Minute Zero (9 page)

“I need my own Justice League?”

“Precisely. You have to know your allies and what they can do.”

“Right. Okay, I get it.”

“And, item three, don’t forget you are fighting supervillains. You need to know who they are. You need to be very clear about who is really working against you. Who in the U.S. government is on your side and who is making trouble? You need to figure that out right away. Same goes for Zimbabwe once you get on the ground. Who’s on your team and who’s not?”

“I don’t know yet,” Judd rubbed his temples again. “Everyone is lying. The national security guys, the State Department’s old boys’ network. I’m sure when I get to Harare the Zimbabweans will do the same.”

“What about the ambassador?”

“Tallyberger? He’s an old friend of Rogerson’s. I don’t expect any help from him.”

“Do you have any leverage on this guy Tallyberger?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything you can find out that might be useful later. You’re going to need him at some point. Doesn’t hurt to do some homework.”

“You’re cold-blooded, Jessica Ryker.”

“Don’t say that. You know I hate that,” she snapped.

“You’re right. I take it back. I’m sorry.”

“I’m trying to help you,” she said.

“You’re right, Jess.”

“Judd, dear. Look at me.” Jessica placed both hands on the table and stared directly into his eyes. It was her
I’m serious
glare. “Suck it up.”

“Suck it up? That’s your advice?”

“Yes. You are being thrown into the deep end on this. If you think about all the problems, and what you don’t know, and who’s lying to you, then you will lose. Don’t focus on what you don’t know or can’t control. Determine your goals, figure out who you can trust, build your team. Then use what you have and scrap it out.”

Judd nodded. “That’s all?”

Jessica lifted her wineglass, and her face relaxed. “That’s all. Cheers. To your Justice League.”

“To my Justice League,” Judd said.

“And to regime change.”

Clink.

U.S. Ambassador’s Residence, Harare, Zimbabwe
Friday, 1:35 a.m. Central Africa Time

N
o, Bill. You haven’t woken me,” Arnold Tallyberger lied. “I’m always happy to hear from you.”

“I know it’s late, Arnold. I’m sorry to call at this hour. How is Bernice?”

“She’s fine. She misses Helsinki.”

“Those were the days, Arnie. You still owe me for that one. You might still be sitting in a Finnish jail if it weren’t for me.”

“I know, I remember, Bill. Pass Bernice’s regards to Valerie.”

“I will, Arnie, thank you. I’m calling you so late to give you a heads-up.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

“I just found out you’ll be getting a visitor from State.”

“You’re coming for another visit? How wonderful! I can call the hunting lodge. They’ll be thrilled to have you back again. They love VIP visitors.”

“No, Arnie. It’s not me. His name is Judd Ryker. And I want to be very clear that I did not send him.”

“Who?”

“Ryker. He’s not coming to hunt lion. This Ryker is running some newfangled crisis response unit. It’s an experimental plaything of Landon Parker’s. They got it in their heads that we might need some help on Zimbabwe. I tried to talk Landon out of it, but you can’t argue with that guy.”

“We don’t have a crisis in Zimbabwe, Bill.”

“Exactly my point, Arnie. I knew you’d get it. But there’s nothing I can do now. Someone’s convinced Parker this unit can be a problem solver and help the Secretary, but this Ryker kid is a menace.”

“I see.”

“Good. Go ahead and be nice to him. We don’t want anyone crying up to the seventh floor. But keep Ryker’s nose out of our business. You got that?”

“Yes, Bill. What exactly is he coming here to do?”

“Beats me. But I’ve been told he’s flying out tonight and will be landing in Harare early Saturday morning. The first flight from Joburg. You should be getting the country clearance request soon.”

“I could deny him clearance. That would stop him.”

“No, don’t do that. Too obvious. It’ll just raise eyebrows and you’ll be forced to explain. Better you just let him come and poke around. Maybe give him something to distract his attention. Just don’t let him get in your way. And for God’s sake, Arnie, don’t let him stir up any trouble.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You’ve got everything under control over there, right?”

“Yes. I don’t think the election will bring any surprises. Our expectation is continuity.”

“Good. The last thing we want is Zimbabwe on A1 of the
Washington Post
. Nothing more than a short paragraph in the back about low turnout or too much traffic or something like that. Nothing on the goddamn front page, Arnie. Let’s keep a lid on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there anything I need to know, Arnie? Are you picking up any signs of trouble?”

“The CIA chief of station doesn’t think so.”

“Who’s your COS?”

“New guy on his first COS post. Only been down here a few months, but seems on the ball. Maybe a bit over-caffeinated. Came down from Morocco.”

“Morocco? Don’t tell me they sent you Brock Branson.”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“Brock’s a hothead. A real yahoo. Don’t you know what happened in Marrakesh? Jesus, how the hell did Langley promote Brock Branson to be a station chief already?”

“I don’t know, Bill.”

“Can you trust him?”

“I think so. I’ll ask him to keep an eye on this Ryker.”

“Good. You let Brock keep an eye on Ryker. But you better keep an eye on Brock.”

U.S. Department of State, Washington, D.C.
Thursday, 10:22 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

D
r. Ryker, your car will be ready in ten minutes. They’ll have you at Dulles Airport by eleven and you’ll have plenty of time to make your flight. Don’t worry.”

“What about my connection, Serena?”

“You arrive at Joburg/O. R. Tambo International Airport just after midnight tomorrow. You can sleep at the airport for a few hours in the diplomatic lounge and then get the first morning flight to Harare. You’ll be wheels-up at seven and on the ground in Harare at eight.”

“Saturday morning at eight a.m.?”
That gives me just twenty-eight hours before results are announced.

“Yes.”

“That’s the same time polls open. There’s no quicker way?”

“Not unless you have your own plane.”

Judd, annoyed he was cutting it so close, flipped through his papers, deciding which to take with him on the flight. “Where’s that Zimbabwean history book the CIA sent over?”

“It’s right here, Dr. Ryker,” she said handing it to him. “Your travel go bag is by the door. It has enough clothes for a few days. The embassy will give you toiletries. Is there anything else you need?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, giving Serena a serious look. “Can you do me a big favor?”

“Of course, Dr. Ryker.”

“Can you find out who is going to be our next ambassador to Egypt?”

“Could be tough. I do know a staffer on the Deputies Committee. Or maybe I could ask—”

“Don’t tell me how,” Judd interrupted. “I’d rather not know. Deliberate ignorance is sometimes for the best. Just find out. I’d be extremely grateful.”

“Consider it done. You have anything more difficult for me to do? I’m up for a challenge.”

“There
is
something else.”

“Yes?”

“I’d need you to be very discreet.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Yes, of course you are, Serena.”

“I have top secret clearance, just like you. For all you know, Dr. Ryker, I may have higher clearances than you.”

“You do?”

“If I did, I couldn’t say,” she said, deadpan.

“Of course, Serena. But this request is different. Please close the door.”

“No one else is here. It’s after ten o’clock.”

“I know. Close the door anyway.”

Serena did as she was asked and turned to face Judd.

“If you are uncomfortable doing what I’m about to ask, Serena, you can say no. I’ll respect your decision.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to look into Arnold Tallyberger’s personnel record.”

“You need dirt on Ambassador Tallyberger?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But that’s what you mean, right?”

“I just need to know if there’s anything in there that’s . . . relevant.”

“I understand.”

“Don’t you want to know why, Serena?”

“No. Actually, I don’t. Deliberate ignorance is sometimes for the best.”

They were both startled by a knock on the door. They looked at each other, then back to the door.

Knock, knock, knock
.
“Hello? Dr. Ryker?”

Serena opened the door and standing there was a woman, late twenties, with short brown hair and olive skin. She was wearing a tailored business suit, and a leather portfolio was tucked under one arm. Despite her diminutive size and lawyer-like attire, her tight facial features and aggressive posture suggested she could handle herself in a street fight.

“It’s Isabella Espinosa, from the meeting this morning. From the Zimbabwe task force.”

“Yes,” replied Judd. “You’re FBI, right?”

“Justice Department. I’m the special prosecutor seconded here to State. I hunt war criminals.”

“You’re the one tracking the Ethiopian general.”

“Zagwe. Solomon Zagwe. Yes, he’s the one.”

“I haven’t heard anything more about him, I’m sorry.”

“Yes, that’s what everyone’s told me for years.”

“Years?”

“I’ve been chasing Zagwe for a long time. Every time we get close, the Zimbabwean authorities protect him.”

“What exactly did he do?”

“We’re preparing a sealed war crimes indictment against Zagwe. As his dictatorship was weakening, he started attacking provinces that were sympathetic to the rebels. We’ve been building an evidence base to prove that he wiped out an entire village. On his orders, all the adults were rounded up and shot. Then, as a warning to the others, he deployed the army to barricade the roads and prevent any food from being brought into the province.”

“The Red Fear,” Judd said.

“Right. Zagwe called the campaign the Red Fear. He threatened to bring it to other provinces if they challenged him, too. Several thousand people were killed with bullets in the first few weeks. And then the bastard murdered another half million people by creating a famine. There was plenty of food in the country. He just wasn’t allowing any of it to move. That was the Red Fear. This guy should be in a prison cell. But instead the
cabrón
is living in a luxury villa in Harare.”

“Jeeesus,” said Judd. “What can I do?”

“I’ve been working for years to gather the evidence and take witness statements. The only thing missing is the target in custody. If Tinotenda falls, I want to make sure someone grabs Zagwe. This may be my only chance to get him.”

“I’ll talk to the embassy, maybe see if they can put someone on it.”

“Not good enough. I’ve tried before to get the embassy to cooperate. They always say they’re too overstretched and can’t spare the bodies.”

“So, Ms. Espinosa, what do you want me to do?”

“Take me with you.”

Serena interrupted, “I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s no way we can get country clearance for you before Dr. Ryker’s flight. He’s wheels-up in ninety minutes. I’m sure he’d normally be happy to assist—”

“It’s okay, Serena. I want Ms. Espinosa to come along. Go ahead and tell the Operations Center that a member of my team was accidentally omitted from the clearance cable request. Just have them add her name.”

“
Gracias
, Dr. Ryker,” said Isabella, bowing her head in appreciation. “You’re the first one in quite a while to help me.”

“The only problem is we are leaving for the airport now. I mean right now.”

“I’m ready.”

“Good. Serena, can you let the embassy know Ms. Espinosa will also be accompanying me as part of the S/CRU delegation and she’ll require a room and a change of clothes on arrival?”

“Anything else, Dr. Ryker?” Serena asked.

“How long is the flight to Joburg?”

“Eighteen hours. Then you have a layover before your connection to Harare.”

“Too much time lost,” he mumbled to himself. “Serena, keep pressing the embassy to get me a high-level meeting.”

“Ambassador Tallyberger already reported back that a meeting with President Tinotenda is out of the question on election day. They said there’s zero chance he will make time to see a foreign official. And definitely not an American.”

“What about General Chimurenga? Ask the embassy for a meeting with him.”

“Tallyberger said no to that, too.”

“I’ll ask him myself. If we can’t see Tinotenda, then we have to see Chimurenga.”

“You’re talking about Simba Chimurenga?” Isabella asked.

“Yes. You know him?”

“He’s the national security advisor,” she said.

“We can ask him about Zagwe, too.”

“Chimurenga’s not going to help us. He and Zagwe have history. My intel suggests they know each other from way back. Chimurenga was sent to Ethiopia just before Zagwe fell, as part of his military training. It’s not confirmed, but the timeline fits for Chimurenga to have participated in the Red Fear.”

“If they’re close, maybe you can use that?”

“I doubt it. Everything I’ve read on Chimurenga is that he’s pure macho. All male, all military. I don’t think he’s going to be inclined to help a Mexican-American woman lawyer and—no disrespect intended, Dr. Ryker—a skinny white professor.”

Judd laughed.

“What you need is a big ugly guy from the Pentagon with medals pinned across his chest,” Serena suggested.

“A big ugly guy in military uniform . . . Yes . . . you’re right, Serena,” Judd said. “And I know just the one.”

Winston Tinotenda International Airport, Harare, Zimbabwe
Saturday, 8:04 a.m. Central Africa Time

C
olonel David “Bull” Durham was already waiting for Judd on the tarmac. He hadn’t seen or spoken with his friend since their adventure in Mali three months earlier. The colonel was itching to get back in the field, but he was waiting for medical clearance. The sudden order yesterday to report for a short-term civilian liaison assignment in Zimbabwe had come as a total surprise.

It was no surprise once he learned the true nature of the mission.

Fortunately, Durham caught a U.S. Air Force C-140 supply plane already heading from Stuttgart, Germany, to Gaborone, Botswana. From Gabs, he caught a short commercial flight into Harare, arriving just thirty minutes before Judd’s South African Airways connection from Johannesburg.

“Bull!” shouted Judd when he spotted the burly bald-headed man in jeans and a crisp golf shirt. The two embraced with slap-hugs, then backed up to a professional distance.

“You look well, Bull. Back in fighting shape, I see.”

“I’ve got full use of the old shoulder.” He flapped his elbow like a chicken. “And this little souvenir,” he said, pulling up his sleeve and circling a finger around a pink bullet scar.

“You’ll always have something to remember Timbuktu.”

“Lucky for you, my medical clearance came through just in time for this latest little excursion of yours. You aren’t going to get me shot again, are you?”

“No, sir, Colonel Durham!” said Judd, with a mock salute.

“At ease, soldier!”

Dropping the joke, Judd turned to his companion. “Colonel Durham, meet Isabella Espinosa from the Justice League—”

“Department,” Isabella interrupted.

“Right. Sorry,” Judd said with a chuckle. “Isabella Espinosa from the Justice Department. She’s joining me for a few days on special assignment. We’ll brief you on the details later.”

Isabella reached out, her petite hands swallowed by Durham’s beefy palms. “Isabella, this is Colonel David Durham from Special Operations Command in Stuttgart.”

“Call me Bull.”

“He’s a career Green Beret with some unusual skills,” Judd said. “He’ll tell you he just flies Black Hawks. But his real calling is diplomacy. His specialty is dictators.”

“I have no idea what Judd’s talking about,” Durham said.

“Don’t believe him, Isabella.”

“So, you two are friends?” Isabella asked.

“We were together in the Sahara Desert not long ago,” Judd explained. “We managed to pull the rabbit out of the hat. I’m hoping we can do it again here.”

“Judd likes to have me around, Ms. Espinosa,” Durham joked. “I’m Robin to his Batman.”

“You’re not Robin, Bull. You’re the Hulk.”

“See, I’m the big ugly guy.”

“That’s exactly what I said.”

“I’m just here for show.”

“And in case we need airlift,” Judd added.

“When I saw my orders were to report for an unarmed diplomatic mission in Africa requiring full formal dress, I knew immediately it had to be you, Judd.”

“That’s right. You’re welcome,” Judd replied with a smile. “In all seriousness, Bull, I appreciate you getting down here on zero notice. I hope I didn’t pull you away from something important.”

“I was preparing for deployment to the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan. But I figure playing your sidekick in Zimbabwe, where there’s no war of any kind as far as I can tell, must be more critical for national security. Right, Judd?”

“I’m glad you learned something from your civilian friends, Bull. And I don’t think we’ll be here for long.”

“I hope not.”

“If the war in Afghanistan ends while you’re stuck here with me, I’ll get you deployed to Yemen. Or maybe Somalia.”

“That’s the kind of stand-up guy you’re traveling with,” Durham said to Isabella.

“Speaking of a stand-up guy, where’s the ambassador? Isn’t he supposed to meet us?” Judd asked.

The three scanned the area, but no one from the embassy was anywhere in sight. With no other options, they moved to the back of the line at passport control.

After twenty minutes the line had barely moved. Eventually an arrival party of suits arrived, surrounding a gaunt white man with small spectacles, a silver mustache, and wavy gray hair.

“Terribly sorry to be late, Dr. Ryker. I’m Ambassador Tallyberger. You’ve arrived on the most hectic of days. You know it’s election day, right?”

“Hello, Ambassador. Yes, we know. That’s why we’re here.”

“I told the Operations Center that meeting you at the airport would be a problem, but they insisted you had to arrive this morning. So I’m here. We’re extremely short-staffed, so let’s move.”

After quick introductions and handshakes with Bull and Isabella, the ambassador flashed an ID card at the security guard and their entourage was led through a side room, their passports were checked, and they were escorted out to a waiting limousine.

Once safely inside the car, Tallyberger asked Judd, “So, please tell me. Why exactly are you here?”

“Wasn’t it all in my clearance cable?”

“Yes, but I still don’t understand. There’s no crisis here. I’m not sure why the Secretary’s office has sent their crisis envoy.”

“Crisis prevention. Disputed elections can often be a flashpoint, so Landon Parker wanted me to be here to see what I could do to help the embassy.”

“Help the embassy . . .” Tallyberger repeated, rubbing his mustache. “Well, I don’t expect the elections to be disputed. So far all the voting procedures seem to be aboveboard. Our field reports are coming in and most polling stations have already opened on time. The lines are long, but that’s always the case in Africa. People don’t mind waiting here. I certainly don’t expect an outbreak of civil war or anything like that. This is
Zimbabwe
, Dr. Ryker. It’s not the Congo.”

“I appreciate that, Ambassador. And thank you for making time on such a busy day to collect us from the airport.”

“What kind of embassy resources will you require while you are here, Dr. Ryker?”

“A car and a driver should be plenty. And I’d like to speak to the chief of station as soon as possible.”

“Yes, we can arrange that. I’m afraid we probably don’t have spare hands to escort you. Will you be all right getting around the city on your own?”

“I brought my own security,” said Judd, gesturing toward Bull.

“We could use you as election observers. We’ve already got teams posted in all the major neighborhoods of Harare. But we need one in Rusape.”

“Rusape? Where’s that?” Bull asked.

“About two, maybe three hours east. It’s a lovely town, on the road to Mutare and the border with Mozambique. We could have you there by lunchtime.”

“That’s a generous offer, but I think we’ll stay in the capital,” Judd replied. “We’ll stay out of your hair, Ambassador.”

“You are no trouble at all, Dr. Ryker,” said Tallyberger as he crossed his arms.

“Actually, one thing, Ambassador,” Isabella added. “Is there, by any chance, someone—perhaps from diplomatic security or the marine guard—who could keep an eye on Solomon Zagwe’s villa?”

“You are asking me to deploy embassy resources for a stakeout?”

“Yes, sir. Just for the next forty-eight hours.”

“Ms. Espinosa, I would love to help with your little project, but I’ve already told you we’re down on manpower. This isn’t like the old days when we had a full political section and plenty of consular support. I’m afraid I just can’t spare the bodies.”