Zorn rose from his seat to greet the man with a handshake and a peck on each cheek.
"Bernard, it's so good to see you! But I thought you had retired!"
"Next month I will mark thirty years with the company, and four out here in the desert. Thank God for hardship pay! I intend to finish the year, collect my service bonus and pension, and settle in Toulouse. Retirement is expensive these days, but I am ready!"
Bernard Guerin had the weathered face of an old soldier who had spent much of his life exposed to the elements. Until his mid-thirties, he had been a French infantry officer but had resigned his commission in the late 1980s, toward the Cold War’s end, to join the rapidly growing Zorn Security operation, where he soon became a favorite of René Zorn and Walter Lang.
"Walter sends his best," Zorn went on. "In fact, he has sent you a present, but that will remain a surprise until we reach your office. So what now? Do we present our passports at the terminal for the customs officials?"
"No need for that, Roger. Hand me your passport and I will have it stamped at once. The customs man is waiting outside in his truck."
A few moments later, Guerin and Zorn were driving toward the town of Arlit in Guerin's lightly armored Mercedes G-Class SUV, a luxury variant of the classic Land Rover off-road cruiser. A second SUV stood by for the aircrew, who would need to check in at the terminal while the aircraft refueled for its return flight to Toulouse.
It was midday in Arlit and, while the SUV's air conditioner kept the interior temperature reasonably comfortable, the air outdoors felt like a blast furnace. A few miles from the airport, a low-slung city of a hundred thousand souls was nearly invisible in the distance. Arlit appeared to Zorn like an island lost in the desert haze, untethered from any obvious landmarks, its character defined by its remoteness. As the SUV approached the city’s outskirts, amid piles of dirt and industrial refuse, Zorn felt marooned.
From the airport, Guerin headed south along the main N25 highway, known to many as the Uranium Highway, toward Arlit. At the northern city limit stood a gateway arch with the name of the city's largest employer etched in rusted letters. That employer was the mining arm of Cogevex, a French multinational firm whose specialty was nuclear power and renewable energy, and by extension, uranium. In fact, Cogevex's mining operations were the second-largest employer in the country, after Niger's central government.
Cogevex and its predecessor companies had been mining uranium in Niger for nearly fifty years, ever since the country’s independence from French rule. Zorn Security's relationship with Cogevex similarly dated back to the 1960s, when the French Foreign Legion still patrolled the Nigerien deserts. Due to René Zorn's close ties with senior officials in France’s military and security apparatus, his company won the original contract to provide private security services for Cogevex in Niger when it expanded uranium exploration and mining near Arlit.
As Zorn executives were in the habit of visiting Cogevex quarterly for comprehensive security reviews, it was not irregular for Roger to travel to Arlit. But he had not yet told Bernard Guerin of the hidden motive behind this latest review, which was to investigate the American repatriation facility outside Arlit. He decided to reveal this once they had reached Guerin’s office, located across town from the airport. So he sat quietly with Guerin in the rear seat of the SUV while their French bodyguard drove.
To reach the Zorn Security compound, the SUV had to navigate through the center of Arlit, a city that appeared to him like a cross between a French provincial capital and an African township. As the car passed down unpaved but unnervingly broad avenues, with discarded vehicles decomposing at dust-swept intersections, Zorn spotted children here and there playing atop abandoned heavy machinery, rusting truck chassis and piles of worn-out tires. And along the way he found houses with fortress-thick walls made from the same material as the earth, the better to protect against Saharan-strength dust and wind.
This was the city that 1970s visitors had described as Niger's "Little Paris” during France’s nuclear power heyday. It was a place that had drawn people from all across the Sahara for its shops, hospitals, technical schools and daily flights to Paris.
High uranium prices kept Arlit prosperous for decades, until the demand for nuclear weapons declined after the Cold War and the Fukushima nuclear power disaster further slashed the price of uranium ore. This led Cogevex to mothball its largest uranium concession, furlough a third of its labor force, and outsource more and more of its support functions to foreign-based contractors like Zorn Security.
The Zorn offices occupied a three-story villa inside a walled compound in a neighborhood where most of Cogevex's expatriate employees were quartered. Also located within the compound were Guerin's residence, guest quarters for visiting employees, and a supply depot. Guerin led Zorn to his first-floor office while the driver followed carrying a heavy wooden crate on one shoulder.
Once inside the office, Zorn pried the lid off the crate with a crowbar to reveal a dozen bottles of Chartogne-Taillet Brut 2008, a highly rated grower champagne that Lang knew to be one of Guerin’s favorites.
"Ah! Walter outdoes himself with his generosity! His timing is superb. I was on my last bottle—now I am saved!"
Guerin removed a bottle, tore off its tissue wrapper and held it up for examination.
"Magnifique!” the ex-soldier applauded. “Come, Roger, let's open my sole remaining bottle and restock the fridge with new ones!"
"Now? Isn't it a bit early in the day to indulge?" Zorn asked, momentarily reverting to the American prejudice against consuming alcohol before the cocktail hour.
"It's my practice never to miss an opportunity to honor our fallen heroes,” Guerin replied, undeterred. “Come, let us drink to your father's memory, and to the health of our esteemed Chairman Lang!"
Guerin took a pair of crystal flutes from a shelf, removed the chilled champagne bottle from a nearby refrigerator and popped the cork.
"Drink deeply, my friend, to your father's memory, and to the brave Frenchmen who have perished in these deserts while serving la mère patrie1."
Guerin filled both glasses and Guerin raised his to drink.
The older man sloshed the wine in his mouth as if chewing, closed his eyes in reverence, and reopened them with a beatific smile.
"Clean yet complex, with a hint of green apples. I believe it will age well."
Guerin took another sip and gestured for his guest to seat himself in one of the leather and steel chairs opposite the bureau chief's desk.
"Very well, my friend," he began. "Now that you are relaxed and have refreshed yourself from your journey, perhaps you can tell me your real reason for coming to Arlit. Surely it can't be because you fear terrorist attacks against Cogevex. The Niger National Guard is out in force. And the skies are alive with drones, both French and American. So tell me, Roger, what has brought you here so unexpectedly, and on such short notice?"
"As usual, Bernard, very little escapes your attention,” Zorn laughed. “By now you may have heard that I’ve been spending much of my time in Washington."
"So I have," the bureau chief replied before taking another sip of champagne. But if Guerin harbored any feelings for or against America, his face gave nothing away.
"No doubt you are aware of the growing American security presence in Niger?"
"How could I not? First, the expanded Air Force drone base at Agadez, and then the CIA drone base in the eastern desert, at Dirkou. Not to mention the vast sums they are spending to grease palms in Niamey."
"And what of the newly built detainee repatriation facility. Do you know it?"
"Repatriation center? What do you mean?”
“We have information that the Americans are sending their unwanted Islamists overseas to dispose of them. They’ve built a series of transit camps in places like Niger where they release the detainees into the wild.”
"Surely the Americans wouldn’t bring such people all the way to Niger for that?"
"I
agree that it hardly seems possible. But I have information that such a camp exists at Assodé, just beyond the Aïr Massif. Have you heard of it?"
"No. I traveled through Assodé a year or two ago and it was a ghost town."
Assodé had once been an important Tuareg2 trading post. From the eleventh century through the nineteenth it had thrived. But its inhabitants fled when the town was sacked in 1917 by tribal raiders, leaving its buildings largely intact.
“So you’ve not heard of any new construction there?”
Guerin shook his head.
"The Americans have done a great deal of construction in the desert. We can hear their cargo aircraft fly in and out of Arlit airport several nights a week. But I have always assumed they are bringing supplies for their drone bases. The same U.S. contractor handles all their military construction here, as well as their supply chain."
Zorn had a good idea who that contractor might be. So he suggested a plan.
"I’m thinking of waiting for the next American cargo flight to arrive at Arlit to see if we can track a convoy to Assodé. How close do you think we could come?"
Guerin frowned and shook his head.
"Forget it, Roger. If Assodé is anything like their drone bases, we couldn't get within twenty kilometers without being turned away."
“I see. Might there be another way to take a good look at the base?"
The bureau chief let out a deep breath.
"The most I can offer is some mini-drone footage that one of our engineers took last winter. Sadly, the video isn't very clear, and all it shows is temporary buildings, a helipad and some tents. We haven't sent anyone back there because AQIM3 is active in the area.”
For a moment, Zorn was stumped. Then he had another idea.
"How about this? If the Assodé facility was built to release detainees into the wild, maybe we could learn something by talking to some of the men who’ve been set free. Do you know where we might find any?"
The older man's face brightened.
"Perhaps. I know of some unlicensed gold mines out toward Assodé. Such mines are always looking for workers and are not particular whom they take. We could drive out tomorrow after our meetings at Cogevex and see if any detainees have landed there."
"I like the idea, Bernard. Could you assemble a small convoy?”
Early the next morning, Guerin and Zorn left the Zorn Security compound, coffee mugs in hand, to meet their client. They headed west from Arlit toward the main gate of Cogevex’s uranium mining complex, which comprised the Suhail open-pit mine to the north and the Numinar underground mine to the south.
Along the way, Guerin briefed Zorn about the growing problem of human trafficking through Arlit from Sub-Saharan Africa northward to the Mediterranean. Since the Arab Spring and the fall of Qaddafi’s regime in Libya, Arlit had become a major way station along the migration route to Europe. Being only a hundred kilometers south of the Algerian border, with the sole road to Libya running straight through it, all manner of migrants, human traffickers, and smugglers of drugs, weapons, and gold stopped at Arlit.
A few years earlier, the Niamey government had banned human trafficking and beefed up security along the N25 highway, but coverage was spotty. Sometimes the gendarmes were on every corner, sometimes away on desert patrols for weeks at a time. And, even when they were around, they seldom lifted a finger to stop the migrant flow.
On average, Guerin estimated that five thousand African migrants passed through Arlit each week during the active season, or about a hundred and fifty thousand a year. The locals called them aventuriers. Some stayed in Arlit for only a few days, some longer. They rested in secluded compounds run by the traffickers and nobody knew exactly how many they were. But not all of these adventurers kept moving. Lately, more and more had stayed on to work in the unlicensed gold mines to earn money for their journey north. And most were treated very badly.
Guerin explained that the migrants who had stayed in Arlit comprised a growing and disaffected underclass. They could see the contrast between their own sorry lot and that of Cogevex's pampered workforce and it enraged them. Small wonder the AQIM insurgency had grown so powerful and that France and the U.S. felt compelled to come to Niger to quell it. So why then was DHS sending hundreds of jihadists to Niger every week, many of them dangerously skilled, only to turn them loose from its repatriation base at Assodé?
When their SUV reached the main gate of the Cogevex complex a short while later, local guards approached the car from both sides. Zorn rolled down his window and a blast of hot dry air struck him in the face. The young, khaki-clad African security guard said nothing, so Zorn turned to Guerin for guidance.
"They'll want to see your passport and have you turn in your cell phone and any other electronics. I've put in a special waiver for you to enter. As soon as the call goes through, the guard chief will wave us in."
And he did. The driver offered the Cogevex guard a wave as he passed through the gate. A mile further, they reached the executive offices of the mining complex in a low dust-colored stucco building and were greeted at the door by a pair of tall, trim-figured Frenchmen. One was the general manager, Fabré, and the other his chief engineer, Roussel.
After getting acquainted and pouring coffee, the men settled into a windowless conference room, where Zorn and Guerin delivered their prepared review of security conditions at Cogevex’s mining sites and surrounding areas in Niger. Then the Cogevex officials asked a series of pro forma questions, after which they opened up and voiced their growing concerns about security at the sites.
"Last year we laid off several hundred workers, mostly African hires," Fabré began. "Soon we may need to do something similar. To date, there has been no unrest among our labor force or violent acts against us in town. But such things could happen, or worse."
"Terrorism?" Guerin asked.
"Possibly. We’re not worried about the loyalty of our employees and their families. But many in town don’t live nearly as well. Their dwellings have neither electricity nor running water.”
“And the transient population is of particular concern," the engineer Roussel added without emotion. His slender frame and receding hairline gave him a cerebral air.
"How so?" Zorn asked.
"Our mining claims in the region extend far beyond what you see here. But with uranium prices so low, we cannot afford to develop further deposits. Yet gold-bearing ore can also be found on our claims, and others who respect no rules or regulations are extracting it under our very noses."
"The government does nothing to stop them?"
"The government is of two minds," Roussel explained. "On one side, they see the problems of environmental degradation, unsafe working conditions, worker exploitation, and general lawlessness at the illegal mines."
"Ample reason to shut them down, I should think," Guerin interjected.
"But on the other hand, there are more of these mines than the government can police, and most are far from any town or motorable road. Without question, the mines put money in people's pockets. The wages they pay are more than a worker can earn by other unskilled labor, and their activities drive all manner of petty commerce. The locals achieve remarkable results with meager resources. If not for gold mining, where else would they find work? Surely, we cannot give them all jobs here at Cogevex."
Zorn saw at once that the unlicensed gold mines were exactly where to look for former detainees from Assodé.
"Let me pose a further dilemma," Fabré added, revealing a pent-up frustration not evident earlier. "As you may know, our parent company runs a global trading company that deals in diverse minerals, including gold. But we are not permitted to buy the local gold because it lacks a chain of legal provenance. If we tried to sell such gold, it would violate many international regulations intended to protect legal miners. So the gold is sold to smugglers, many of whom support AQIM and devote their profits to terrorism."
An uneasy silence followed, and Zorn decided to take a chance with
a question more directly to his purpose.
"I understand that most of the migrants passing through Arlit come by truck convoy from Nigeria and the Ivory Coast. But have you heard anything about a different breed of migrant arriving here in recent months? Men deported from America as jihadists?"
Fabré and Roussel exchanged guarded looks. Then the general manager nodded to his chief engineer, as if to give him permission to speak.
"Some of our employees have come across such people,” Roussel noted. “They were seen mainly east of the Aïr Massif, near the towns of Timia and Tabelot, in an area where many illegal gold mines operate."
"And what were they doing there?" Zorn asked. "Working? Or passing through?"
"All were seen at the mines. Some were diggers, some millers, the luckier ones technicians or equipment operators."
"What did your employees make of these strangers?"
"Frankly speaking, our people pitied them, for they appeared miserable and mistreated. And it seemed that their overseers preferred to keep them out of sight and would not allow them to speak with strangers."
The general manager's tone made it clear he wished to say no more on the topic.
"Do you mind if I share this information with my colleagues in Paris?" Zorn asked as he rose to leave.
"Do as you wish. Only please don't cite Cogevex as your source. We must coexist with all manner of people here and don't want to alienate anyone."
Guerin rose after Zorn and reached out to shake hands with the two mining officials.
"One last request, Théo. Would you have any objection to our paying a visit to one or two of the artisanal gold mines in your area? We'd like to see for ourselves what kind of conditions the miners work in."
Fabré cast a quick glance at the engineer Roussel, whose face bore a look of indifference.
"Not at all," Fabré replied. "But be careful. These rogue operators tend to be wary of strangers. Particularly Europeans, for reasons you can imagine. Go as a convoy and arm yourselves. You never know what you might find in the desert. Or what might find you.”
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