Minute Zero (8 page)

U.S. Department of State, Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 7:15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

D
r. Ryker, there’s still nothing out of Ethiopia.”

“Excuse me, Serena?”

“You asked me this morning for anything out of Lalibela. There’s nothing. The only report I could find was about a mid-level embassy official visiting the archaeological sites a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.”

So, Lalibela is quiet.
Phew.

Judd turned his attention back to the stacks of paper on his desk. Since returning to the office from the White House, he had immersed himself in intelligence reports and diplomatic cables on Zimbabwe. It was the usual minutiae about visiting foreign officials from Angola and Venezuela, tedious details about the opening of the Chinese-built Winston Tinotenda College of Nursing, and unsubstantiated reporting on missing workers from a voter education drive. Judd turned to the next cable, which contained a sterile list of deficiencies in the voter list. “A key challenge for democracy in Zimbabwe is weak capacity within the Election Commission” was the cable’s conclusion.
No shit,
he thought.

On its own, each document was typical reporting by a political officer who spent too much time behind the walls of the embassy compound playing the Foreign Service’s game of CYA.
Cover your ass.
Judd had gotten used to reading between the lines on these cables. But when taken together, the reports left Judd uneasy.
Am I reading too much into these? Or am I missing the bigger picture?

Judd had spoken to Sunday again to ask the analyst to look into Royal Deepwater Venture Capital, the name given to him by Simon Kenny-Waddington. Judd was feeling pleased with himself that he had exploited his personal network to unearth clues. And that his contact in the British Foreign Office had come through. This was often how he found the best information: backchannel.

He was also grateful for Sunday. It was useful to have a private line of communication with a CIA analyst with access to all of the Agency’s resources. And he was glad that it was someone he could trust.

That was the good news. He was wheels-up in a few hours and still had little idea of what he was flying into. Even if Judd figured out a plan in Zimbabwe, would he be able to act? S/CRU was still an experiment.

—

I
t had all happened so fast. The early phone call on a Saturday morning, a State Department seminar on his Golden Hour theory on Monday, and a job offer that same day from Landon Parker before he was on the plane back to Boston. A few weeks later, the whole family had moved from Massachusetts to Washington, D.C. The transition had been so quick, Judd’s new colleagues could hardly believe it. Some even whispered it was “highly suspicious.”

Judd’s old colleagues, the other professors at Amherst College, also couldn’t believe it. After all his hard work, Judd had given up his own research—and tenure—for what? A temporary assignment in the belly of a government bureaucracy. What was he thinking? they sighed. Judd often asked himself the same question.

He knew Professor BJ van Hollen had been an influence, perhaps even the decisive one. BJ had always encouraged Judd to apply his skills to real problems and not just sit back and milk the comforts of academic life.

“Inquiry for its own sake is virtuous but indulgent,” BJ had told him over one of their long dinners. “Inquiry for the real world is imperfect but consequential.” Judd had even quoted this saying at BJ’s funeral.

Imperfect but consequential. That was a laudable goal.

Jessica had also encouraged him to take a chance with public service. His wife had been less emphatic, more subtle, than BJ had been, but probably more persuasive in the end. That’s how Jess always did it: discreet influence.

—

J
udd’s concentration was broken by a knock on his office door.

“Hello, sweetheart” came the soft, familiar, if unexpected voice.

“Jess?” He forced his look of confusion into a happy facial expression. “Uh, what are you doing here?”

“I came to take you to dinner. I’ve been working so hard on my Ethiopia water project and you’ve been in the office late almost every night. So I called the babysitter. We haven’t had a date in weeks.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry about that.”

“And I get the sense you will be traveling again soon.”

“I
am
traveling soon. Tonight, in fact.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I’m that good.”

“But how did you know I wasn’t coming home? I, um, I was going to send you a text . . . Actually, how did you get up here? How did you even get into the building?”

“Let me close this door and give you some privacy, Dr. Ryker,” interrupted Serena. “And nice to see
you
again, Dr. Ryker,” she said to Jessica before slipping out and shutting the door.

“Serena, of course!” said Judd. “That’s how you got up here.”

“Girls’ secret,” Jessica replied, pressing an index finger to her lips. She had put on bright red nail polish, Judd noticed.

Then she approached Judd and gave him a delicate kiss. He closed his eyes to accept and relaxed his shoulders.

“Very nice. Now let me take you out of here,” she said, waving her hand dismissively at his messy desk.

“I’ve got a lot of work before my flight.”

“It’ll be good for you to clear your head for an hour. Plus you’ve got to eat.”

Judd nodded his assent.

“Where do you want to go?” he asked. “There’s not much choice around here. Foggy Bottom is a food wasteland.”

“Well, we’re not having dinner in this place,” she said emphatically.

“So, you’ve eaten at the State Department before?”

“No. But I’ve heard . . .”

The couple walked out the employees-only back door of the Harry S. Truman Building, which deposited them onto Virginia Avenue. “If we walk north toward the World Bank, the restaurants get better.”

After a few blocks, they found an intimate Italian bistro and took a quiet table at the back, out of sight. Once they had settled into their seats and ordered a bottle of red wine, Judd began, “So, any news from Papa?”

“Nothing more than what you heard this morning. He’s still laying the groundwork for the project.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“Clean water retention systems. You remember I told you about it yesterday? We are infiltrating the underwater aquifers and installing new polymer tank and piping systems to enable OCSWP.”

“Oh, right.”

“You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?”

“Remind me. What’s OCSWP?”

“Off-grid concentrated solar water purification. See, you don’t remember. Or maybe you weren’t listening.”

“No, no, I remember. Just too many acronyms, Jess. I’m really interested. I promise. OCSWP sounds pretty cool.”

“Uh-huh,” said Jessica warily. “Let’s change the subject. I came here to talk about you. Where are you flying to?”

“Zimbabwe. The midnight flight to Johannesburg, then I’m catching an early connection into Harare.”

“I see.”

“You aren’t surprised?”

“Nope. I saw on the news about the dead tourist. An American jumped from the bridge at Victoria Falls. How terrible. I figured that would have the State Department in a tizzy. I guess Rogerson came to his senses. The old goat finally realized he needed you.”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“The Secretary’s office air-dropped me on Rogerson’s team for this one. I’m going to Zimbabwe over his objection.”

Jessica laughed. “That’ll teach him.”

“I doubt he sees it that way.”

“Look on the bright side: The Secretary of State must be genuinely worried about Zimbabwe blowing up and she knows you can be helpful. That’s great news, Judd. Powerful people are seeing the value of S/CRU. They see the value in
you
.” She raised her wineglass. “Let’s celebrate.”

“Or someone thinks Zimbabwe is going down in flames and they want to lay this disaster on me,” Judd said. Jessica dropped her arm. “There’s a good chance this is a cover-your-ass disaster dump,” Judd explained.

“So own the disaster.” Jessica shrugged. “Show them. I don’t see you have much choice. Seize it.”

“I know. I need a big win. The budget is being cut and the Crisis Reaction Unit is vulnerable. Zimbabwe could be do-or-die for S/CRU.”

“So it’s sink or swim,” Jessica said.

“Yep.”

“Fish or cut bait.”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Shit or get off the pot.”

“All right already! I get it, Jess.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been working on some new cutting-edge data analysis. I’ve got radical ideas for transforming U.S. strategies in places like Cuba and North Korea where the politics are stuck. And I think I can apply the same principles to help the U.S. government shape volatile transitions, like in Egypt and Iran. I know I could make a real contribution to increasing the leverage of U.S. policy in those places. Yet the survival of S/CRU now hangs on . . . Zimbabwe.”

“Judd, you are looking at this all wrong.
This is
an opportunity.
It’s a
good thing
the Secretary is forcing you into a corner.”

“It is?”

“Absolutely. Fuck Rogerson.”

“Fuck Rogerson?”

“You do your thing, Judd.”

“I know. You’ve told me.”

“You’re getting frustrated, but this is your chance. And if something really terrible starts to happen again in Zimbabwe, then you have to stop it.”

Judd wrinkled his brow. “Again?”

“Yes, Judd. The last time something horrible happened there, no one did anything.
No one gave a shit.
You can’t let those poor people get slaughtered again.”

“Who’s getting slaughtered, Jess?”

She stopped and took a deep breath. “Judd, you have a chance to make your mark and to do the right thing. How can you not seize this?”

“What horrible things? What are you talking about?”

“You have to do the right thing, Judd. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Since when are you emotional about Zimbabwe? I’ve never heard you talk about it before and suddenly you’re an expert?”

“I’ve been reading.”

“Even if I want to help, I don’t have much time. Or leverage. You know that. I’m flying in there the same day the election starts, and it’s just me.”

“Didn’t you just say you have new ideas for leverage?”

“Yes. But what am I supposed to do?”

“Win.”

“No one cares about Zimbabwe. Landon Parker wouldn’t have given it to me if anyone did. I have no political top cover, no time, no tools.”

“Then turn those all to your advantage. Fly under the radar, be quick, use what you have. And fight to the death, Judd. That’s what you did in Mali and it worked. You really have no other choice.”

“No choice . . .” Judd mumbled, and rubbed his temples.

“You just have to win.”

“I
do
have to win this one, Jess.”

“So stop feeling sorry for yourself. It’s unprofessional.”

Judd dropped his hands and relaxed his shoulders. Then he looked right into Jessica’s eyes.
God, she is beautiful. And smart. I am lucky,
he thought. “You’re right, Jess.”

“Good. About time. So, what’s your plan?” She sipped her wine.

“I’m working on it,” he said.

“You’re leaving tonight, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

“Well, let’s start with item one. What’s your objective?”

Judd didn’t reply immediately.

“Come on, Judd! What are your goals? Who’re your allies? Who’s gonna block you? These are the basics.”

“You are quite the romantic, Jessica. You surprise your husband for a dinner date and you want to talk about strategy for regime change.”

“Regime change?” she asked with a smirk. She sat up straighter and pushed out her chest. “Okaaay, good.
Regime change.
At least you know what you are trying to achieve.”

“That’s not official policy,” he said quickly.

“If you say so. Where’s Rogerson on this? What’s he going to do?”

“He won’t do anything. Just the opposite. He’s just trying to keep things quiet. Stability, first and forever.”

“Okay, item two: your team. Who else matters?”

“Rogerson’s brought the whole building in. Every State bureau plus another half dozen federal agencies. I think his interagency task force has twenty-five or thirty people now.”

“That can’t possibly work.”

“He calls it ‘whole-of-government.’”

“Sounds like a circus,” she said, scrunching her face in the way she often did when she smelled something foul. “Listen, Judd, this isn’t my area of expertise. But from years of running agriculture projects in some pretty crazy places, I’ve learned one thing: You get things done with
a small team
. No bigger than it needs to be. If you need a team, the smaller the better.”

“Okay . . .”

“And everyone has to be clear on what skills they bring to the mission. You know about the great literature on this, right?”

“More Emily Dickinson?”

Jessica shook her head.

“Shakespeare?” he asked.

“DC Comics,” she said.

“What?”

“The Justice League, Judd. You know: Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash. The team of superheroes. Didn’t you read comic books as a kid?”

“Yeah, sure. I loved Iron Man.”

“No,” she scoffed. “Iron Man was the Avengers. That’s Marvel Comics.” Jessica took another sip of wine.

“I obviously don’t know my superhero teams like you do,” Judd said.

“No, you don’t.”

“What’s your point, Jess?”

“Did Batman try to fly the invisible airplane?”

“What?”

“No, he didn’t. That was Wonder Woman’s plane. You get it?”

“I think so.”

“They each brought something special to the team. They knew their role. They did their jobs.”

“They stayed in their lane,” he added.

“Exactly, Judd,” she said.

“You sound like Rogerson.”

“Forget him. You need to find
your team
. Each member brings a special skill and does their job. You need your own powerful team.”