Kealey, meanwhile, had shrugged in response to his question. “What I know is basically just what the networks reported. The Janjaweed raided the camp and Durant was killed, along with forty or so refugees. A doctor called it in, some guy from UNICEF, and the embassy sent some people out to identify her body. The ambassador flew out there himself, if I remember correctly. Al-Bashir denied involvement and promised to find the people responsible, but nothing came of it. No surprise there.”
Harper nodded again, sat back in his seat, and lifted his scotch. He’d just walked up to the bar for a second round, but even though he’d offered to pick up the tab, Kealey had refused a drink. Harper knew that the younger man’s newfound abstinence didn’t mean a thing and was probably based entirely on his presence. Earlier in the day he’d asked the SF captain in charge of Kealey’s security about the American’s drinking habits. The question was spurred by the captain’s revelation that Kealey had visited the Elephant amp; Castle on five of the last eight nights. It had immediately set off Harper’s internal alarm.
Unfortunately, the South African’s answer had done nothing to alleviate his concerns. Kealey had run up quite a tab on the nights in question, and even though he seemed to handle it well, at least according to the captain, Harper was less worried about the drinking than he was about what was causing it, and wouldn’t have needed Allison’s input to know it was a manifestation of Kealey’s overbearing guilt. He had not been able to forgive himself for the choice he’d made in Pakistan the previous year, the one that indirectly led to Naomi’s death. And he’d been punishing himself ever since. The heavy drinking was only a signpost, a symptom of much deeper issues.
Harper couldn’t help but wonder how this internal conflict would affect his ability to carry out the task at hand, assuming he was willing to take it on to begin with. But it was just a passing thought. In for a dollar, in for a pound. Of flesh.
The deputy director let none of this show on his face. Setting down his glass, he said, “So you think Bashir ordered the attack. You think he wanted her dead.”
“Actually, no. I don’t think that at all.”
Harper supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d come to send Kealey into the fire. But he’d also missed him-and the chance to test his thoughts against Kealey’s razor-sharp perceptiveness. “Why not?”
“It doesn’t make sense, for one thing,” Kealey said. “He would know it could only give the ICC and the United States a common agenda…and a sound justification to act on it. Russia would kick and scream at anyone taking any unilateral action against Bashir. So would the Chinese. But with the World Court already declaring him a criminal, and American blood on his hands, that’s about all they could do.”
Harper willed his face to remain neutral. “Arrogance and power have led smarter men than Bashir to overextend their reach before.”
“Except Bashir’s got something more valuable to a dictator than brains, and that’s a well-developed survival instinct,” Kealey said. “For him to do anything this drastic, he would need to have something to gain. And there’s nothing. In that respect, he’s like any other dictator. He’s interested in two things-one of them being power, which you already mentioned. And he’s got all he’s ever likely to have.”
“Which leaves money,” Harper said.
“Right,” Kealey said. “But killing Durant does nothing to boost his bank account. There’s no upside to ordering her death, so why would he do it?”
“Pride? Anger? Separately or in combination, take your pick,” Harper suggested. He was, of course, still playing devil’s advocate here. But he wanted to see how far the other man had thought it through-and was admittedly enjoying it. “The sanctions Brenneman approved back in February are nothing to sneeze at, Ryan. The Sudanese defense minister had his personal accounts in the U.S. frozen and eventually seized. We’re talking about several million dollars, and the minister is a first cousin to Omar al-Bashir, not to mention one of his closest advisors. You don’t think that would be enough to provoke some kind of retaliation?”
Kealey shook his head. “His only concern for his family is that they stick close to protect him. And if he really wanted to, he could throw him that much money as a bone. It’s chump change compared to what he stands to lose…enough to prompt a lot of talk, but that’s it.” Kealey shrugged. “Anything Bashir does to us is going to come back to him tenfold. He knows that. More to the point, he’s seen it happen in Iraq. After he pulled out of Kuwait back in ninety-one, Saddam did nothing but talk and wave his sword in the air, and that in itself was enough to bring him down. Bashir knows what he’s up against. And I don’t think he’s behind the attack.”
Harper managed to look skeptical. “You realize that opinion puts you in the minority.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’s what I think,” Kealey said. “Tell you something else. If he’d known what was coming ahead of time, my guess is he would have done everything in his ability to stop it.”
“If that’s so…if he didn’t give the order…wouldn’t you say it’s a little surprising he hasn’t come up with whoever is responsible?”
Kealey shook his head. “Sudan is neighbored by something like eight or nine countries,” he explained. “Two or three share a border directly with West Darfur. The militiamen could’ve slipped into Chad or Libya long before the fires burned themselves out at the camp. Or they could have headed into the mountains. Either way, they wouldn’t be easy to find, even with aerial coverage.”
“But it’s open terrain. There’s hardly any vegetation. If they had planes-”
“We’re using Blackbirds and Predator drones in Pakistan,” Kealey pointed out. “The most technologically sophisticated spy planes on the planet…and we still can’t find Osama bin Laden and his top cronies. I’ve never been that far north in Africa, but as far as I know, it’s the same kind of landscape. Plenty of caves and small villages to lose yourself in.”
Harper nodded. Yes, indeed, he’d missed the hell out of this. The thoughts were jumping back and forth between him and Kealey like those brightly colored bouncy balls kids got from gum machines. “And what do you think about what came after? About our response?”
“ Lack of a response, you mean.” Kealey shrugged. “What can I tell you? If I’m right-if Bashir wasn’t directly responsible-it’s probably a good thing that we didn’t hit them. God knows the man doesn’t deserve to live, but you can’t kill him for something he didn’t do. I’d need a lot more than ten fingers to list the problems it would create for us in the region. Just look at what’s happening in Kenya.” Another quick shrug. “On the other hand, someone ordered the attack, and someone pulled the trigger. Those are the people you have to find.”
And kill, Harper thought but didn’t say…although Kealey’s expression told him he knew that was a critical part of it. Thing is, Kealey, the word is “we.” We need to find them. I still need you to realize that. Because as much as we’re alike, the very thing that separates us is the thing that makes you the perfect man for this job.
Not for the first time, Harper found himself wondering about Kealey’s quick and utter readiness to take another person’s life. It was a question that had always bothered him. Did he feel anything at all for the six police officers he’d killed the previous week? Did his recent spate of heavy drinking stem in part from those deaths, or was it rooted entirely in what had come before? Somehow, Harper doubted that he had lost even a minute of sleep over the dead SAPS officers, which left only the not-so-distant past. In that respect, the drinking could almost be seen as a good thing. At the very least, it meant that the man had managed to retain some semblance of human empathy despite the things he had seen and done over the last twelve years.
The waitress, a slim, attractive blonde in her midtwenties, approached to collect Harper’s plate. She lingered long enough to shoot a meaningful smile in Kealey’s direction, but he didn’t seem to notice.