done,” he said.
“Of course it can. Your government just opened that huge new Products Marketing Center in Khartoum. On Al-Steen Street. Nice-looking place-I’ve got aerial photos going back to when the foundation was laid.”
“I do not doubt it,” Kassab said. “Or your general inquisitiveness.”
Andrews admittedly enjoyed his displeasure, however much a token it might be. “How many corporations have their export offices there? Must be dozens of them, selling everything from petrochemicals to paints.”
“I tell you it cannot be done,” Kassab repeated emphatically. “We…my country, that is…respects America’s position regarding Omar al-Bashir. But we share a geographic border and have vital economic ties with the Sudanese.”
“Unfortunately that’s part of the problem,” Andrews said, deciding to play his trump card. “And it’s why you’re going to help me.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That your country was prepared to assist in the cross-border transport of a massive armaments shipment to the Sudanese army, presumably from Aswan down to Wadi Halfa, in violation of the United Nations arms embargo,” Andrews said. “This is before it was captured by pirates at the Horn.”
“I know nothing of it.”
“Of course you don’t, Asser. I wouldn’t figure head of Egyptian intelligence would have a clue.”
“It is perhaps good for our friendship that I am too drowsy to have noticed your sarcasm,” Kassab said. “Moreover, if what you tell me is correct, this movement of weapons would not have been sanctioned by my government. There are many outlaws in the south, and their network is well organized.”
“No thanks to your agency providing support,” Andrews said.
Silence. “I think, Robert, that I would rather not continue our chat right now. I will happily return your call from my office tomorrow-”
“I think you’d better hang on the phone until I’ve finished my piece,” Andrews said. “Whether or not you believe it, we’re on the same page here. Or does your government not want Omar al-Bashir to stay comfortably nestled in the presidential palace?”
“A gross mischaracterization,” Kassab said. “I must remind you that, like the United States, we are not a signatory to the ICC. As I have also made clear, this no more makes us supporters of his regime than it does your government or the others that abstained. We simply contend that acting on the warrant for his arrest would throw his already destabilized nation into anarchy. Whatever new issues may have arisen to aggravate the already dangerous tensions between America and Sudan…presumably they would include this arms sale you’ve mentioned…I would recommend pursuing a remedy through diplomatic channels.”
Andrews scowled with growing anger and impatience. He was good at keeping his temper in check; if he wasn’t, the bureaucracy through which he’d steered for his entire career would have long since spat him out. But when the dam broke, it came down with a crash.
“Look, Asser, it’s time to cut the bullshit,” he said. “I called you from my home instead of the office for a reason. And tired as you are from standing around with your head in the desert sand, I think that tells you something about the delicacy of my own situation.”
“Robert, listen to me-”
“No. Now you listen. The GIS owns at least half the petrochemical companies headquartered in that Products Marketing Center.”
“Robert…”
“It controls and coordinates the smuggling operations down at the borders and would have been instrumental in running that illegal weapons shipment down into Sudan,” Andrews said. “If that information somehow leaked out to various House and Senate subcommittees, there could be repercussions. For example, my agency might have to pull its support of the GIS’s efforts to keep your president from getting his head blown off by hard-core extremists on a daily basis.” He paused, took a deep breath. “Asser, you talked about what’s building between the United States and Sudan. Man to man, I’m telling you the situation’s on the verge of exploding, and I’m trying to stop that, even if it means Bashir stays in power, which falls right in line with your own government’s preference. I’m also going to tell you that the damned shipment is still heading into Sudan-just not to its original buyer.”
Kassab hesitated. “To whom, then, is it going?”
“That’s frankly something I might not share with you if I knew,” Andrews said. “But I will advise that you do yourself a favor and cooperate.”
There was silence at the other end of the line. Then, finally, a heavy, resigned sigh. “Where are your chemical workers presently located?”
“Cameroon,” Harper said. “They can be out of Yaounde and on their way to Cairo within twenty-four hours.”
“Very well,” Kassab said. “Please send me their photographs immediately so the corporate identifications can be readied. When they arrive here, I will see to it they are met at the airport and accompanied to Aswan with a special escort. The Nile River Ferry Company runs a daily boat into Wadi Halfa. Although an air shuttle would be faster, the ferry would probably be best as I have personal influence with its ownership.”
“Got it.”
“Also, I would suggest you make sure your people have ample funds to cover their travel expenses-including those that may arise without prior notice. These are lean budgetary times, and a bit extra might be of use here and there.”
“Right. Anything else?”
“Only that I might return to my sleep and dream peaceful, uninterrupted dreams.”
Andrews grinned. “Asser, if you’re very fortunate, it might happen after you retire,” he said. “Men like us, though…I’m guessing we’ve seen too much of what makes the world tick to ever enjoy that luxury again.”
The ferry from Aswan to Wadi Halfa was a crowded, rackety metal steamer that ostensibly left at noon every Monday from a sand-blown pier at Aswan High Dam-or El Sadd el Ali-on the large man-made body of water known as Lake Nasser. Bound by a system of three massive dikes on the Egyptian side of the Nile, the reservoir was the product of a major construction effort in the 1970s, its southern edge lapping up on the pebbled Sudanese shoreline, where the preference was to call it Buhayrat Nubiya.
Kealey and Abby had landed in Cairo Sunday morning, after an uneventful five-hour flight, their embarkation of the plane at Yaounde airport having been a successful first test of their cover documents. These had arrived separately at the United States and Egyptian consulates in sealed diplomatic pouches, then had been couriered over to Kealey at the Hilton on Boulevard du 20 Mai, where they were directly handed off to him in his room. The pouch from the U.S. consulate had also included envelopes containing several thousand dollars in mixed American bills and an equivalent sum in euros.
The name printed alongside Kealey’s U.S. passport photograph was Ryan Harner. Abby, whose passport declared her to be of French citizenship, was identified as Abigail Leung Evart. In addition to the CIA-fabricated passports, both had received, through the swift efforts of Asser Kassab, a variety of credentials establishing them as employees of the Boutros Advanced Packaging Corporation in Alexandria, a developer of biodegradable and recyclable shipping materials for food, pharmaceuticals, and other commercially transported goods. A note in the Egyptian packet explained that someone named Yusuf would await them at the Cairo International arrivals terminal.
A dark-eyed and alacritous young man who spoke fluent English, Yusuf was there as arranged, his car waiting in the parking lot. Within minutes of their arrival, Yusuf was driving them over the bridge to the train station at El Giza, explaining that the minor detour was necessitated by expansion work at the Cairo station on the east bank of the Nile.
With its elaborate facade of limestone building blocks and classic colonnades, the El Giza railway station was an impressive, vaulting structure teeming with humanity, the travelers passing through its entrance doors and lined up at the ticket windows scrutinized by white-uniformed security personnel. Although Kealey and Abby’s tickets had been purchased in advance, Yusuf discreetly asked Kealey for four hundred dollars inside the station, nodding in the direction of two guards standing near the gate for their train to Aswan.
“It will ensure that your papers are given quick inspections,” he explained. “And viewed in the most favorable light.”
Which they were with accepting nods.
