Whiplash

55

Jonathon Reid had just begun to pore over the latest situation report out of Sudan when Breanna’s call came through. He immediately punched it into his handset, resting his chin in his hand.

“Reid.”

“Jonathon, the Ethiopians are being unresponsive. They’ve sent troops to the border — we think they’re planning on pushing the refugees there back. Or maybe just killing them. Our people are right nearby.”

“We’re just getting information from the embassy to the same effect,” said Reid.

He’d also seen an opinion from one of the analysts within the past fifteen minutes speculating that the Ethiopians, under pressure from the Egyptians, would not only refuse to open their borders to refugees, but would seek to actively dissuade anyone from crossing over into the country. They needed little encouragement: Sudanese refugee camps were a notorious breeding ground for terrorists and other “disruptive influences,” as the report put it.

“I’m going to land in Dire Dawa and get our people out,” said Breanna. “We can’t wait for the Ethiopians.”

“I think you’re taking—” Reid stopped short. “I don’t want you risking your own life, Breanna. It’s not your job.”

“Jonathon, I’m here. I have the tools. I’m going to get it done.”

Reid had made similar decisions himself, many times. He knew from experience that the lines looked very clear and bright when your people were in danger and you were nearby.

From the distance, though, they were hazy and complicated. She was suggesting interfering in another country’s affairs, a country with whom they had decent relations, because of a corpse.

And a few hundred refugees. Some of whom might or might not be terrorists, and none of whom were likely to be grateful.

“We’re going to have to tell the White House what’s going on,” said Reid.

“Go ahead.”

“State may object. Among others.”

“I’m not leaving our people.”

“I wouldn’t, either.”

As soon as reid hung up, he checked Breanna’s position on the map. She was forty-five minutes from Dire Dawa. If he waited until dawn to call the White House, the operation would be over before anyone objected.

That was the coward’s way.

Let them object. If they gave an order directing her not to proceed, he would simply neglect to call her back. He’d take full responsibility — as soon as the operation was over.

He picked up the phone and called the White House operator.