the sun in the rearview mirror. Every few minutes Tomaso updated the distance to Kenya . . . twenty-five kilometers . . . twenty . . . fifteen . . .
“Time to tell the White House to call off the dogs.” Duto said when the Rover was ten kilometers out.
“Let the Kenyans know, too, so they don’t shoot anybody.”
At the door, Duto stopped. “Thank your boy for me. This has got to be worth at least ten points with the undecideds, don’t you think?”
“If God exists, you’ll have a stroke.”
“I’m glad you’re an atheist, Ellis.” Duto left.
When the Rover was three kilometers from the border, Shafer tapped Tomaso. “One last thing.” Shafer explained what he wanted.
“You sure it won’t freak them out.”
“They’ll get it.”
“Okay,” Tomaso said. He adjusted the Reaper’s flaps and throttle and the drone suddenly went into something close to a dive. In two minutes, it pulled in front of the Rover even as its altitude dropped from fifteen hundred meters to five hundred.
“I’m going to bring our speed down, and then I’ll bring it up here as he comes across.”
So it was that the Reaper buzzed the Rover low and slow just as Wells and the hostages reached the border. On screen, Shafer saw Wells lean forward as the Reaper drew close. Wells frowned—this close, the Rover’s optics were so good that they could see not just his nose but each nostril—and then he seemed to understand the message:
Shafer found himself foolishly, joyously, waving back.
—
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The team at Putnam never quits. Thanks to Neil, Ivan, Leslie, Tom, Kate, and everyone else at 375 Hudson. To Heather Schroder, the agent next door. To Jeffrey Gettleman, foreign correspondent extraordinaire, and J. Peter Pham, for answering all my dumb questions about East Africa’s politics. (Mistakes are mine alone.) To Martin and all the other Kenyans who introduced me to one of the world’s most beautiful and fascinating countries. I hope to return many times. To my family for their counsel on this book and so much else. And of course, to my beautiful and talented wife, Jackie, and Lucy, our little girl. May she be the best of both of us.
If you got this far, you’ve earned my email address, which is: alexberensonauthor@gmail.com. I welcome all comments and suggestions. For seven years now I’ve responded to every email I receive, and I hope to keep that string alive. Meantime, see you on Facebook and Twitter.
’Til next year.
ALSO BY ALEX BERENSON
