The Golden Hour Read Online Free PDF Page A

Judd.
    “None yet, but we are checking,” she replied.
    The CIA station chief whispered again in her ear. The ambassador nodded slightly, then added, “The current army Chief of Staff is General Mamadou Idrissa. He is supposed to be on leave at his home village up in Dogon Country, near the border with Burkina Faso. But we have unconfirmed reports that he was sighted in Bamako last night. We are checking on this, too.”
    “What about a terrorist connection?” interrupted a staffer from the counterterrorism office. He was so young that Judd assumed he was seated at the table only because his superior was too busy to deal with a small West African country. “Could Mali be under terrorist attack?”
    “We don’t think so,” quickly responded the ambassador.
    “But Mali does have active al-Qaeda affiliates in its territory. We have been tracking increased activity along the Algerian border and a recent change in smuggling patterns by Tuareg nomads along routes from Niger and Burkina Faso,” the staffer continued.
    “Yes. That’s all true,” said the ambassador slowly, failing to hide her annoyance. “But there is no indication whatsoever that there is any terrorism link to the unfolding events of today. Until we have a clear indicator, we are not jumping to conclusions.”
    Judd interrupted, “Okay, thank you, Madam Ambassador. Do you need anything from Washington?”
    “Not right now. We are hunkered down. I hope to know more soon.”
    “Very good. In that case, we will reconvene in six hours. Thank you, Embassy Bamako.”
    Without giving anyone else the chance to object, Judd hit the disconnect button on the remote control and the large screen went blank.
    “Thanks, everybody. See you all back here at four o’clock. Who’s here from public affairs? We need to get a statement out. General boilerplate, expressing concern and that we are closely monitoring the situation, is good enough for now. All offices here on Task Force Mali are on the clearance list for the public statement. Let’s try to push this out quickly, folks.”
    And with that, Judd stood, turned, and hustled out the door, anxious to get back to his office.
    Mali,
he thought. And the memories rushed back. . . .

5.
    BAMAKO AIRPORT, MALI
    EIGHT MONTHS AGO
    Judd exited the Senegal Airlines Boeing 737 and paused at the top of the truck-mounted stairs. The Saharan heat seared his eyes, forcing him to squint through his slightly crooked sunglasses.
Africa hot.
    Two sandy beige single-story concrete buildings stood a few hundred yards away, with a simple black-and-white sign reading BAMAKO SENOU INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT. BIENVENUE À MALI .
    Off to one side was a shiny, obviously new billboard with a handsome African man in a sharp blue pin-striped suit smiling broadly while talking on a tiny mobile phone. Beyond the Malitel sign, toward the far edge of the airport, was a low white prefab building with no markings or signs at all. Beside it Judd could make out the top of a black attack helicopter resting in the tall grass.
    On the tarmac stood a small posse waiting for Judd. Several large men in suits and wraparound Oakley sunglasses surrounded a petite woman with short gray hair and tan weathered skin.
    Behind them a train of three vehicles idled: a small Peugeot police car with flashing lights, a new white Toyota Hilux pickup truck with GENDARMERIE NATIONALE stenciled sloppily on the side, and a shiny black Chevrolet Suburban. The SUV had tiny American flags on small poles attached to each corner of the front bumper.
    The other passengers snaked around the group to make their way to the arrival bay of the airport. When Judd got to the bottom of the steps, the woman stepped forward and extended a stiff hand. “Welcome to Mali, Dr. Ryker.”
    “Good to meet you, Ambassador James. You didn’t have to come out to the airport. I could have met you at the embassy.”
    “No, no, I’m happy to. Plus, it’s protocol. The Malians are very excited to