Page 61 of Enemy of My Enemy

Somalia

Derras wasa forgotten town in a forgotten country, a wash of decrepit square concrete buildings, long-faded paint, and splintering asphalt. Sand blew over the roadway, and wild goats munched on desperate desert grass that shot up through the broken stretch of desolate highway. Here and there, a ragged Acacia tree stood, gnarled and bone dry, desiccated in Somalia’s decades-long drought.

It was utterly forgettable.

Colonel Song glared through his sunglasses. His plane had landed five miles away in the desert, where he’d been picked up by a Humvee and driven into Derras. His driver, a silent, stoic man with short hair and a handkerchief around his neck, never said a word. But he watched Song like a hawk when he climbed out of the Humvee and looked left and right at a giant landscape of nothingness.

Another Humvee appeared down the road, slowly pulling to a stop. The driver stayed inside, but the back doors opened and General Madigan exited. He had on snug black combat fatigues and a black cap, and his eyes were covered with mirrored sunglasses. His face was shaven, and his boots shined.

He was a man very comfortably on the run from the most powerful nation on the planet. Unfazed at being public enemy number one of the United States.

Colonel Song squared his shoulders and clasped his hands before him. “General. You asked for me to meet you, and I said I wanted to see your potential.” He gestured to the desolation surrounding them on the cracked Somalian highway. “This is hardly potential.”

“I can’t bring you to my main operation. I don’t trust you.” Madigan grinned as Song’s eyebrows rose. “I’ve got thousands of men in these hills, all training for my army.”

“Thousands of men is nothing compared to the might of your enemies.”

“Thousands of men with conviction and purpose have brought down enemies ten times their size. It’s about the drive, Colonel. What men are willing to fight for. To die for. And my men are willing to go to the ends of the earth for me. For this. For their freedom tobe, and the promise of a new world.”

“And yet, you rot in this wasted country.”

“This is a wasted countryyourcountry has dumped millions into. Why is that?” Madigan put his hands on his hips but kept grinning.

Song stayed silent.

“I’ll tell you why. Because there’s a beautiful oil field right there, right off the Horn, but these Somali fucks have been too busy killing each other to go drill it. And the pirates make any commercial investment problematic. So, you’re betting on both ends. Either the country stabilizes, and you’re the good guy, or the country falls apart completely, and you swoop in for the fresh kill.” He cocked his head. “Sound about right?”

“I’m not here to discuss China’s foreign policy. You wanted me. And yet you waste my time.”

“You want to know about my potential, and I’m here with an offer for you, one I won’t make again.” Madigan pulled his sunglasses off, and he stared into Song’s eyes. “Change is on the horizon. When I am done, the world as you know it will have fallen into a wasteland worse than this shithole of a lost country. There will be a new order in charge. You have an opportunity. You can join the side of the winners. Or you can be destroyed, along with everyone else.”

Song’s eyes narrowed. “What is it you are planning to do?”

Madigan smiled, a madman’s smile, and slid his shades back on. He stepped back and kicked the cracked asphalt beneath their feet. “Did you know that this road used to connect Soviet military installations in Somalia, back in the seventies?” He looked into the distance, into the emptiness, and whistled. “Not a damn thing left. Not a damn single thing.”

Three steps took him to Song, and he pressed close, speaking in a hushed hiss to Song’s face. “Because I destroyed it. I destroyed it all. I have built this world, exactly my way, for decades. And I will continue to make this world, and unmake this world, in the way I will it.” He stepped back. “I’m standing on the ruins of the Soviets. And, mark my words, I will stand on the ruins of her successor.”

“You would destroy the Russian Federation?”

“I will destroy everything that President Spiers holds dear. Everything. Starting with his dear, precious Russia. His lover. His sanity. And finally, when he’s left with nothing, I will end his miserable life.”

Silence.

“Now, you and your countrymen can inherit this shithole, and all of its oil, when I am done. I’ll even throw in Iran for you. You can have Iran. And all of Iran’s oil, too.”

The winds of Somalia gusted over the road, kicking up a swirl of scorched sand from the hard-packed grit beside them. Brittle branches from the gnarled Acacia tree swayed, rubbing together like an old lady’s bones, groaning and hollow.

Desert wind brushed over Song’s polished shoes, whispering like ancient ghosts.

He stepped forward. “To destroy a thing, one must lead that thing to its extremes. You know what you must do?” Slowly, he held out his hand for Madigan to shake.

Madigan grinned, slid his hand into Song’s and pumped, once. “We have an understanding, you and me.”

“The darkest night always leads to a glorious new dawn.” Song buttoned his suit jacket. Their conversation was over. “You may build your infrastructure here. We will not interfere. And, we will be in touch.”

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Chapter 24