Unfortunately, twenty years and two wars later, the attitude of the American public remained largely the same, especially with respect to Africa. Their antipathy was understandable. Despite numerous humanitarian missions and billions of dollars in foreign aid packages, nothing ever seemed to change.
Chambers regarded Boucher from across the desk for several long seconds. Finally, it was he that broke the uncomfortable silence. “You know something, Domenick? You’re the first person I’ve talked to who didn’t have a ready excuse for our failure.”
Boucher spread his hands. “I’m sure you’ve already heard all the reasons why we didn’t do more, and why we probably shouldn’t get involved the next time it happens. From a pragmatic viewpoint, they are perfectly correct reasons.”
“Pragmatically speaking,” said the president. “It always comes back to that. My opponents in Congress say that until we can put our own house in order, we’ve got no business trying to help the Third World.”
Boucher winced at the dated term. ‘Third World’ was a holdover of the Cold War era, when nations were divided into ‘worlds’ based on how they fit into the global chess game between the superpowers. The Western nations were the First World, the Communist powers were the Second and the developing nations of Asia, Africa and Central America, who were pawns in the struggle, were the Third World. Despite the largely political definitions, ‘Third World’ had become synonymous with poverty, squalor and corruption.
“Pragmatism is cold comfort when millions of lives are in the balance,” conceded Boucher. “It’s a little like saying, ‘Sorry, I can’t rescue you from drowning until I finish waxing my car.’”
The president chuckled softly at the apt metaphor. “I’ll have to remember that one.”
“It’s easy for me to say it. I’ve already packed my office. You have to worry about a re-election campaign.”
“And if I lose that campaign, I’ll lose whatever ability I have to make a difference in the world.”
Boucher almost laughed aloud at that. Chambers’s predecessor was proof positive that you didn’t have to be president to save the world.
“Not very many people know what I’m about to tell you,” the president went on. “And for now, it’s best to keep it that way. You know that Joseph Mulamba was kidnapped in London. What you might not know is the underlying reason for his state visit.”
“I just assumed he was looking for foreign aid.”
“In a manner of speaking.” The president drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, as if trying to decide how to reveal his secret. “What do you know about the African Union?”
“It’s sort of like the United Nations. A treaty organization designed to promote peace and security among the African nations. They’ve done a lot to advance human rights and combat the spread of AIDS, but they’re sort of a paper tiger, if you’ll forgive the pun.”
“What if I were to tell you that Joseph Mulamba wants to give it some real teeth?”
Boucher narrowed his gaze. “Just what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“President Mulamba intends to transform the African Union into a legitimate federal authority.”
Boucher leaned forward in his chair. “Let me make sure I understand what you’re saying. He wants to create an African federation?”
“The United States of Africa,” the president said, almost reverently.
Boucher shook his head. “It won’t work. It will never work.”
“I believe differently. Mulamba was in London to meet with the Prime Minister to get the Brits on board. His next stop was to be here, and I was going to pledge the support of the United States of America.”
“Sir, with respect, the nations of Africa would never agree to this. There are so many reasons why this would never work.”
“Mulamba presented a very persuasive argument to suggest otherwise. Look, I didn’t ask you here to debate this or to explain myself.”
“Then respectfully sir, why did you ask me here?”
“Because I want this to succeed.” Chambers took another deep breath. “With Mulamba missing and probably dead, the odds of this happening are shrinking with each passing second. His legal successor, Gerard Okoa supports the plan, but the army is divided. If this General Velle takes power, that will be the end of it. I’ve drafted a resolution asking Congress to send American forces to supplement UN peacekeepers in the Congo. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to fight to make it happen, and that will take some time, which is something we don’t have.”
“You are the Commander in Chief. You don’t need Congress—”
“If I act unilaterally… Well, I might be out of a job a lot sooner than the next election.”
“Go public with it. Tell the American people what you’ve told me. Tell them how we’ll be saving millions of lives.”
The president shook his head sadly. “That’s a nice idea. I suggested it to Stewart. Do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Mr. President, it’s Africa. No one cares about Africa.’”
“The American people just might surprise you, sir. Let them decide.”
“You might be right. God knows, I hope you are. But I can’t wait for that to happen. So, I ask you again, is there anything we can do about it? Do you have any assets we can send in, something off the books, just to hold things together long enough to give this a chance?”
Boucher was impressed by Chambers’s sincerity. He had never really thought of the president in any terms except as Tom Duncan’s replacement, and Duncan was a hard act to follow. Even in defeat, Duncan was formidable and Chambers had none of Duncan’s real world experience or savvy. Now Boucher found himself wondering whether there was more to Chambers, something that most politicians sacrificed along their journey to the top: compassion.
But the answer was still going to be ‘no.’
No matter how much he wanted to help, the Agency simply didn’t have anything to offer. As the Chief of Staff had so aptly pointed out, no one cared about Africa, or at least not sub-Saharan Africa, far removed from the influence of Islamic extremists, who were the latest hot-button national security issue. Even if he had assets in place — and he didn’t — he would still have to answer to Congress about how the people were used and the money spent. Not even a pension and a gold watch would immunize him against that. There was, quite simply, nothing he could do.
That was why it came as such a surprise when he heard himself say: “I’ll see what I can do.”
6
Monique Favreau was in love.
It took every ounce of her self-control to keep her hands in her lap during the flight. She wanted so badly to touch… to fondle the object of her infatuation. If not for the presence of her traveling companions, she almost certainly would have done so. But she was their leader, and it wouldn’t do for her subordinates to see her behaving in such a way.
Her men didn’t seem to share her fascination with the prize. Perhaps they were overawed by the presence of so much destructive power, terrified at being so close to instantaneous death. Favreau wasn’t the least bit fearful. The possibility of getting turned to ash was something to which they should have been accustomed. They routinely carried blocks of plastic explosives in their backpacks for use in breaching doors or for improvising claymore mines. An accidental explosion that might kill them, along with anyone else in a hundred yard radius, was not outside the realm of possibility, yet they didn’t seem to dwell on that outcome. This was no different. It was merely a question of scope. As Favreau saw it, the weapon she now possessed didn’t really kill faster or leave a person any deader than mishandling a block of C-4, so why be afraid of it? She didn’t fear it at all. So much power, and it was hers to use as she pleased.