Andrew Britton - The Exile

“Why can’t you just ask him?” Kealey asked when Harper was done explaining it. “Call Reynolds up and ask him. See what he says. He’s a diplomat… The worst thing he’ll do is tell you to go fuck yourself. Even if that happens, you’ll be no worse off then you are right now.”

“We can’t ask him for the same reason we can’t go to Fitzgerald,” Harper pointed out. “Anything I say to them is bound to find its way to the president, and he clearly doesn’t want us involved in this. We have to tread carefully if we’re going to get any answer… I can’t risk having him shut me down completely.”

Kealey thought about that for a second. “Do you think White is still in Sudan?”

“I don’t know.” Harper could see where Kealey was going with this. “It’s anyone’s guess. Holland has only four case officers under his command, and he hasn’t been there long enough to cultivate any real assets. So he’s limited in what he can do. He’s had a few locals watching the embassy since we identified White, but he has yet to make a reappearance. However, another man has showed up on several occasions, and thanks again to our friends at MI Five, we’ve managed to put a name to the face.”

The deputy director opened the last folder and withdrew a grainy 8 x 10, explaining its significance as Kealey examined the photograph. “His name is Ishmael Mirghani. He’s forty-six years old, a Sudanese national and a graduate of Assiut University in Egypt, where he received a degree in electrical engineering. That was over a decade ago. We don’t have any record on him prior to that year, but we have plenty since.”

“A late bloomer,” Kealey observed.

“Maybe, but he bloomed nonetheless,” Harper said. He paused as their waitress left a fresh drink in front of him, smiled at her, and reached for it. “How much do you know about the predominant rebel groups in Sudan?”

“Not much.”

“That’s what I thought,” Harper said and brought his glass to his lips. He was disappointed, but he wasn’t surprised. Kealey had operated in Africa only once before and never in Sudan. He had no reason to know about the country’s politics. “For the time being all you need to know is that the two most prominent ones are the Sudanese Liberation Army and the Justice and Equality Movement, otherwise known as the JEM. Both have been thorns in Bashir’s side-enough so that Bashir was forced to cut a deal with them. He later reneged on the agreement, but they’re still a factor. Especially now. We’ve seen a lot of increased rebel activity since the attack on Camp Hadith, particularly in the south, and there has been a series of mass demonstrations against Bashir’s regime in the larger cities, including Khartoum. Holland has been sending me detailed reports on all of it, and frankly, I’m just as concerned as he is.”

Kealey made a winding gesture. “And Mirghani fits in exactly how…?”

“He was a senior figure in the SLA until recently. A field commander at the very least.”

“He isn’t with the group any longer?”

Harper shook his head. “We believe he may have left and founded his own offshoot,” he said. “The Darfur People’s Army.”

“Original.” Kealey chuckled a little.

“What can I tell you?” Harper said. “Anyway, so far Mirghani’s managed to stay off the regime’s radar. And ours, for the most part. We don’t know why he left the SLA. Nor do we know whether he’s still connected to the group, or gone completely off on his own toot, or formed affiliations with other rebel factions…the JEM being a possibility. Either way, it makes me think something’s brewing in the hinterlands.”

Kealey nodded thoughtfully and said nothing.

A long moment passed. Sipping his drink, Harper rode out the silence. The escalating situation in Sudan-particularly in Darfur-had been all over the news for the past several weeks, and he supposed he’d understated just how serious it was. To put it bluntly, the country was on the verge of a full-blown revolution.

“So what was Mirghani doing at the embassy?”

“We don’t know. All we know for sure is that he met with Reynolds on three separate occasions, and each time he left with the MSG’s security footage. According to Holland, Reynolds ordered the detachment commander to turn over the disks, just like he did with White. We have no idea what they’ve been talking about, but we’re ninety percent sure Mirghani is working with White. Or for him, maybe.”

“I assume you’ve tried following him.”

Harper nodded. “We’ve tried, sure. But the man knows what to look for. He’s different from most of the rebels in that respect. Whoever trained him did a damn good job… We haven’t been able to track him. He shakes the surveillance every time.” A shrug. “I suppose it doesn’t help that we’re using locals and not trained officers. The problem is that Mirghani would spot our men in a matter of minutes, and we can’t risk losing him altogether.”

“Fair enough. But how is Mirghani tied in with White?”

“We don’t know that, either,” Harper admitted. “What we do know is that Mirghani can be directly linked to Simon Nusairi. They’re cousins. First cousins, related by blood. I guess family makes the world go round.”

“And here I thought it was money.”

Harper shrugged. “In this case the two are inseparable.”

Kealey showed the faintest grin. Watching him, Harper almost could have imagined this was another time and place. Say, five years ago at the Dubliner Pub in D.C. Kealey had liked the amber draught ale and hot corned beef sandwiches. He’d usually gone for Guinness and the shepherd’s pie.

Harper reached for his whiskey and drank in silence.

“Okay,” Kealey said after a while. His thin smile was gone. “So what do we have here? One month ago five million dollars disappears from a secret DOD slush fund. Soon thereafter it lands with Nusairi, a Sudanese national living in France. Nusairi is wholly opposed to Bashir’s regime, just like his cousin, who is almost certainly working with Cullen White, a disgraced former CIA officer. It seems pretty clear that the money was meant for White to disperse all along.”

Harper nodded. “That would be my guess as well,” he said.

“But what’s he using it for?”

“That’s another question we can’t answer right now,” Harper said. “But the recent upheaval can’t be a coincidence. The demonstrations, the increased rebel activity in the south…I just don’t buy the timing. Nor do I believe a word of that meeting I had to sit through in April. Stralen is up to something, and he’s managed to pull the president into it. Fitzgerald and Thayer are involved, too, and they’re doing their best to shut the Agency out. I want to know what’s happening, Ryan. So does the director, and that’s why I’m here. We want you to talk to Nusairi. We need you to figure out what’s going on in Sudan.”

“Now there’s a surprise.” Kealey pushed the photograph of Mirghani back across the table. “And what exactly do you want from me? Am I supposed to talk to Nusairi, or would you like me to the find the man who killed Lily Durant? Because last time I checked, we don’t have any idea who did it, and Bashir certainly isn’t about to hand him over, assuming he even knows who’s responsible.”

“We’re hoping Nusairi might be able to shed some light on that.”

Kealey shook his head in disbelief. “That’s a stretch, John. I can’t believe you don’t realize it. There’s nothing to indicate that Nusairi is linked to the men who raided the camp. If your theory is right, and Nusairi is opposed to Bashir’s regime, we’re looking at the exact opposite scenario. If he knew who did it, he would have already made it public.”