On target

FORTY-FOUR

"Hey, Zack."

"You back with us, or are you still high as giraffe nuts?"

"I'm good to go; sorry about before. I was hurting pretty bad and accidentally pulled the wrong dosage of-"

"Forget it. We've got a problem. This whole op just went tits up."

"What happened?"

"Langley says we greased some Chinks."

"Say again?"

"We killed some Chinese guys."

Court thought back to what Oryx had just told him. "Combatants."

"No doubt, but apparently that's still a no-no."

Court knew who they were. "Special Forces, here training the Sudanese up in Port Sudan."

"Yeah, that's what Denny thinks. Probably from their Flying Dragon unit. Sudan Station didn't even know they were in country."

"Shit, Zack. How bad is it?"

"It's not good, from the sound of it. Langley is dealing with the White House right now. The White House didn't sign on for a dustup with a superpower."

Court rubbed sweat from his eyes. The wound in his back was better from the meds, though it still stung. "How many Chinese did you guys kill?"

"Close to thirty, apparently. We're guessing that Mi-17 Dan shot down was full of troops and a flight crew. That would account for that number of KIA. But seriously, BFD. Aren't there like two billion Chinks? It's not like they'll miss them."

"Dan didn't, apparently."

"Ha. Yeah, no shit."

"What's the fallout going to be on this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I am to reestablish coms with Denny in thirty mikes. Worst case, we bug out."

"With Abboud, you mean?"

"Let's just wait till we hear back."

"Roger that, Six out."

Zack called back just after nine in the evening. Court had spent the last forty-five minutes talking to Oryx about the offer he'd received from the West. He seemed willing to do whatever he had to do to stay out of prison and to make his way to Cuba as a free man.

It was sickening, but Court understood that it was unquestionably the best of a long list of shitty outcomes.

Zack said, "Six, I need you to get far enough away from Oryx to where he can't hear your side of this conversation."

"Copy that, wait one." Court looked at Oryx, still shackled to the center beam of the shack, turned, and left the tiny hooch. Outside in the cooling evening, he lowered onto his haunches and sat down at the rear bumper of the Skoda. "Okay, I'm alone."

"I've got a big-time change to your op orders, Six. You ready for this?"

"Affirmative, go ahead."

Zack paused. Then, "The Chinese are saying that this morning's engagement in Suakin killed twenty-six non-combatant civilian advisors."

"Bullshit. They weren't civilians."

"Of course not. They're lying through their noodleslurpin' teeth, but they can do that, and everyone will believe them."

"Go on."

"The White House has officially shit their britches. They want nothing more to do with this operation. Seems they have been working secretly on some big-ass trade deal with the Chinks, were going to announce it next month in Beijing."

"So?"

"So the White House has ordered the director of National Intelligence to order Denny to order us to exfiltrate immediately, just drop all our shit and go. They do not want CIA fingerprints anywhere near the Sudan operation, for fear it would jeopardize the deal."

"What about me?"

"I'm going to pick you up in the sub. I can be at the mangrove swamp at midnight. Can you make it by then, or do you need to go on another bender with your party drugs?"

"I can be there, but what's all this going to do to Nocturne Sapphire?"

"There is no Nocturne Sapphire, and we all need to forget that there ever was. The rug's been pulled out from under us. We just need to get out of Sudanese waters, get down to Eritrea, and not get compromised. Sudan Station will dump all the blame for this on the SLA."

Court looked out at the grasses blowing in the evening breeze. "But… what the hell am I supposed to do with Abboud?"

"Give the fucker a dirt nap," Zack said flatly.

Court hesitated. "But… he's the one that can convince his people what the Russians are up to."

"We're not supposed to be here. There is no way we can hand Abboud over to the ICC now. Think about it! If we hand Abboud to the Euros, the Chinese Communists will get wind of it, and the Chicoms will pull out of the deal."

"But Abboud is more important alive than dead. Isn't that what the White House has been thinking all along?"

"Yeah, but the knockdown of the Chinese chopper was a game changer."

Court shook his head in disbelief. "It's a trade agreement. What is one trade deal in the scheme of things?"

"It makes the politicians look good."

"So would ending an African genocide!"

"Not by risking a superpower war! The average Joe in the USA does not want to hear about us shooting it out with the Chinese over some dumb savages living in mud huts."

"The Chinese aren't going to go to war over this."

"What are you, a fucking poli-sci PhD now? You are an operator, not a diplomat. The dips have their job and you have yours. Abboud needs to die! Kill the fuck! That's an order!"

But Gentry would not let it go. "The only way to stop what is going to happen is with Abboud alive, in front of a camera, laying out to his people the involvement of the Russians and Chinese in his country's internal affairs. That was the original motivation behind Nocturne Sapphire, because that is the only thing that will work. It can't be done any other way."

"Well, that's not going to happen. You're going to cap him and get your ass to the northern tip of the mangrove swamp for the exfil. What the hell is wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy to dump some hollow points into that bastard's snot box."

"C'mon, Zack! We extract Abboud from here, get him to The Hague, and we can stop a war!"

"It's not our job to stop a war! It's our job to do our job, and our job is to waste Abboud, dump his corpse by the side of the road, and then get our happy asses out of here!"

Court's jaw tightened, and he leaned his head back on the rear bumper of the Skoda sedan. "I need to think it over."

"Think it over? Who the fuck do you think you are? You do what-"

"I'll call you back. Six out." Court ended the call. He dropped the phone to the grass and dropped his head into his hands.

Dammit. Court knew he could stand up right now, walk back into the shack, and put a nine-millimeter bullet into the head of the president of the Republic of Sudan without a single shred of remorse for the act. The man was a monster, certifiable and dangerous.

Go kill him. Just get up and go kill him.

But he understood the logic that Oryx's power could now be turned back against the atrocities and used for good. Yeah, it was complete and utter bullshit that down the road he'd get the last laugh. He'd be banging hookers in Havana after a lifetime of murder and corruption.

But hell, Court thought, that's a problem for another day. Gentry himself could go to Cuba on his own dime and settle that score. He'd kill Abboud for his crimes, but not until the impending chaos of a post-Abboud Sudan was minimized.

And that could only happen with Abboud alive.

Court had been played by the Russians, lied to and manipulated to where he almost helped start a war, and now, he realized, killing Oryx would mean he'd been played by Langley into the same thing.

No. He would not kill Abboud. Could not. He would bring him to the International Criminal Court to stop one war and prevent another.

It would, no doubt, get the shoot-on-sight sanction reinstated, but it was the only hope for thousands of innocent Sudanese. Court put his head between his knees and covered it with his hands. He realized he wanted to storm back into the shack not to shoot Abboud but instead to shoot himself up with more of the morphine.

Its effects were wearing off quickly, with the struggle to concentrate obviated by the events of the past ten minutes.

Court picked up the Thuraya and called Zack back.

Hightower answered immediately. Court knew he must have been furious, but he masked it well. "You back with the program, bro?"

A long pause. "No can do, Zack."

Court felt the tension on the other end of the line. He'd never defied Zack Hightower a single time in their five years together on the Goon Squad until, of course, that day when it all went to hell. Finally Zack spoke. His voice was light, but the menace was more than implied. "Look, kid, I've already lost a couple of really good guys today. I don't want to lose you, too. Let's make lemonade from lemons, here. Shoot that asshole, get yourself to where I can come and pick you up, and you and me will sail off into the sunset. Langley will drop the SOS, we'll get debriefed, we'll shit, shave, and shower, and inside of seventy-two hours we'll be tossing back two-for-one Budweisers at a lobby bar in Bethesda. One for us and one for our homies. Cool?"

"As awesome as that sounds, Zack, it's not going to happen. I'll go it alone if I have to, but I'm getting Abboud to the ICC alive."

Anger welled in Zack Hightower's voice, as if every word served as a demonstration as to how his frustration grew exponentially. "How the hell you going to do that? You got a boat, a plane, an army?"

A pregnant pause, a quiet "Negative."

"No, you don't, do you? I'll tell you what you do have. You have a hole in your back that stinks so bad it could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. That's what you have! You need a doctor a lot more than you need some fucked-up one-man crusade to save the most hated man on God's green earth. I know you think of yourself as the fucking Lone Ranger, but you're on a fool's errand if there ever was one. From where I'm sitting, you need four things to accomplish your objective. You need guys, guns, gear, and guts. Court, you got the guts, I'll give you that. But you are sorely lacking in every one of the other categories. No singleton operator is going to get that fucker out of the Sudan! You've got the Sudanese Army, the NSS, and Abdul Q. Public on your tail. Everyone is looking for their president and trying to smoke the guy who snatched him… You really want to cross me on top of that?"

"You're going to come after me?"

Without hesitation Hightower said, "Yes, I am. I swear to God if you don't cap Oryx right this second, I'm going to report it to Denny, and you and I both know he'll send me after you. Neither of us wants that to happen, Court."

Another long pause. "See you, Zack."

A pause again, this time on Hightower's end of the conversation. Then, "No, Gentry. I'll see you, right through the scope of my Remington 700. Just before your head turns to pink mist. We wanted to make you part of the team again, but you know what? You've been solo for too long; you never were going to fit in, dude. Guess it's inevitable that it had to end like this."

Zack ended the call.

Court rose from his position of the past hour, against the bumper of the car. Slowly he stepped back into the shack. Oryx was there, of course. Standing in the middle of the dark room. It was clear he had not overheard the specifics of the phone conversation, but certainly he'd picked up some of the tone.

"What is going on?"

"Nothing. We need to move." Court had given the location of the shack to the CIA operators on the Hannah. He knew he needed to get out of here before Zack or someone else came calling.

"Tell me, Six. What was all the arguing?"

Court cut the president's zip tie from the center beam with a small folding knife. He said nothing to the man as he closed the blade and slipped it back into his pocket.

"What is happening?" Abboud was extremely agitated. Court imagined he himself would be even more stressed-out right now but for the remnants of the drugs in his system. He wondered how much it affected him. Would he be able to drive? Would he be able to find a new hide without stumbling into all the people who were searching for him and his captor right now?

Oryx began to ask once more about the phone calls. Court stood in front of him and pulled two new zip ties out of his backpack to restrain the man's hands in front of his body. Before he had done so, Court shrugged. Whatever. "I've been ordered to kill you."

"By the American actors." The big black man made it as a statement, but it was clear he was asking. He pulled his hands back and away.

"Negative. The CIA wants you dead, too. It's pretty much a unanimous consensus, at this point. Give me your hands."

Oryx's face contorted in shock, like he'd been doused with cold water from an ice bucket. "No! We had an agreement. They need me alive. The European-"

"Shut up! We need to get out of here so I can think without worrying about them-"

"I can help them with their-"

"Calm down! Give me your hands!"

"They cannot just change the arrangement like-"

Court pulled his Glock. The drugs slowed him, and his stiff gun arm wavered. He pressed it against Abboud's throat.

"I said, calm the fuck down!"

Oryx's hands went up in surrender, and then they went for the pistol.