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MONDAY, 5:42 A.M. EST (EASTERN ST ANDARD TIME)
It started, unsurprisingly, with the low buzz of a BlackBerry. Judd slowly opened one eye. The phone was lying facedown on the nightstand just six inches from his nose. Its little blinking green light, barely perceptible during the day, illuminated the pitch- dark room in half-second intervals. So much for vacation.
He grabbed the vibrating phone and studied the caller ID. It was flashing “202” but nothing more. A scrambled number from Washington, D.C. He swung his legs off the bed and sat up. Steal- ing a quick glance to make sure Jessica was still sound asleep, he pushed the answer button with his thumb and whispered into the phone, “This is Ryker.”
“This is White House Operations. What is your confirmation code?” asked the robotic, clearly military voice on the line.
He paused. “Turquoise Mobutu Seven.”
“Good morning, Dr. Ryker. Embassy Bamako is reporting a probable coup overnight in Mali. As of oh five hundred,
“Okay,” is all Judd could squeeze out, still shaking out the cobwebs.
“State is setting up a task force to run our policy response, and we should have a new Ops report in about an hour.”
Finally waking up, he asked, “Is it Diallo or Idrissa?” “Excuse me, sir?”
“Who is behind the coup? Is it General Oumar Diallo or Gen- eral Mamadou Idrissa?”
“We don’t know yet, sir. The ambassador and the station chief should have more information soon.”
“Okay, thanks for letting me know. Please tell Larissa James she can reach me on my phone if she wants my input as news rolls in.”
“Ambassador James is the one who asked us to bring you in. A car will be at your location at oh six hundred. They are twelve minutes out.”
He exhaled a deep breath, and sat up straight.
“If that’s your office, it better be goddamn important.” Jessica was awake. “Don’t they know it’s your first day of vacation in a whole year?”
Judd tried to tap her reassuringly, but unable to see in the dark, he just patted the blankets while speaking back into the phone. “Okay, thanks. I’ll look out for the car.” And he hung up.
“Car?”
“A coup in Mali. I can’t say any more. I, um, I don’t know any more. I’m sorry.” He gets up and starts to get dressed. “It shouldn’t be more than a day or two. The kids won’t even notice that I’m gone.”
“I will,” snapped Jessica.
Judd clipped his BlackBerry onto his belt and picked up his go bag, which was already sitting by the door. He planted a long kiss on Jessica’s lips and then turned to leave.
“Don’t let Rogerson push you around,” she said. “Don’t let him fuck you again,” she added, stopping Judd in his tracks. He turned, gave her a slight, unconvincing nod, and then silently walked away.
As he stepped out of the rented beach house onto the sand drive- way, he cursed himself for not setting up the coffeemaker to be ready for just such a possibility. Just as he considered going back in to make a quick double espresso, he saw four beaming headlights approaching in the dark, barreling up the driveway. An all-black Chevy Suburban rolled up and abruptly stopped beside him. A tall, thick man with short hair and a wire looped behind his ear silently exited the front of the vehicle, quickly surveyed the area, then opened the back door while removing the go bag from Judd’s grip.
Judd squinted at the bright lights from inside the cab. “Good morning, sir,” said a young man inside whom he didn’t recognize. “Morning. We need to stop and get coffee.” He ducked his
head and climbed in.
The security officer closed the door, stealing one more glance around, then slid into the car, which was already accelerating. Judd turned around in his seat and waved good-bye to Jessica.
From the bedroom window, she watched the behemoth and its lifeless blacked-out windows speed away.
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