Red Square (Noah Wolf Book 9)

by David Archer

  Chidi smiled as he glanced at the papers inside, then kept the smile as he looked at Sarah and Marco. “And these are?”

  “Mr. President, this lovely lady is my assistant, Elizabeth Roth,” Noah said. Abimbola smiled at her and bent over her hand in a bow, gently brushing her fingers with his lips. “And this gentleman,” Noah went on, “is Pierre Lafontaine. He was sent along because I didn’t score very well when I studied French back in high school.”

  Abimbola held out a hand, and Marco shook hands with him. “Mr. President,” he said, “it is an honor to meet you.”

  Abimbola smiled and turned back to Noah. “Mr. McConnell, it is not necessary for us to concern ourselves with titles or positions today. It is my understanding that you are here to open negotiations on diplomatic relations between your country and mine, and that is all I could ask.”

  Noah smiled back. “That’s exactly my purpose,” he said. “And may I first congratulate you on your independence. My home country went through something similar when it was formed, and I can only hope you have fewer problems than we did.”

  The president chuckled. “Don’t we both,” he said. “Please, seat yourselves.” He pointed at a conference table on one side of the room, and rose from his chair to move toward it. He took the chair at one end, while Oni held the chair to his right for Noah. Sarah and Marco took a couple of the other chairs, and then Oni sat down at the president’s left.

  “Mr. McConnell,” Oni said, “can you tell us what level of support and recognition your country is prepared to offer?”

  Noah had carefully studied the paperwork he’d been given regarding this meeting. “The United States of America is prepared to recognize President Abimbola’s government as the legitimate interim government of West Algeria. If we can come to certain agreements regarding mutual defense and the establishment of a U.S. military presence within your country, then we are prepared to offer both political and military support, as well as sponsorship for your application to the United Nations.”

  Chidi’s smile grew slightly wider. “Then let us discuss that military presence. I presume you have an outline of what your country would want, as far as location and the size of your base?”

  Noah opened the briefcase he was carrying and took out a file. He opened it and withdrew several papers, passing one each to Chidi and Oni. “If you’ll take a look at this,” he said, “the area we would like to acquire is roughly eight hundred hectares about a hundred kilometers southeast of Tindouf. This would primarily be a drone base, but we would maintain a couple of fighter squadrons and a battalion of ground troops there, mostly just for rapid response to our allies throughout north and northwest Africa. These allies include Mauritania, Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt, and Mali, and this particular base would be designed for air support and rapid deployment of troops in support of those allies when needed. For that reason, we would need to build a couple of air strips, maintenance hangars, storage hangars, administrative buildings, as well as housing and barracks for all of the personnel.”

  Oni lowered his eyebrows. “Eight hundred hectares? That would be quite a large drone base, would it not?”

  “Which is why we specify that we would maintain troops and air squadrons there, as well. As part of the agreement, West Algeria would become another ally of the United States, so those troops and aircraft would be available for the defense of your country, as much as any other ally.”

  “So what you are saying,” Chidi said, “is that if we agree, you will commit your forces within our country to aid and assist our own defenses? Does this include any actions that take place during what may amount to a civil war?”

  “It does,” Noah said. “While we regret the reality, the fact is that Algiers is unlikely to let such a large portion of the country split off without a fight. The troops we would station here will be a full battalion from the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army. They are some of the finest troops we have, and could offer a great deal of training to your own soldiers. Our experience in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Iran has given us a clear insight into desert warfare. These soldiers know what they’re doing, and would be of terrific benefit to your country.”

  Chidi looked closely at the map on the paper Noah had given him. “The place you have marked is in a very rugged area. There are currently no actual roads in that region. I presume your military would be responsible for all of the construction, including roadways?”

  “That’s correct. Our goal is to acquire the base with the minimum impact on your country, both economically and ecologically. Since that area does not have any sources of fresh water, we would need to establish roads quickly so that water can be tanked in until a pipeline can be run. We anticipate that the establishment of the base in that location might create as many as a thousand peripheral employment opportunities for some of your citizens.”

  “The most direct route,” Oni said, “would be straight through Boujdour and Smara refugee camps. I would expect that the Sahrawis would welcome the opportunity for work, and your road would probably be lined with market stalls and restaurants.”

  “American soldiers have always welcomed native entrepreneurship,” Noah said. “You’d be very surprised how much money a couple of thousand American military personnel can spend on local food and merchandise. You could be talking about as much as a few million dollars a year finding its way into the Sahrawi economy in those camps.”

  “Two thousand soldiers?” Chidi asked. “I thought we were talking about a single battalion.”

  “The Airborne Infantry Battalion I’m referring to amounts to about eight hundred soldiers, but we are also talking about forty-eight jet fighters in two squadrons, several transport aircraft, maintenance facilities and personnel for the aircraft, a motor pool for trucks and vehicles plus their own maintenance personnel and facilities, a medical facility and personnel for the troops, not to mention administrative personnel—yes, I think we’re talking about a couple thousand people, and possibly more. There would also be several hundred jobs on the base for native employment, so that would probably add a few million more dollars to the local economy.”

  Oni smiled, and turned to his president. “I believe, Mr. President,” he said, “that Mr. McConnell has come bearing gifts. Between the military support such a base would offer and the economic opportunities that it presents, I believe we have little to lose and very much to gain in such an agreement.”

  Chidi nodded. “I tend to agree,” he said. “Mr. McConnell, you mentioned political support. Can you explain what you mean by that?”

  “Yes, sir,” Noah said. “Political support for your country means that our State Department and diplomatic corps will work to negotiate peaceful resolutions to protests that some of your neighboring countries might make regarding your secession. For example, we anticipate that Morocco is likely to expect West Algeria to take a strong position supporting the Sahrawis and the Polisario. That could lead to border conflicts that could potentially devastate your country. We would send diplomats to Morocco and to West Algeria to try to negotiate a peaceful agreement or settlement that would avoid such conflicts. Based on recent intelligence we picked up in Morocco and Western Sahara, it is even possible that we could get them to sit down at the table and discuss repatriation of some of the refugees. Our State Department believes this is far more likely with West Algeria than with your former mother country.”

  Chidi nodded. “I believe you may be correct about that. I have spoken with many Moroccan officials who believe that the time for repatriation and cessation of hostilities over Western Sahara is long overdue. Algiers has managed to keep the matter out of reasonable negotiations for quite some time, however.”

  “That’s the position our State Department has taken, as well. We think that it’s very possible that a crisis that began in the nineteen seventies could finally be nearing its end, and that West Algeria might play a pivotal role in the talks that could bring it about.”

  Chidi looked into No
ah’s eyes for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. “Let me ask you, Mr. McConnell,” he said, “what other conditions of alliance with the United States might there be?”

  Noah smiled. “We’d like to buy a lot of your iron ore,” he said. “We understand that Russia has been your biggest customer, but the trade agreements between Algiers and Moscow have left your mines getting what we consider inferior prices for your ore. If we can establish a trade agreement that will give us first right of refusal on your iron ore, we will pay you the same prices we pay to Europe and South America. That will be about a threefold increase over the prices you’ve been getting from Russia.”

  “And our natural gas?” Oni asked. “Would you want first right of refusal over that, as well?”

  “Actually, no,” Noah said. “Transporting natural gas across the oceans is expensive, and we couldn’t pay you the kind of prices you’re already getting from Europe. We prefer to stay out of the gas market over here, other than what we would purchase through your local distribution outlets for the purposes of our military base.”

  The conversation continued for another hour, with very little argument from the West Algerians. It seemed that Noah had done a very good job of presenting the American position, and he and Sarah and Marco finally left with a promise that the agreement would be drawn up and ready for the president’s signature by the following morning.

  The driver was waiting outside the office for them, and bowed as they came out. He spoke quickly in French to Marco, who broke into a smile.

  “He says we are invited to a dinner this evening,” he said to Noah. “The president and his advisers will be hosting it. I get the impression that turning it down might be the same as slapping the president’s face.”

  “Have you ever heard of a diplomat turn down free food?” Noah asked. “Tell him we’ll be delighted, and find out about time and place and transportation.”

  Marco spoke with the driver for a moment, then turned back to Noah as they were led to the elevator and back to the limousine. “He’ll pick us up at seven thirty,” he said. “The dinner is here in this building, apparently there’s a big dining room downstairs.”

  “Sounds good,” Noah said. The driver held the back door open as they all climbed inside, and then they were on the way back to the hotel.

  When they arrived, they were surprised to find not just Neil and Jenny in the room set aside as an office, but another lady. She smiled and held out her hand to Noah, who took it and shook with her.

  “Prudence Mays,” she said. “I’m supposed to let you know that any support I can give is yours.”

  “Thank you,” Noah said. “We were hoping to get out and take a look at some of the refugee camps today, but it turns out we have an appointment this evening. Are any of them close enough that we can be back here by six thirty? We’ve been invited to dinner with the president, and I don’t think we can afford to miss it. It’s even possible that I’ll be able to identify some of my targets there.”

  “Oh, I agree,” Prudence said. “Boujdour is nearest. We could probably get there and back in plenty of time. The others might be a bit tricky.”

  “Then let’s go to that one today, and save the rest for tomorrow. Do you have vehicles for us?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ve got you two G-Class Mercedes SUVs. They’re sitting outside right now. It’s almost ten thirty, are you ready to go now? The sooner we get started, the better.”

  Noah nodded. “Let us gather up a few things,” he said, “and we’ll be ready to go. Marco, let’s get two of the smart guns, and Neil, you grab one of the drones. If anyone asks, we’re doing a survey of the camps to help us make recommendations for additional aid.”

  Prudence nodded. “That’s a good cover,” she said. “My cover story here is that I run the U.S. Refugee Child Welfare Program. Since we provide a lot of food and medical care to the refugees, and not just the children, nobody is going to think much of me bringing diplomats to look it over. If anyone asks you, tell them that I’m making demands for more food and medicine. They know me, they’ll believe it.”

  They took one of the soldiers with them, a reputed PSC named Jorgensen. He drove one of the cars with Neil and Jenny, while Prudence drove the other with Noah, Sarah, and Marco. Prudence took the lead and surprised them all when she followed a faint dusty track across the desert.

  “Not a lot of roads out here,” she said. “We have to make our own most of the time. Of course, that means paying close attention to the weather, the sky, and the horizon. I don’t know if you’ve spent much time in the desert, but a Sahara sandstorm can just about strip your skin. These cars have to have the oil changed weekly, along with air filters and a thorough washing. The sand can get into places where it can literally grind away at important metal components. You’ll notice there aren’t a lot of old vehicles running around, because the sand has weakened them to the point that they aren’t worth fixing.”

  “I was in Afghanistan for a while,” Noah said. “I’ve seen what the sand can do. It didn’t take long to figure out why the natives wear the kind of clothing they do.”

  Prudence nodded. “Yeah, you need something that can protect your skin but still let air move around.” She glanced at the khaki pants and shirt Noah was wearing. “Light colors, that’s good, but you might find that’s a little heavy for out here in the desert.”

  “Or not,” Noah said. “This is a special fabric, designed to keep us cool even in the hottest desert. It draws the moisture away from the skin and evaporates it in a hurry.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Really? Wonder when they’ll get around to letting us have some of that.” She caught Sarah’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You and I are about the same size,” she said. “If you accidentally left some behind…”

  “I see what I can do,” Sarah said with a grin.

  It took almost an hour to get to the camp, which was a large area with scattered buildings and tents everywhere. There seemed to be thousands of people wandering around, and Noah tried to figure out where the main thoroughfare might be.

  “About thirty-two thousand people in Boujdour camp alone,” Prudence said. “There’s not a lot of industry in this one, unless you count the shepherds. A lot of Berbers here, and an awful lot of the mutton that we eat back in Tindouf comes out of this camp.”

  “Any idea who out here might be involved in the plot to assassinate Abimbola?” Noah asked.

  Prudence shrugged. “I can think of two or three possibles,” she said. “Zacharia and Chabane Leberteaux, they’re brothers, they’d be in the thick of it. Also Amed Wassim, he’s part of the Formation Council. Those three, they’re the only ones I could point to as likely. Would you like to meet them? They’ll be at the administrative building, probably just throwing their weight around. They aren’t actually part of the administration here, but they’ve been deep in the secessionist movement for many years, so a lot of people are afraid of them.”

  Noah cocked his head. “Zacharia is on my target list, and so is Amed. Do you think Zacharia’s brother is actually involved?”

  “If Zacharia is in it, then so is Chabane. Those two are into anything that might build their power base or enrich them financially. If they can turn Abimbola into a martyr, it could have both effects. His death will incite a monstrous wave of national pride and indignation, which will mean the government will be able to institute some form of protectionism. They’ll undoubtedly stop accepting any kind of imports from Algeria, and the Leberteaux family controls an awful lot of the sheep and chicken farming in all of the camps. As for Amed, he only wants one thing: power, and all of it he can get. He’s been claiming that he will soon be named to the advisory council for the government. If that happens, there is no doubt in anyone’s mind that he will run for president in the first open election.”

  “A refugee?” Marco asked. “Running for president?”

  Prudence nodded emphatically. “You betcha,” she said. “One of the premises West Algeri
a is being founded on is that the Sahrawi refugees will be granted full citizenship, while still being able to return to Western Sahara whenever repatriation actually can happen. Going home won’t remove their West Algerian citizenship, which will allow them to move freely between the countries. It’s a prime position for people who have been feeling like they were completely unwanted and without a home of their own for decades.”

  She pulled the car up to a building and parked, and they all got out, following her inside. The roof blocked the sun from beating down on them, but did little to cool the air inside. Noah saw a small fan powered by a car battery and was suddenly grateful for the special clothing, because Prudence began pouring sweat instantly.

  “Prudence,” said a man seated at a desk just inside the door. “You have brought guests?”

  “I have,” she said. “Meshac, this is Mr. James McConnell. He came from the United States government to discuss diplomatic arrangements with the president, and he wanted to come out and see what it is we do. I told him that the RCWP provides food and medicine for your people, but that we never have enough of either. He’s going to try to get my allowances increased, so don’t let them know I was lying.” She winked.

  Meshac rolled his eyes and looked at Noah. “I will never come to understand what this woman considers humorous,” he said. “Welcome, Sahib. May you live long and have many wives and sons.”

  Prudence slapped his shoulder playfully. “You complain about my humor? Your people haven’t used blessings like that in centuries. Don’t let him fool you, Jim, he’s just trying to pretend he’s a stupid Berber, when he’s anything but. Meshac is the man in charge, here. President of the wali. Back home, we’d probably just refer to him as the mayor.”