Whiplash

The evening after Da

The headline on one made him forget how bad the coffee was:

COMMUNICATION INTERCEPTED

WITH IRANIAN CONNECTION

The conversation had taken place in Khartoum, the Sudanese capital. It lasted for barely a minute and was on the surface i

[call goes through; Speaker 1 answers]

Speaker 1: Hello?

Speaker 2: Kirk checks out. Proceed.

Speaker 1: Meet with him?

Speaker 2: Then report back.

[end of conversation]

Nuri ran and got Da

“They’re talking about me?” Da

“Has to be. It’s in Farsi. which means—”

“It’s between two Iranians,” said Da

“Exactly. The Republican Guard has fu

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know. There’s no ID here. The call wasn’t specifically targeted. That sat phone will be now, though. Sometimes they’re pretty clever about hiding identities. We may figure out who it is. We may not. He’ll be at the meeting, though.”

“You think this is Colonel Zsar?”

“The backgrounder says he doesn’t speak Farsi.” Nuri took a swig of his coffee. It was always bad, but this morning it was particularly bad. He decided that might be good luck. “Uncle Dpap will call soon. Set up the meeting as soon as you can.”

“Right.”

“While you’re there, I’ll try and get a better look at Colonel Zsar’s operations,” said Nuri. “I’ll put some bugs in, and find out what the Iranians have spent their money on.”

“Can you get into the fortress?”

“We’ll have to be invited in. I’d like to post a blimp nearby, cover the approaches.”

“OK.”

Nuri sat in front of the laptop and began looking at satellite photos of Colonel Zsar’s village. “Why do you think they have a guard on a barn?” he asked.

“Keep people from stealing the cows.”

“They don’t have guards on the other buildings they have in the village.”

“Got me,” said Da

“Hmmm,” said Nuri. “Guess I’ll take a look at that, too.”

23

Near Murim Wap, Sudan

BY THE TIME UNCLE DPAP USED THE PHONE DANNY HAD given him, Nuri and Da

Nuri made the call back, using an electronic voice box to disguise his voice. He told Uncle Dpap that the meeting would happen at midnight, agreeing to the place Uncle Dpap had selected, an abandoned farm building outside a hamlet that lay between Uncle Dpap and Colonel Zsar’s camps.

The rebels didn’t like the fact that the meeting was being held at night. And they liked it even less when, at five minutes past the appointed time, Nuri called their sat phones, dialing them all into a three-way phone conference.

“The meeting will be held at Murim Wap,” said Nuri. He was sitting back at the base camp, watching the rebels on the laptop thanks to the Owl and the sensors he’d planted that afternoon. Da

“How do we know this isn’t a trap?” said Uncle Dpap.

“Send your scouts, just as you did here,” said Nuri.

“You don’t dictate to us where the meeting is,” protested Colonel Zsar.

But Nuri had already hung up.

The two rebel leaders brought their vehicles together to confer. Both Nuri and Da

“He doesn’t trust you,” said a voice they hadn’t heard before. “Of course he’s not going to meet you here. They only agreed to this place so they could watch you come.”

“Is it a trap?” asked Uncle Dpap.

“Too elaborate,” said the man. “It would have been easier to kill you here.”

“I agree,” said Tilia.

“You are sure this man is not working for the government in Sudan?” asked Uncle Dpap.

“That much I am positive of,” said the man. “My spies would know.”

The debate continued for a short while, but it was clear that, having gone to the trouble of arranging to meet themselves, the two rebel leaders were loath to miss the meeting with the arms dealer.

“The person who’s with Colonel Zsar must be the Iranian,” said Nuri. “He’s the one you have to mark when you meet. Make sure you touch him on the skin.”

“I’ll shake his hands like a politician.”

“Break the vial, daub your finger, touch him. That’s all you have to do.”

“Is the Owl online?” Da

“Are you asking me, or are you asking the Voice?”

“You.”

“You can ask the computer. It’ll tell you.”

“I’m asking you,” snapped Da

“Good snarl,” said Nuri, thinking that Da

“I intend to.”

Though they’d scouted Murim Wap and planted video and listening devices earlier in the day, they hadn’t stayed there, fearing someone would tip off the rebels. Da

“Gotta stay in character,” Boston explained. “Outlaw like you isn’t going to have a wussy driver.”

Murim Wap had once been an important stop on a trade route from the interior into Ethiopia and the sea. But the village’s attractiveness faded when trucks and buses replaced carts and feet. A few families had remained in the area, one to run a gas and diesel station, the others to farm and catch on as best they could. Two years before, a cell tower had been built just off the highway, behind the gas station. A UN project had helped increase yields at the nearby farms, and there was a small store that sold goods to the dozen or so families that lived within walking distance. As a general rule, the village street was deserted after nightfall, with the gas station closing down a half hour after sunset.

Except tonight. The lights were still on in the station as Da

“Think he’s go

“I don’t know.” Da

They pla

“We’re clear,” he said finally. “Let’s stop and launch the Catbirds.”

The Catbirds were UAVs a little bigger than the Owl. Their bodies were packed with plastic explosive, and they could be dive-bombed into targets by command. Da

“Take it back by the road. Keep it ru