Andrew Britton - The Exile

A hint of curiosity broke through the young man’s angry facade, and he looked at Holland with renewed interest. “Such as?”

Holland shook his head. “I can’t give you any specifics, Sergeant, for the simple truth that I don’t know. This is just an idea, and I can’t prove a thing. But take a look around.” He lifted his arms out to his sides, as though the answer could be found right there in the room. “Look at what’s happened since April. Better yet, look at what hasn’t happened. We’ve had…what? Four demonstrations outside the building over the past month?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Is that the normal state of things?”

“No,” Sadowski conceded. He was starting to look interested. “The numbers are way down, as a matter of fact. Before the attack on Camp Hadith, we were getting an average of three a week, ranging from a few students with signs to a few hundred hard-liners with rocks, sticks, and plenty of American flags to burn. Lately, there’s been almost nothing.”

“Nothing for us,” Holland corrected. “But last week there were three demonstrations in protest of Bashir’s regime in Khartoum alone. Did you know that? Demonstrations in protest of his regime. Rallies were staged in Juba and Nyala as well. Of those that took place here in the city, two were staged at Nillien University, and one took place outside the al-Safa mosque in the Jarif district. They were put down by the local police, of course, and put down quickly, but each was attended by more people than the last, and another is scheduled for Tuesday, two days from now. Based on the evidence, I’d say the tide has turned in our favor, and the momentum is only building.”

Sadowski looked intrigued, but also confused. “So what are you saying?” he asked. “Are you suggesting that we had something to do with those demonstrations? That we arranged for them somehow?”

“That depends on who you mean by ‘we.’ I can tell you unequivocally that the Agency is not involved with whatever is happening.” Holland was breaking a number of serious rules by being so candid with the young marine, but he needed Sadowski’s help, and he had already realized that he wouldn’t get it for free. “At the very least, I would have been told up front if we had a part in it. Even if it was on the periphery.”

The sergeant thought that through for a minute. “So you’re wrong,” he said. “If the kind of operation you’re talking about did exist, the CIA would be the natural choice to run it. And since you claim to have no idea what’s going on, these demonstrations must have happened of their own accord. Right?”

“That’s possible,” Holland conceded. “But when was the last time anyone in this city-let alone hundreds of people at a time-said anything negative about Omar al-Bashir in public? I don’t see that happening without some kind of serious provocation.”

“And you think we’re responsible for that provocation.”

“I think it’s possible.”

“But how could that happen without you knowing about it?” Sadowski demanded. He gestured toward Holland’s credentials, which were still sitting on the desk between them. “You’re the CIA station chief. Wouldn’t you be the first person to be tipped off if something like that was going on?”

“Normally, yes,” Holland said, barely managing not to wince at the younger man’s statement of fact. It was strange and more than a little disconcerting to hear his title spoken aloud, and it served to remind him how big a risk he had taken by telling Sadowski the whole truth. “But I don’t think we’re in anything close to normal territory.” He paused. No, not remotely close. In his view, they had entered a zone where everything became murky and ambiguous. “If Brenneman decided to go with an outside source for some reason, it might explain why we’ve been cut out of the loop.”

Sadowski frowned and shook his head. “I don’t see how that makes sense. Why would the president do that? Why put you in that position?”

“I don’t know,” Holland admitted. “But if it happened the way I think it did, it’s the only possible explanation.”

It took a few seconds, but then it clicked for the marine sergeant. “You think that the man who came to the embassy today is somehow tied up in this…” He stumbled for a second, searching for the right word to describe it. “…this theory of yours, don’t you?”

Holland met the younger man’s eyes. “I think it’s a possibility, Sergeant, but again, I can’t prove it. So in that regard, yes, it’s nothing more than conjecture. That’s why I need your help. That’s why I need to see the disks you have in that bag at your feet. The security footage for the building from this afternoon.”

Sadowski looked startled. “How did you…?”

The CIA station chief waved it away. “What else could it be? I was starting to think that your visitor might have taken it with him.”

“He did,” Sadowski confirmed, sitting back in his seat. Now that the wall between them had melted, he seemed almost eager to talk. “Reynolds called down a few minutes beforehand and told me to give him the security disks and any backups, no questions asked.”

“Is that all he took?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Did Reynolds say who the man was? Did he give a name?”

“No. He just said that someone would be down for the disks. The guy showed up a few minutes later, and I handed them over. Then he said he wanted something to carry them in. He looked like he was in a hurry, and I didn’t want any problems with Reynolds, so I just emptied my ruck, stuck the disks in, and sent him on his way.”

“But you didn’t give him the backups,” Holland pointed out. “Why not?”

Sadowski shrugged. “It wasn’t a normal request. More importantly, it was against protocol. I didn’t like it, so I decided to cover my rear end, just in case. Believe me, when you join the Corps, CYA is one of the first things you learn about.”

“And let me guess. The disks you have in that bag are just another set of copies.”

The marine didn’t take the bait. “Actually, these are the backup disks themselves. Your call caught me off guard, sir… I didn’t think to make any more.”

“Right,” Holland said dryly. “That’s why it took you two hours to get back to me.”

Sadowski opened his mouth to argue, but Holland held up a hand, cutting him off. “Relax, Sergeant. I’m not blaming you. I would have done the same thing in your position.”

The marine nodded, clearly relieved to be off the hook. He seemed to have forgotten that Holland had no actual authority over him. Reaching down, he grabbed the bag at his feet and placed it square on the desk. Holland pulled it toward him and withdrew the contents. There were four disks in all, each in a clear plastic jewel case.

“Why so many?” he asked. “How long was he here?”

“Not long. Maybe half an hour or so, but those recordings cover every camera we have, including those with a view of the street. I figured you would want everything.”

Holland looked up. “You knew from the start that you were going to give them to me?”

“No,” Sadowski admitted. “When I talked to you earlier, I was still on the fence.” He didn’t bother to say what had changed his mind. Instead, he nodded toward the small stack of recordable disks. “What are you going to do with them, sir?”

Holland had already thought this through. “First, you and I are going to go down to Post One. That’s the only place in the building that has a multiplexer, and I don’t want to have to flip from camera to camera, scene to scene. We’ll watch these together. You know this place better than anyone, and you might be able to spot anything out of the ordinary. I want your input.”