Matthew Palmer - Enemy of the Good

There were also logistical challenges, the unglamorous side of any human endeavor—even a revolution. There was trash to be collected, latrines to be emptied, and two hungry horses and hundreds of people to be fed. Hamid took charge of running the camp and he proved to be a skilled administrator.

On her second day in the camp, he pulled Kate aside.

“I’m sorry about what I said to you, about your being responsible for Albina’s death. That wasn’t fair. I spoke out of anger. You’ve sacrificed as much for Kyrgyzstan as any of us. I’ll try to remember that.”

This time Kate let herself cry.

As the days passed, the size of the protests grew. The country seemed to sense that power was shifting, that Eraliev’s time may, in fact, have come. A palpable expectation of change settled over the city, and copycat demonstrations occupied the centers of smaller cities and towns across Kyrgyzstan.

Kate was able to come and go from the compound. The police now recognized her and waved her through the checkpoints easily. At the embassy, she met with the ambassador and Crespo and sent thorough reports back to Washington offering an insider’s account of what was now being called the Goshawk Revolution.

Through the embassy, Kate was able to follow developments in Bishkek as they appeared in the fun-house mirror that was the Washington policy process. Kyrgyzstan was page one news, and the coverage was driven by the compelling visuals of the compound, the exotically dressed demonstrators, and Ruslan and his grandfather on horseback. The Goshawk Revolution was a subject for big-power competition as well. The Chinese were openly backing Eraliev. The Russians were opposed, in principle, to any color revolutions. The Europeans were supporting Boldu, and the Americans were on the fence, reflexively supportive of democratic change but mindful of the disappointments from the Arab Spring and waiting to see which side would come out on top. The future of the base negotiations was no small part of the American calculus.

On one visit to the embassy, her uncle called her into his office for a private chat.

“Kate, there are things going on behind the scenes that you need to know about.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

Harry poured out two stiff measures of Maker’s Mark over ice and handed one to Kate.

“You’re going to want one of these.”

“That bad?”

“Your revolution has gotten caught up in D.C. politics. That’s not especially surprising, but this is as bitter and nasty as I’ve seen in a long time.”

“My revolution?”

“No exaggeration. You may not realize it, but you’re making something of a name for yourself. The secretary himself is reading your reports.”

“So what’s the source of the friction? Is this State versus Defense?”

“That’s part of it. But it’s more personal than institutional. That desiccated son of a bitch Crandle has essentially bet his career on the outcome of the base negotiations. He’s pushing the National Security Council to greenlight a strategy for bailing out Eraliev and cashing that check for the base agreement.”

“How’s he doing?”

“Right now, he’s losing. But that’s not something a man like Crandle does gracefully. And from what I hear, he’s starting to cheat.”

“Looking at the policy papers of the boy sitting next to him?”

“This is serious, Kate. Word is that he’s leaking intelligence to Eraliev, including some of your reporting.”

“That’s easy enough to fix. I can stop reporting.”

“I think you should stop. But there’s more.”

“Do I want to know?”

“You have to. There’s a lot on the line here, and Crandle and his ilk play for keeps. He’s been using Colonel Ball as his surrogate. Brass is the one who I believe has been passing intel to the palace. The FBI has opened an investigation. Success would paper over their multitude of sins. Failure would open them up to all kinds of payback, up to and including charges for espionage. That’s life without parole, and that makes men like Crandle and Ball desperate and dangerous. Nothing’s out of bounds. Crandle’s been urging Eraliev to call out the army, but Eraliev’s afraid that if he gives the generals an opening they’ll stage a coup.”

“That’s actually one of his smarter ideas,” Kate said. “That is a real risk.”

“Indeed. But Crandle may have found a back door. Do you remember that Special Forces unit that Crandle and Ball were talking about at breakfast at the residence?”

“The fifty-something.”

“That’s the one. The Fifty-fourth parachute battalion under the command of a lieutenant colonel named Shakirov. They’re the Kyrgyz equivalent of the Rangers. Real soldiers. Ball has been working with the Fifty-fourth for the last two years, and he and Shakirov are close. Crandle has reportedly ordered Brass to persuade Shakirov to use his troops to crush the Goshawk Revolution and kill Usenov even without a direct order from the president.”

“And if that triggers the coup?”

“Then Crandle still wins. Shakirov would be high in the coup government and he would be inclined to give Crandle the base deal as payback.”

“So is Brass making any progress with Shakirov?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s disappeared, Kate. And I don’t know where he is.”

“It’s time.”

Ruslan pointed to the north end of the square, where five armored personnel carriers were lined up and pointed straight at the gate of Boldu’s compound. The Special Police were a paramilitary force and they used APCs to provide security at major events. Sometimes they mounted water cannons on the roofs to help pacify unruly crowds. But the Special Police APCs were painted dark blue. These were green. The army had come out to play.

“Is that the Fifty-fourth?” Ruslan asked Nogoev, who was standing next to him on the rickety observation platform.

Nogoev looked through his binoculars.

“I can’t see the markings of the vehicles. It’s too dark. But I’d bet money it’s Shakirov. That man has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. He’s planning to ram the gate and he doesn’t care if we know it. Overconfidence kills.”

“Watch yourself then, Daniar. We don’t want to fall into that same trap. We know they’re coming, and the plan is solid. But they still outgun us by a lot.”

“Then let’s do what we can to make sure that this doesn’t become a gunfight.”

They had had almost two days to prepare. Kate had passed on the warning from the Americans about Shakirov and their own renegade colonel. Nogoev knew Shakirov. He had been one of the young soldiers under his command in Afghanistan, where he had a reputation for being brave but was also impetuous to the point of foolhardy.

“Is everything ready?”

“Everything’s in place. I’ll make a sweep and check on the disposition of our forces.”

“Such as they are,” Ruslan said.

“Such as they are,” Nogoev agreed.

“Do you think Kayrat uluu will do as he promised?”

“He had better or we’re all dead.”

The masses of Kyrgyz camped outside the gate made it impossible for the APCs to run straight at the compound. The police worked to open a corridor for the army unit, but it took time, almost an hour, before there was a clear path.

Ruslan took advantage of the time to review the defenses and to steal a few minutes with Kate.

“I think you should get out of the compound before this begins,” Ruslan told her. “I don’t know what’s going to happen here or how violent it’s going to get. But people are going to die tonight. And I don’t want you to be one of them.”