On target

FORTY-SIX

Tuesday was Ellen Walsh's first day back in her tiny office in The Hague since leaving for the Sudan five weeks earlier. Her supervisors in the Office of the Prosecutor for the International Criminal Court had offered a week for her to tend to herself upon her return from Africa, but the thirty-five-year-old Canadian had only taken a day to go to a local dermatologist to look at her sunburned face, and a GP to give her a prescription for migraines she'd been having since the truck explosion on the road to Dirra.

When she appeared through the elevator doors to her office, her coworkers were shocked to see her. Snippets of her adventure had made it out. The international media had covered the attack of the Speranza Internazionale convoy and the murder by the Janjaweed militia of world-famous Mario Bianchi and two of his local staff. There was no mention in the reports that other Westerners had been in the convoy, but Ellen herself had spoken to the administrative heads in the Office of the Prosecutor, and the story had filtered its way downstairs like water poured through cracks in the flooring. From there, administrative assistants of the top brass told friends and friends of friends who worked throughout the building. Her brutal sunburn and a sad and distant look in her eyes lent credence to the rumors, and Ellen knew it would not be long before she would be forced to send out an e-mail thanking everyone for their concern, and simultaneously asking everyone to please respect her privacy and understand that she just wasn't quite yet up to talking about what she had witnessed in Darfur.

On her computer in front of her were two reports, neither finished. One was an incident report upon which she was to put in writing as much as she could remember about her discovery of the Russian Rosoboronexport aircraft in Darfur and the men on board, along with any names, corroborating witnesses, et cetera, et cetera. She had only opened the template and put in information regarding her initial plan to enter Darfur with false credentials. Even this part of the document was difficult for her to write. So much had happened since her time in Khartoum, skulking around other NGO offices looking for her way into Darfur, that it seemed to be relegated to the portion of her brain reserved for distant memory.

The other was her report about the murder of two wounded and defenseless gunmen by an American John Doe who had flown into Al Fashir with the Russian aircraft. She'd all but finished this report. She could not get it out of her mind, but she was not sure if she was writing it in an attempt to purge her thoughts of the atrocity, or if she would, indeed, file the report and open an investigation into this man. She was torn by her official obligation and her feelings towards this stranger. He had helped her and convinced her he was not evil, but she was concerned that he was an individual teetering on the edge, a man who needed to be stopped before more atrocities were committed.

And what to make of the news that the president of the Sudan had been kidnapped during a massive battle with rebels on the east coast of the country? Could Six have had some involvement with that? The timing was right, but Six did not seem like a man who could control a force of Sudanese rebels.

He could barely control himself.

Her desk phone rang. "Ellen, there is someone calling himself 'Six' on the phone for you."

"I'll take it." And then, "Hello?"

"Three days are up. I thought you would have caught me by now."

"Where are you?"

Instead of an answer to her question, he said, "We need to talk."

"This… situation, going on in Sudan right now. There is not much information… I know there has been a battle. The president is missing. It happened right when you said something would happen, so at first I assumed that you somehow had something to do-"

"I have Abboud. I have him right here with me."

Her voice was soft but intense. "Oh my God."

"Crazy, huh?"

Ellen breathed nervously into the phone. She looked out of her office door, then stood up quickly and shut it, nearly pulling the phone off her desk while doing so. "What… Who are you… What are you going… Why are you calling me?"

There was no response at first. She could hear the pounding of her own heart.

"Do you want him?"

"What?"

"Abboud. He's yours if you want him."

"Me?"

"Yes. And just so you know, I didn't kill any Chinese. That's on the news these days, I hear."

"Yes, it is."

"That wasn't me. I kidnapped Abboud, but now I don't really know what to do with him."

Ellen's voice was still barely a whisper. "Didn't you… think about that beforehand?"

"Yeah… plans change. Deals fall through. You know how it is."

"Right." She had no idea what he was talking about.

"Look. He has information about Russia and China. He says the two are going to start a proxy war over Sudan unless he does something to stop it."

"Yes, there have been rumors."

"What do you think?"

"Well… I'm not an expert in that; I am more involved in the armaments-"

"I'm pretty sure you are the most expert person I can get on the phone for a chat at the moment. I'm asking you what you think."

"I think President Abboud is absolutely correct."

Court filled her in on what he'd learned. She admitted to knowing part of the story, but she was fascinated that Six's information came directly from the president of the Sudan himself.

"He says a deal was in the works for him to turn himself in to the ICC."

She cleared her throat and spoke in a normal register. "Above my pay grade, Six."

"Well, how 'bout this? How 'bout you go tell the big shots at your organization that if they can find a way to pick me and Abboud up from the Red Sea coast, then they can have him. That ought to bump up your pay grade a bit."

Ellen bristled. "I'm not here for the money."

"Okay, donate it to charity; I don't give a shit. I just want to stop the situation here from getting any worse."

"That's your only motivation?"

"Yes."

"How can I believe that?"

"I've been ordered to kill the fucker. I would love to kill the fucker. I think you, of all people, can believe that. But I'm not going to, because I think he can actually save lives."

Gentry imagined Ellen still more or less in shock over what happened in Darfur. He knew she probably didn't trust him, and this phone conversation was surely another surreal event that her brain was having trouble processing, so he was not surprised that she hesitated for a long time. Finally she cleared her throat. "I'll go upstairs right now, talk to the prosecutor himself. We'll find a way to come and get Abboud."

"Excellent."

"Will you be coming to The Hague with him?"

Court sniffed. "And deprive the International Criminal Court of another fruitless manhunt?"

She chuckled. She had a nice laugh, throaty and unguarded. Court was pretty sure he'd never heard it before. She answered finally, "I have not begun the process of preparing an indictment against you."

"'Yet,' you mean?"

Another pause. Gentry could tell by the breaks between her words that she had been wrestling with this very issue. "There's a good man in you, Six. I can see him through the cracks in your hard shell."

"You're a shrink now?"

"Bad news. It doesn't take a shrink to see the cracks in you."

"You don't know me."

She changed gears. "I know you are not CIA. I made some calls. My sources say they don't have anyone in Darfur."

"Like I told you."

"But if you are not CIA, then who are you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It absolutely does, Six. The ICC will not help you if they don't know who they are dealing with."

"I am privately contracted."

"A private party has hired you to kidnap the president and hand him over to the ICC?"

"Yeah."

"Then they told you to kill him."

"Right again."

She paused a long time, disbelieving, perhaps. Finally, "Who is this private party?"

"Can't tell you."

"You have to."

Court knew it would come to this. He tried to sell it with a straight face, though he was speaking on his satellite phone. "Okay. I've been contracted by private U.S. citizens. People in the arts and entertainment industry, mainly." Oryx himself had given him this idea.

"In the arts and… So… are you saying movie stars are paying you to do this?"

"Well. Yeah. I guess I am."

"That is your story?"

He smiled. She was a smart woman. Too smart to believe him, but also too smart to not turn away the president handed over to her organization on a silver platter. She'd play along. "And I'm sticking to it," he replied.

"Okay." It was said with a worried tone, like she wasn't sure she'd be able to sell this fantasy to her superiors any better than Six had to her. "I'll call you back. Are you safe for now?"

Court exhaled. "Oh yeah, snug as a bug, Ellen."

"I'll hurry."