The Golden Hour by Todd Moss Read Free Book Online

rosy.”
    “Well, Mali is nothing like Nigeria. But we are pretty sure that some of the top military brass is involved in smuggling. The region is rife with traffickers in guns, cigarettes, and drugs. Mali is now part of the route from the coast across the desert and into Europe. General Mamadou Idrissa is the commander for the northern Timbuktu Zone Six and probably on the take. He’s a nasty piece of work. You’ll likely meet him at the palace.”
    “I’ll want to ask about the north. But what’s the northern commander doing down here in the capital, by the president’s side?”
    “Good question. We don’t know. He seems to be around the president all the time.”
    “What about Maiga? Does he have his hand in the cookie jar?”
    “He seems clean. Rich enough, I suppose, to avoid the temptation.”
    “Yet he can’t rein in Idrissa?”
    “I believe he’s trying. But he has to be careful. Mali has hadfour coups since independence and many more failed attempts. Just last month, the head of the army, General Oumar Diallo, was forced to flee after trying to organize a putsch. He caught wind that Maiga was planning to fire him, so he tried to seize the palace. But Diallo’s guys didn’t even get through the front gate. Someone tipped off Maiga’s personal security, probably French intelligence.”
    “Not us?” Judd raised his eyebrows.
    “Not as far as I know,” Larissa responded quickly, with a slight shrug. “Maiga’s pro-American, so I’m sure the French have been trying to court him.”
    “And Diallo?”
    “He fled to Europe. Doesn’t seem to be making any new trouble. But Diallo always had grand ambitions and a healthy ego. He definitely wanted to be president. I expect he’ll try again one day. He’s the First Lady’s cousin.”
    “General Diallo is related to the president?”
    “By marriage, yes.” Larissa had clearly told this story many times and was amused at Judd’s naïve surprise. “Mrs. Maiga and General Diallo grew up in the same village. We think their mothers are half sisters. It’s always the internal family squabbles that are the most bitter.”
    “Yes. Yes, they are.”
    •   •   •
    The convoy with Judd Ryker and Larissa James reached the road leading up to the Presidential Palace. At the corners, youngsoldiers with hard helmets sat behind sandbags and leaned on heavy .50 caliber guns mounted on tripods. Along the main road other soldiers lay underneath the bulbous bellies of South African armed personnel carriers that Judd had seen in many other countries. Larissa poked Judd in the shoulder.
    “Maiga just bought a new fleet of those hippos,” she grimaced. “They are fine in the city, but no good up north in the sand. Not the best use of our counterterrorism dollars, but that’s what he said he wanted.”
    As they rolled up to the main palace gate, Judd sat up straight. Passing military checkpoints, even with diplomatic security in an ambassador’s armor-plated vehicle, made him nervous. But they were waved through without slowing down.
Must be those little American flags.
    Several guards with AK-47s slung over their shoulders and wearing red berets jumped to attention and saluted the Suburban as they passed.
    The circular driveway at the front of the main building was lined with men in sparkling-white boubous. As they exited the car, Judd and Larissa shook hands with each of the men, who then fell in line behind them as they entered into the palace. Men with shoulder-mounted television cameras jostled each other for position as the entourage passed.
    They were all led into a small waiting room, painted light green, with a large TV in the corner. The sofas were also green and brand-new, with dainty white crocheted covers on the arms that reminded Judd of his grandmother’s old farmhouse in Vermont.
    Just as Judd had exhausted his small talk with the entourage and was starting to fidget, they were mercifully led into the president’s office.
    President