closer look at it, take a picture or two, somehow get some more intelligence on this flight into the heart of north Darfur. She wondered if even now the GOS army was taking the cargo off the plane.

“Will you have to unload your airplane yourself, or do you have someone from the oil company to do it?”

“The Sudanese will do it,” said Gennady, and immediately followed with, “It will be an hour more, at least. My men will go back and help them, but I can stay with you and enjoy another tea.” He smiled, she smiled, and the quiet man at the end of the table looked to his pilot. He spoke to him in Russian; Ellen did not understand a word.

“I don’t trust her. Too many questions,” Court said it in Russian and was totally unconcerned that the woman would recognize his distrust from his tone.

Gennady looked away from the woman and towards Gentry. His reply in Russian, as well. “I don’t need to trust her. I am not going to marry her. I’m going to fuck her. She’d look okay with a bath and some makeup.”

Court sighed. “We leave in two hours.”

“I don’t mean now, although that is plenty of time. I mean on my next trip to Khartoum. I am setting the table right now. When I next go to Khartoum, I will eat my meal.”

Ellen followed the conversation around the table with her eyes. Obviously she did not understand.

Court sighed again. He thought about dropping Sidorenko’s name. This would likely terrify Gennady into complying with his unauthorized passenger. But he did not. “Let’s just get our food and return to the plane.”

“That is a good idea. You and the boys leave me and Miss Canada alone.” Gennady laughed heartily, as did the other men.

Court just looked away, angry but controlling his anger.

“Why do I get the feeling you are talking about me?” Ellen Walsh asked with a smile.

Court stood without a word and began heading back to the aircraft. He wouldn’t wait for his food. He’d just eat the dry rations in his bag.

SEVENTEEN

Gentry stopped again in the restroom. He washed his face slowly to calm himself. He decided to pop some hydrocodone when he got back to his backpack; it would help him relax on the flight back to Belarus, and it couldn’t hurt anything; he wouldn’t be operational again for a few days.

But first he had to watch out for this Canadian woman. Personally, he was all for someone taking note of what the Russians were doing here, calling a newspaper, an international organization, blowing the lid off of the sanctions violations. But just not right now. Court would need this shady arrangement to continue at least until his operation was complete. A Westerner making trouble for the Rosoboronexport flights, thereby throwing a wrench into his means of insertion into the Sudan, absolutely could not be tolerated.

He’d just turned the spigot off and dried his hands on his coveralls when the navigator entered behind him. He nodded to the American and said, “Gennady is taking the girl to show her the plane.” Court could tell the navigator was not crazy about the idea, but the Russian just shrugged good-naturedly about it. “Vlady and I have a bet. I think he’s going to do her in the cockpit, Vlady says Gennady’s going to get his face slapped. You want in on the bet, friend?”

Unlike the navigator, Gentry had no intention of taking the pilot’s obscene breach of

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