The Golden Hour by Todd Moss Read Free Book Online Page B

around. “General Idrissa is here. He is in charge of the northern sector. Everything from Timbuktu to the border with Algeria. He can tell you.”
    “Thank you, sir,” responded Idrissa, still standing firmly at attention. “The president is correct. We are working hard to prevent insecurity, but it is difficult. Security. Yes. We must maintain security. My zone, Zone Six, is very large and we have few vehicles or radios. The bandits have many trucks and are well armed.”
    “We have provided special forces training for a camel corps that patrols the border,” interjected the ambassador. “Thetraining has been going very well. We have also trained and equipped counterterrorism strike teams, the Scorpions.”
    “Yes, we are very grateful for American help,” replied Idrissa, a little too disingenuously.
    “What about the helicopters? I saw one at the airport. It’s a Russian HIND attack gunship, yes?” asked Judd.
I may be a liberal arts professor from New England, but I know my attack choppers.
    “Correct, Dr. Ryker,” answered General Idrissa. “We call them crocodiles. But they are from Ukraine. The Soviets used them to fight terrorists in Afghanistan. We are using them to fight terrorists in the Sahara.”
    Judd nodded.
    “And, General, how are things in Timbuktu?” asked Judd, drawing a puzzled look from Larissa that he ignored.
    Before Idrissa could answer, Maiga interjected, “Timbuktu is very well. No problems there. General Idrissa has everything under control.”
    “That’s very good to hear. And what about terrorist cells infiltrating the north? Are they a growing threat?”
    “Yes, we have them. But they are not Malian,” replied Maiga firmly. “They are foreigners who have come from Libya and Algeria into Mali to take advantage of our open and welcoming country. They will never take root here since our religion rejects extremism, and our culture accepts all people. Going back to the Songhai Empire and the merchant center at Timbuktu, Mali has always been a place of many peoples. For a thousand years wehave been a place for people of all cultures to meet and trade. We will never accept violence.”
    “What about jihadists from the Middle East?”
    “I don’t think we have any. But we would welcome more cooperation. We must work together to keep the radicals from poisoning our youth and harming Africa.”
    Idrissa nodded slowly and added, deadpan, “We need more intelligence sharing to prevent insecurity.”
    Maiga nodded in solemn agreement, before adding, “You know, Dr. Ryker, we are working hard together, but the Tuareg have a saying. ‘No one rules the desert. The desert rules you.’” The president then took tight hold of one of Judd’s hands. “My friend . . .” He leaned in close. So close Judd could smell his peppermint breath. The president looked right into Judd’s eyes. “. . . please tell me. Oh, how I miss summer nights at Shea Stadium. How are my New York Mets?”
    •   •   •
    Safely back in the car, the ambassador seemed buoyant and relaxed. “I think that went well,” she said. “You do need to work on your press statements, Judd. But otherwise that went very well. The president likes you.”
    “Yeah, I’m still new at this. The cameras caught me off guard.”
    The Suburban, still led by a security escort, passed out of the gates and raced onto the wide access road back toward the city center. Judd held the handle above the window and rested his chin in the crook of his arm to watch the city go by.
    They passed a bus depot, a flock of multicolored minibuses buzzing around a crowd of commuters. He could hear the taxi touts, hanging precariously off the back of the vehicles, calling out destinations around the capital.
    “You’ll get used to it,” she said. “I should have warned you about his obsession with the New York Mets. He’s not just indulging a visiting American. He really loves . . .”
    Everything went silent for a moment, a