“I don’t have any money.” It was a lie, but Court didn’t feel like blowing his stash of cash on this son of a bitch. “If you have information valuable to me, I’ll tell my superiors you were helpful.”
The stone-faced man pulled over and parked the car. It was pitch-black on all sides of the vehicle, and the headlights shone on the dust cloud created by the car’s tires. Mohammed looked into Court’s eyes. Court hoped he appeared as dark and threatening as this asshole. “That is not enough.”
“Then I guess we’re done. I’ll tell the FSB you changed your mind. I’m sure you’ll be hearing from them soon enough.” Court made like he was going to get out, but he knew what was coming.
“Wait.”
Court settled back down in his cracked leather seat. His pistol dug into his right hip as he did so.
“There are new developments in Suakin.”
Court thought he was about to hear another spiel about danger to justify Mohammed’s desire for more money. He sighed, but the informant’s next comment got his attention.
“I thought Abboud would only arrive with his regular security detail. Twenty-five men or so. Normally when he comes, that is all. Yes, there are always more up at Port Sudan—they stay with his helicopter—but when he comes to Suakin, usually it is just the twenty-five guards.”
“So . . . what’s different this time?”
“The NSS arrived this afternoon.”
“The secret police are here?”
“Correct.”
“How many?” Court looked down to his hands. He picked at his fingernails.
“I saw five men.” Then the man in the shadows said, almost as an afterthought, “But there is a lot of military in town, also. You need to watch out for them.”
“What’s a lot?”
“A company, at least. Infantry.”
This made Gentry look up at the driver again. “Any idea why?”
“They say a group of rebels has been tracked to a farm outside of town.”
In an instant, Court knew the CIA operation had been compromised.
“Rebels?”
“Yes. SLA. It is strange. They have never operated this far to the east.”
“Any idea how many SLA?”
He waved an arm, his first gesticulation. “Not many. Just a dozen men or so.”
A dozen. Zack had initially promised one hundred, then cut that to thirty-five. Now Court’s most solid intel on the subject was that the real number was twelve. He didn’t blame Zack; surely if Sierra One knew his proxy fighters were such an impotent force, he wouldn’t have gone this far with the op. No, Court had seen this kind of deteriorating math before. He blamed the local CIA office, Sudan Station, for overpromising and underdelivering. There probably never were going to be a hundred SLA in Suakin; thirty-five was their best guess, and now it was clear that Sudan Station’s best guess sucked.
A dozen SLA, already compromised to the local authorities, weren’t going to fool anyone. If the attempt to kidnap the president went forward now, the army would roll up the pathetic little force of rebels in a matter of minutes.
Court could still assassinate the president for Greg Sidorenko, but kidnapping him for the CIA was out of the question without the rebel attack. It was obvious to Gentry now that Zack and his mission would be aborted.
“So I want more money to help you tomorrow.”
Court needed to talk to Zack before he even knew if there would be an op tomorrow. But he realized now he might just need Muhammed’s help in getting out of the area. If Nocturne Sapphire was dead in the dirt, then the CIA might want him to do Sid’s job and exfil as planned via FSB connections.
“I have two thousand euros.”
“I want ten.”
Court paused. It wasn’t his money, he couldn’t care less what this man was paid, but he’d been bargaining for one thing or another in the Third World for most of the past fifteen years, and he knew what he was doing.
He nodded. “Three now, three after.” Six grand was probably three times what this creepy bastard made in a year. Assuming the Russians had already agreed to pay him that much or more, this clown was making a serious chunk of change.
Mohammed looked at Gentry a long time. Finally he pulled the car back into the street and began driving. “Agreed.”
He and Court discussed arrangements for several minutes as the Mercedes inched around the town. Court tried to reconnoiter while they talked by looking out the grimy windows, but he could not make heads or tails of the confusing streets and