Singh retrieved a manilla envelope from his backpack and opened it. “Is this what you need?”

Auma began leafing through the laminated pages. Maps. Diagrams. Overhead photos. Even schematics and electrical diagrams of their early warning system.

“Our experts suggest that the defenses to the east are particularly weak and they’ve discovered a way to defeat Ward’s electronics. A relatively small force—perhaps as few as fifty men—could breach his defenses and overrun the compound with minimal casualties.”

Auma studied what he’d been given. “Where did you get this?”

“From the highest levels.”

A very human excitement began to bleed through the African’s messianic façade. “And you’re confident all of this is accurate?”

“More than confident. My masters guarantee it.” Singh fell silent for a moment, but then decided to press. “Imagine, your worship. Imagine what you could do with a billion dollars. What weapons you could buy. What followers you could attract. Uganda would be yours. And then Congo and beyond. You would be the most powerful man in Africa. Its savior.”

His eyes turned reflective, almost mirrorlike in the fading afternoon light. “What do you want in return?”

“We want David Chism dead.”

“And Ward?”

“The same if feasible.”

“His people aren’t stupid, and neither am I,” Auma said. “They’re not going to just give me a billion dollars without guarantees.”

Indeed, he was not stupid. It was another thing that Singh had noted in his long career. Never mistake insanity for a lack of intelligence. More than once, his survival had turned on him being able to make that distinction.

“As long as Chism dies, we understand that it may be necessary for Ward to survive. But we trust that the man you return will no longer be the one the world knows today. And that he never will be again.”

23

CIA HEADQUARTERS

LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

USA

“FIFTEEN tons?” Irene Kennedy said, reaching for the cup of tea on her desk. “Impressive.”

Mike Nash nodded. “One of the biggest drug seizures in Italy’s history.”

ISIS had been in decline for some time now, discovering that holding and governing territory was quite a bit harder than pillaging and murder. Now, with much of their leadership dead, they were transforming into just another bloodthirsty drug cartel.

“Our take on this is that it’s business as usual and not some kind of resurgence?”

“That’s the general consensus. They’re still holding on to a little of their political and religious veneer in Syria, but it seems like they’re more interested in using the country as a base for their drug operations than a new caliphate. So, basically, that slow train wreck is now sinking in the mud.”

She glanced at a printed agenda on her desk. “Next up is the potential bioweapons factory in North Korea.”