“Talk to me about the UAV. Who else knows about it? Who wants it?”
“You claim to know everything and you don’t know that?”
As an intelligence agent, Kimko presumably knew the basic interrogation technique called for starting with questions one knew the answer to, so the subject’s truthfulness could be tested. He was parrying, trying on his side of the table to determine what Nuri really knew.
Nuri changed direction.
“Tell me about Li Han. Why would SVG want to deal with him? The man is a criminal. Despicable. A sociopath.”
“We all have our faults,” said Kimko dryly.
“What’s yours?” Nuri took another sip from the glass.
“I have many, many faults,” said Kimko, casting his eyes downward.
“I can help you get out of here,” said Nuri. “You don’t want to be here. It’s a rat hole.”
“You’re here.”
“Oh, I get to leave.” Nuri laughed. “They just sent me back for you. Who are you selling to? Sudan First? They’re psychotic.”
Kimko shook his head.
Nuri tried a different tack. “Who do you think was your competition to buy the UAV?” he asked. “Was it the Iranian?”
The suggestion of the third party — who of course didn’t exist — took Kimko by surprise, and it took him a moment to recover his stony face.
“You were my competition, I would suppose,” he told Nuri, leaning back. The shift in posture told MY-PID — and Nuri — that he was unsure of himself.
“You didn’t know about the Iranian?” Nuri asked. “So you don’t know why he was here?”
Kimko waved his hand.
“You’re not telling me an Iranian smoked you, are you?” asked Nuri. “You didn’t know he was with Girma? Are you kidding? Was your boss right — are you washed up?”
Kimko’s eyes flashed with anger. For a moment Nuri thought he would grab and fling the vodka bottle. He’d already decided that he would let him do that, let the bottle break — the smell would only make Kimko more desperate once he calmed down.
But Kimko didn’t. He hunched his shoulders together, physically pulling himself back under control.
“You’re a salesman,” said Nuri. “Why would you want to buy the UAV?”
“Who says that I am buying this thing?”
“Come on. You were prepared to deal. But how did you know what you were buying?”
“I was not going to deal. No buying.”
“Li Han isn’t a buyer. He’s a seller. And a worker bee for whatever slimeball will stick a few million dollars into his account. Right? I’m surprised you would deal with him,” added Nuri. “Considering that he helped the Chechens.”
Kimko raised his head.
“You didn’t know? You guys don’t know that?” said Nuri. This part was easy — he wasn’t lying.
“You’re a liar. You don’t know nothing. You’re a child.”
“In 2012—the bomb in the Moscow Star Theater. Used an explosive initiated from a cell phone. That’s common. There was wire in the bomb with lettering. You traced it to Hong Kong. Our friend was there a few weeks before the bomb was built. There’s other evidence,” added Nuri, who had gotten all the background from MY-PID and its search of the files and data on Li Han. “Maybe I’ll give it to you, if it will help. Of course, if your boss knew that you were dealing with someone who helped the Chechens — that probably wouldn’t be a good thing. I guess it would depend on how the information came out. Who shaped it. We call that a slant in America.”
“I had no deal,” said Kimko harshly. “I despise the man.”
“Feelings and business are two different things,” said Nuri. He rose, leaving the bottle and glasses on the table. “I’ll be right back.”
Kimko stared at the vodka.
He was beyond starved for a drink.
But if he reached for that bottle — where would it take him?
He knew nothing of value. His contacts among the Africans were probably well known by this Nuri. As for the UAV, he had already told him everything he knew.
Yet the American wanted more. Logically, that must mean they had not recovered it.
He couldn’t help them on that score either.
So really, as far as his duty was concerned, there was nothing preventing him from taking the bottle. There was nothing he could say that Moscow could object to.
But that was the rub — Moscow wouldn’t believe he’d said nothing now. And clearly this Nuri had some sort of evidence to ruin him. True or concocted, it wouldn’t matter.
He lowered his head to his hands.
One drink. One drink.
The smell of the vodka Nuri had poured in the glass permeated the tent. There was no way to resist.
He pulled the glass over. Before he knew that he had lifted it, he’d drained it. His lips burned, his throat.
He put the glass back on the table, defeated.
“You can have more,” Nuri told Kimko, standing behind the chair. He felt bad for the Russian; he looked as if he had collapsed.
“I can’t help you,” said Kimko, his voice subdued. “I had few arrangements. The Brothers have established supply lines with the Middle East, al Qaeda. We can’t compete. They’re friendly, of course, but they don’t buy. They get everything they need from bin Laden’s successors. I knew nothing about the Iranians. I assume it’s their Revolutionary Guard, but I know nothing.”
“Tell me who you saw in Duka.”
“First — I was supposed to call someone yesterday. I lost my phone. I need to call him. If I don’t, Moscow will know I’m missing.”
“Who?”
“He’s insignificant.”
Nuri reached down and picked up the bottle. He filled the glass.
“Come on,” said Nuri. “We have to help each other here.”
“He’s an expert in UAVs. He needed to inspect the aircraft. They were sending him to find me. I need to talk to him. Or they’ll think I defected.”
“We don’t want that,” said Nuri.
The entire conversation lasted no more than sixty seconds.
“There was fighting in the city,” Kimko said as soon as the other line was opened. “I’ve had to take shelter in Malan. The UAV must have been destroyed. I’m sorry that I didn’t meet you.”
“I heard of your troubles and made other arrangements,” said the voice on the other end, before hanging up.
A few seconds later MY-PID supplied the location of the other phone. It was in southeastern Sudan — the site of the Brothers of Sudan main camp, to be exact.
Chapter 14
Christine Mary Todd took a last spoonful of soup and got up from the table.
