set it down on the table. Pushing it over, he said, “Do you know who that is?”
Kealey managed to avoid the photograph for a few seconds. But Harper could tell that he’d already heard too much. He could read the physical cues-a slight raising of his right eyebrow, the way he leaned forward in his chair.
Finally, Kealey looked down. The man in the picture had dark hair and narrow, friendly features, and wore steel-rimmed spectacles of the kind that looked as if they might have been issued during World War II. Though Harper knew it would have been more than ten years since Kealey had last seen the face, it was apparent he nevertheless recognized him at once.
His eyes opened wide, and his head jerked up. Staring at Harper, he said, “Where did you get this?”
“Khartoum. The image was captured by a security camera outside the embassy ten days ago. I take it you know him.”
Kealey nodded absently and looked back at the photograph. “I can remember teasing him about those glasses… It was one of our lighter moments in Sarajevo.”
“I’m sure they must have been few and far between.”
Kealey glanced up at Harper without comment, returned his attention to the snapshot. “He hasn’t changed much in fourteen years,” he said. “At least not noticeably. There are no gray hairs, no new wrinkles, not even a couple of extra pounds.” He sat lost in thought for a moment, then shook his head and looked up. “What’s Cullen White doing in Khartoum?”
“We don’t know yet,” Harper said. “But we have some ideas, thanks to our man in Khartoum. His name’s Seth Holland…”
Harper explained how Holland had talked the detachment commander into turning over the MSG’s security footage, despite the ambassador’s orders to the contrary. He explained how Holland and White had worked together briefly back in ‘95. The event that brought them together was the interrogation of a Serb general captured in Srebrenica in the closing months of the Bosnian War. Given the fourteen-year gap and White’s minor role in the interrogation, it wasn’t surprising that Holland hadn’t been able to put a name to the face. But that didn’t matter, as White was quickly identified when the recordings were sent via an encrypted link to Langley. A twenty-year veteran of the Operations Directorate picked him out just by looking at a still image from the embassy’s cameras, and the Agency’s bio-metric identifiers proved the officer right. The only thing they hadn’t been able to figure out was why White had met with Walter Reynolds in the first place.
“Why can’t you just ask him?” Kealey asked when Harper was done explaining it. “Call Reynolds up and ask him. See what he says. He’s a diplomat… The worst thing he’ll do is tell you to go fuck yourself. Even if that happens, you’ll be no worse off then you are right now.”
“We can’t ask him for the same reason we can’t go to Fitzgerald,” Harper pointed out. “Anything I say to them is bound to find its way to the president, and he clearly doesn’t want us involved in this. We have to tread carefully if we’re going to get any answer… I can’t risk having him shut me down completely.”
Kealey thought about that for a second. “Do you think White is still in Sudan?”
“I don’t know.” Harper could see where Kealey was going with this. “It’s anyone’s guess. Holland has only four case officers under his command, and he hasn’t been there long enough to cultivate any real assets. So he’s limited in what he can do. He’s had a few locals watching the embassy since we identified White, but he has yet to make a reappearance. However, another man has showed up on several occasions, and thanks again to our friends at MI Five, we’ve managed to put a name to the face.”
The deputy director opened the last folder and withdrew a grainy 8 x 10, explaining its significance as Kealey examined the photograph. “His name is Ishmael Mirghani. He’s forty-six years old, a Sudanese national and a graduate of Assiut University in Egypt, where he received a degree in electrical engineering. That was over a decade ago. We don’t have any record on him prior to that year, but we have plenty since.”
“A late bloomer,” Kealey observed.
“Maybe, but he bloomed nonetheless,” Harper said. He paused as their waitress left a fresh drink in front of him, smiled at her, and reached for it. “How much do you know about the predominant rebel groups in Sudan?”
“Not much.”
“That’s what I thought,” Harper said and brought his glass to his lips. He was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised. Kealey had operated in Africa only once before and never in Sudan. He had no reason to know about the country’s politics. “For the time being all you need to know is that the two most prominent ones are the Sudanese Liberation Army and the Justice and Equality Movement, otherwise known as the JEM. Both have been thorns in Bashir’s side-enough so that Bashir was forced to cut a deal with them. He later reneged on the agreement, but they’re still a factor. Especially now. We’ve seen a lot of increased rebel activity since the attack on Camp Hadith, particularly in the south, and there has been a series of mass demonstrations against Bashir’s regime in the larger cities, including Khartoum. Holland has been sending me detailed reports on all of it, and frankly, I’m just as concerned as he is.”
Kealey made a winding gesture. “And Mirghani fits in exactly how…?”
“He was a senior figure in the SLA until recently. A field commander at the very least.”
“He isn’t with the group any longer?”
Harper shook his head. “We believe he may have left and founded his own offshoot,” he said. “The Darfur People’s Army.”
“Original.” Kealey chuckled a little.
“What can I tell you?” Harper said. “Anyway, so far Mirghani’s managed to stay off the regime’s radar. And ours, for the most part. We don’t know why he left the SLA. Nor do we know whether he’s still connected to the group, or gone completely off on his own toot, or formed affiliations with other rebel factions…the JEM being a possibility. Either way, it makes me think something’s brewing in the hinterlands.”
Kealey nodded thoughtfully and said nothing.
A long moment passed. Sipping his drink, Harper rode out the silence. The escalating situation in Sudan- particularly in Darfur-had been all over the news for the past several weeks, and he supposed he’d understated just how serious it was. To put it bluntly, the country was on the verge of a full-blown revolution.
“So what was Mirghani doing at the embassy?”
“We don’t know. All we know for sure is that he met with Reynolds on three separate occasions, and each time he left with the MSG’s security footage. According to Holland, Reynolds ordered the detachment commander to turn over the disks, just like he did with White. We have no idea what they’ve been talking about, but we’re ninety percent sure Mirghani is working with White. Or for him, maybe.”
“I assume you’ve tried following him.”
Harper nodded. “We’ve tried, sure. But the man knows what to look for. He’s different from most of the rebels in that respect. Whoever trained him did a damn good job… We haven’t been able to track him. He shakes the surveillance every time.” A shrug. “I suppose it doesn’t help that we’re using locals and not trained officers. The problem is that Mirghani would spot our men in a matter of minutes, and we can’t risk losing him altogether.”
“Fair enough. But how is Mirghani tied in with White?”
“We don’t know that, either,” Harper admitted. “What we do know is that Mirghani can be directly linked to Simon Nusairi. They’re cousins. First cousins, related by blood. I guess family makes the world go round.”
“And here I thought it was money.”
Harper shrugged. “In this case the two are inseparable.”
Kealey showed the faintest grin. Watching him, Harper almost could have imagined this was another time and place. Say, five years ago at the Dubliner Pub in D.C. Kealey had liked the amber draught ale and hot corned beef sandwiches. He’d usually gone for Guinness and the shepherd’s pie.
Harper reached for his whiskey and drank in silence.
“Okay,” Kealey said after a while. His thin smile was gone. “So what do we have here? One month ago five million dollars disappears from a secret DOD slush fund. Soon thereafter it lands with Nusairi, a Sudanese national living in France. Nusairi is wholly opposed to Bashir’s regime, just like his cousin, who is almost certainly working with Cullen White, a disgraced former CIA officer. It seems pretty clear that the money was meant for White to disperse all along.”
Harper nodded. “That would be my guess as well,” he said.
“But what’s he using it for?”
“That’s another question we can’t answer right now,” Harper said. “But the recent upheaval can’t be a
