“Jeez, I don’t know, Bree. They should be ready to go right out of the box.”
“What if they’re not?”
“I don’t know. Depends.” Greasy Hands pulled himself upright in his seat, trying to think. “It’s all automated. I mean — with this system, it’s going to work or it’s not. Nothing in between.”
“They have to be fueled?”
“If you want to go anywhere.”
The aircraft carried a minimal amount of fuel in their tanks, but not enough for a mission.
“How long will that take?” Breanna asked. “An hour?”
“Depends. Could be a lot longer. Might be less. Though that I wouldn’t count on,” he added. Greasy Hands unbuckled his seat belt. “I’ll go down there and take a look at ’em. Let me know what I’m up against.”
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.
56
Christine Mary Todd had been a night owl for much of her adult life. In college, she used the early morning hours to hit the books; when her children were born, she found rising for their nightly feedings somewhat less onerous. As a governor, she’d loved to use the early morning hours to catch up on her reading — not of the newspapers and political blogs, but old-fashioned cozy mysteries, which she was famously addicted to.
But in those days, she’d always been able to grab a nap during the day. Now naps were out of the question.
Still, she stayed up late. Sometimes she had work to do, and other times she simply couldn’t sleep. Her mind refused to shut off. She would lie in bed next to her husband for an hour and sometimes more, occasionally falling asleep, but more often getting up and going down the hall to the room she’d converted into her private study. Her staff knew her habits, and when there was an important call, would try her there before deciding whether to try the bedroom.
Tonight she answered the phone on the first ring.
“This is the President.”
“Mrs. President, I’m sorry to wake you,” said Jonathon Reid. “I expected I would be connected to one of your staff people.”
“You didn’t wake me, Mr. Reid. Please explain why you called.”
“There is a situation in Ethiopia…”
The President listened as he laid it out.
“I will call the Ethiopian prime minister myself,” said Todd before he finished. “That should solve the problem, don’t you agree?”
“Absolutely.”
“Very well. Let’s see what we can do. Please stay on the line in case they need some background. I trust you can speak to them without giving away any critical secrets.”
57
“They’re getting ready for something,” said Sugar, standing on top of the bus and pointing down toward the Ethiopian troops. “They’re mustering behind the trucks.”
Boston reached up and took the binoculars. He wasn’t quite high enough to see over all of the buildings, but what he did see made it obvious the Ethiopians were planning on moving out. Boston saw several of the soldiers checking their rifles as they formed up.
The civilians were in their makeshift camp, milling around aimlessly. They didn’t have any lookouts posted. Children played near the fence and road.
Boston pulled out his sat phone and called Breanna back.
“Things look like they’re about to get pretty desperate over here,” he told her. “What’s going on with the government?”
“We’re going to pick you up,” she told him. “But it’s going to take us another hour and a half to get there. We’re about five minutes from touching down. We’re sending an Osprey.”
“Can you get here sooner? They look like they’re ready to move.”
“Boston, we’re doing everything we can. Are the Ethiopians threatening you?”
