operational security in stride. He stormed past the thick man and out into the concourse. He saw the woman and Gennady walking towards the stairwell to the side exit, she with her backpack on her shoulder, he with his plate of food in his hand.
“For God’s sake,” Court said softly. He thought about grabbing Gennady by his mop of red hair, dragging him into a corner, and telling him he was going to call the Saint Petersburg mob, who had set up his mission in the first place. One call from Court, and Sid would have Gennady’s family thrown into a van in half an hour flat. Gennady would do what he was told if only Gentry dropped Sidorenko’s name.
Then Court saw the airport security officials, standing around bored behind a high counter.
Yes, this was the best option. He could impress upon the Sudanese that this UN do-gooder was hassling the secret flight of Russian armaments.
It would make trouble for the woman, no question about it, but only until he and the Russians got into the air. If she and her curiosity could just be held in check until wheels up, Court could be on his way and get this wasted day behind him.
Court’s operational security would remain in place, the woman from the UN would learn nothing that would impede this flight or his next flight in three days’ time, and the Russian aircrew would not learn anything they did not need to know about Gentry and his employers.
“English?” Court asked the bored young airport security policeman. The African shook his head, as did the man next to him.
“Français?” Again, a shake of both heads.
“Okay,” said Court in English, before reluctantly switching to Arabic. “Asalaam Alaykum.”
“Wa Alaykum as-Salaam,” came the polite but officious-sounding reply from both men.
Court continued in Arabic. “I must speak to your superior.”
“What is the problem?”
“I am with Russian plane. There is small security problem.”
The policeman nodded, spoke softly into a handheld radio. Court could not understand the rapid Sudanese Arabic. The cop looked back up at Gentry. “Wait one moment.”
In under a minute two small-framed bearded men in black coats and ties appeared. One was probably not yet thirty, the other a decade or so older. Their suits were uniform; Gentry noticed the imprint of handguns on their hips, and he immediately suspected these men were from the National Security Service, the Sudanese secret police.
Oops. Thought Court. Not these assholes. He’d not intended to make that much fuss over the woman.
Both NSS men spoke English, and Court took the senior officer aside. He was small and wiry, and he wore thick glasses with frames too wide for his oval face. There was nothing menacing or threatening about him, but the fact was he and his subordinate held authority over all around. Security guards, airport officials, local police, even the Government of Sudan officers and enlisted men here knew to stay out of the way of the NSS.
Court said, “The woman. The white woman. Who is she?”
The man shrugged and waved his hand dismissively. “She is Canadian. We were told to not let her out of the airport grounds but not to arrest her. She is just UNAMID relief worker; all her papers are in order, except she did not have the stamp in her documents to allow her entry into Zam Zam camp.”
“I think she wants to make trouble for us.”
“She is not important; she is just a kawaga stuck here at the airport, waiting to go back to Khartoum.”
“A kawaga?”
“A white person. Sorry.”
“She is asking questions about the aircraft and the cargo.”
That got the NSS man’s attention. He seemed to put together the fact that the Rosoboronexport flight was not supposed to be in Darfur, and a Westerner was here, putting that very fact together herself. Court felt bad about turning the woman in to operatives of the National Security Service. They were tier-one assholes, Court knew. He’d hoped to just arouse the interest of airport security. But now, like it or not, the NSS was involved. If they acted on his information, she’d no doubt be detained for hours. Who knew, Court thought to himself, she might even get tossed out of the country if they were worried enough about her interest in the Russians.
No more passing out blankets and bottled water for her.
Still, he needed to get on with his mission; his mission was paramount, and he was not above using these NSS goons to help him shoo this annoying little bug