Ellen waltz into the camp at Dirra. She would reveal all about their sanctions violation. They would not wait for UNAMID peacekeepers to link up with the aid convoy. Then they would be outgunned, even if the gunners themselves were not particularly energetic about using their weapons.
No, Court thought, if he were running the NSS, he would hit them as soon as possible, out here in the open. Kill everyone in the little convoy so as not to put the focus on the ICC woman as the target of the attack.
He thought about all these possibilities for less than a minute. Processing them in his fertile brain, a brain conditioned to danger, to battle, to intrigue, to deceit, and to threat.
The NSS might be able to get a platoon of GOS soldiers in the area mustered in time to cut off the convoy. But that did not seem likely. They were only a few hours from their destination.
No, the NSS had communications with and control of another fighting force who would be right in the area and ready to do their bidding.
Oh God, he thought. Not those assholes.
As much as he hated to admit it, Gentry could only see one likely conclusion. He nodded to himself. The muscles in his jaw flexed with resolve. He looked to Bishara.
“Give me a map.”
Bishara fumbled through some papers on the floorboard. While he did so, he laughed. “Why you need a map? There’s only one road. You can’t get lost out here, man.” Still, he pulled out the folded map, and Gentry took it from him quickly and began studying it.
It was nearly featureless, but there were some fatal funnels in the landscape, shallow crevices and narrow valleys that they would have to negotiate on the way to Dirra. Any one of these places would be a good place to be hit.
“Listen to me, kid. We’re going to be attacked. Out here, on the road.”
Bishara’s bright brown eyes widened. “Attacked? Who gonna attack us?”
Court looked past the young Darfuri, out the passenger window, and into the near infinite landscape. The terrain rose to the south, fat acacia as big as boxcars amid dry hillocks protruding in the distance.
Court’s voice was strong, but the nerves showed in its tone. “The Janjaweed.”
The young black man cocked his head. Waved a hand in the cabin as if swatting a fly. “Nah, man.”
Gentry turned to the driver. “Your gun. I need your gun.”
Bishara answered for the older man, who spoke no English. “We don’t have no gun, man.”
“C’mon! I know you guys must keep something stashed in case the Janjas come. I’m not with the UN, I won’t tell. We’re going to get hit, and I need your AK, to watch for them.”
“No gun, man. And no Janjas gonna come. We are SI.”
“Doesn’t matter today,” said Court. He thought about his options. He could get on the radio, call up front to Bianchi and have the convoy stop. Then he could tell him of the danger he just caused, have him stay off the radio, and return to Al Fashir.
No, too many variables. What if Bianchi didn’t comply? What if the NSS or the GOS army was racing from Al Fashir along this very road to catch up with them, in which case slowing to chat or turning back would only put the convoy in more danger.
No, the best thing they could do was to press on, try to get to the relative safety of the IDP camp near Dirra before the raiders appeared on a hilltop.
It was something to hope for, but it certainly didn’t mean the Gray Man was going to just sit there with his fingers crossed.
He now tried to channel the mind of the commander of a gang of armed horsemen out here in the desert. What would his plan be?
Shit. He had no idea. Gentry possessed some training in small unit tactics. But not on fucking horseback. This was new territory for him. He tried to think back to the John Wayne movies he and his brother and his father enjoyed when he was younger, just to see if any tactics came to mind.
Nope, not really. The Duke wouldn’t have been caught dead out here in Indian country without a lever-action Winchester, so those old westerns had no relevance to his current predicament.
Court stopped trying to figure out the best tactics that an attacking force would use. This was not Indians versus the cavalry. This was the Janjaweed versus an NGO. The