On Target - By Mark Greaney Page 0,47

Sudan to investigate sanctions violations concerning weapons sales from abroad.”

Oh, shit, woman, you just got yourself killed, Court thought, near disbelief at what he was hearing. How could she be so stupid?

The NSS men’s eyes grew impossibly wide, and Gennady looked away from Walsh and towards Gentry, an expression on his face like he’d just been poleaxed.

Walsh continued. “We’ve known about this flight for a long time. I was sent here to see it for myself. I can assure you my entire agency, both in Khartoum and in the Netherlands, is well aware that I am here. If I am not immediately allowed to communicate with my staff, there will be—”

Gennady shouted at her, “You lie! We were not supposed to come to Al Fashir. We were only diverted at the last moment. No one sent you here to spy on us!”

The secret policemen recovered from their surprise and stormed around the table, heading straight for Ellen Walsh.

“ICC!” Gennady began shouting outside the room to the rest of the flight crew, who were standing out in the terminal. Court couldn’t stop him from doing so. The two NSS men immediately confronted her, spun her around, and put her arms behind her back. These guys did not possess more than two speeds—off and on—and she had just flipped their switch. No doubt they were concerned about their own careers, their own lives even, allowing this woman to wander the airport while the Rosoboronexport flight was parked on the tarmac.

“You fucking Canadian whore!” shouted Gennady, turning back to the woman.

The big Russian slapped her face with his powerful hand. Court started to move forward with the objective of breaking Gennady’s jaw and pushing the NSS officers back, but he stayed himself. He was in two forms of cover at the same time, and neither of these alter egos would have any incentive to stop the secret police from detaining this woman. He could not show the Sudanese that he was anything more than a Russian cargo aircraft crewman, and he could not show the Russians that he was anything more than some dispassionate agent they were bringing into the country.

So he just stood there, watching, as the NSS men handcuffed her, and she kicked out at Gennady as he stood in front of her shouting in Russian. Soon four armed GOS soldiers stormed in, alerted no doubt by the shouting and wrestling in the interrogation room. Gentry’s Russian cohort scooted back out the door, and a couple of the other Russians peered in, with gawking stares of fascination and even amusement.

The older secret policeman grabbed her by her chin and turned her face towards his. “There is a place we take unwanted guests. I promise you that within minutes of arriving at the Ghost House, you will regret your espionage against the Republic of Sudan.”

“Espionage? I am not a spy! I have every right as a member of the international community to—”

“Don’t say another word, lady!” Court shouted aloud, no attempt now to hide his American accent and stay in cover. This fool was making her own situation direr by the second. “Just shut up and do what you’re told. You don’t know anything. Get out of here and do what you have to do, but don’t let on that you know any—”

“You speak English?” She looked at Gentry, confusion replacing her fury.

Court tried to reason with the woman in short bursts so the others would not understand. He switched to French. He hoped like hell that, as a Canadian, she understood it and hoped, also like hell, that the Sudanese did not. “You are not ICC! Do not say you are ICC, or they will kill you! Tell them you were lying. Tell them you are nobody. UN, that’s all.” One of the NSS men looked up at him in surprise but was too busy trying to pull the strong woman over to a chair to stop what he was doing.

Ellen began crying, screaming at the same time, “I don’t speak French, asshole! Do you speak English or not? Help me!”

After she was led to the chair, her small hands still cuffed behind her back, some of the soldiers cleared out, and one of the NSS men left the room to use the phone. The Russians had all returned to the concourse, sensing that the show was over.

Court remained in the room with the girl, pacing back and forth. He stepped in front of her and leaned close. Her lip bled

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