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first place. He ran when the bombs started to fall, but he didn’t run far. He saw the whole thing from a distance, and he swears that he saw a man in army uniform getting out of a white Mercedes. Besides, there was a plane. If there was no government authorization, where did the plane come from?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Harper said carefully.
    Stralen narrowed his eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t think the Sudanese government has a hand in this?”
    â€œI think it might bear some level of culpability.”
    Stralen narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean, ‘some level’?”
    â€œI mean Bashir provides funds and training for the Janjaweed through the army,” Harper explained. “But he does not direct ongoing operations in Darfur. He leaves that to his generals. There is a good chance he wasn’t even aware of this particular attack, much less who was stationed at the camp.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious.” Stralen looked at Andrews, then back to Harper, as though searching for an explanation. “Do you really expect us to believe that this was a mistake? Some kind of coincidence?”
    â€œNo, of course not. That is not what I’m implying. I’m simply saying that Bashir might not have authorized it,” Harper asserted.
    â€œAnd what about the plane? Let’s not forget that bombs were dropped,” said Stralen.
    â€œI haven’t.” Harper sighed. “But a lot of ordnance and combat equipment is floating around out there on the black market. And across the region. Tanks, attack boats—”
    â€œI repeat, Harper. This was a bomber. An F-7N, according to our real-time infrared satellite data. What does that tell you?”
    Harper didn’t answer. Acquired from Iran back in the late nineties, the Chinese-built warplanes were known to have been used in Sudan’s bombing campaigns against rebel ground troops during its last civil war. Which in his mind still proved nothing.
    He turned toward the president; the last thing he wanted here was a spitting contest. “Sir, I know it must seem pretty clear-cut from where you’re standing. But I don’t think there’s sufficient evidence Omar al-Bashir ordered the attack, and I don’t think we’ve established motive. He knows the consequences for himself and his government. To go after you personally, and in this way, would be an incredibly stupid thing to do at a time when he’s already under siege. Bashir is a lot of things, but he isn’t stupid. It would be an act of sheer lunacy for him to authorize your niece’s murder.”
    Harper paused, painfully aware that it was the first time those words had been spoken aloud. For a long moment the president didn’t respond, his red eyes fixed on some random point on the far wall. When he spoke, his voice was dangerously low.
    â€œThere’s that plane, John. Let’s not dance around it. And those men were wearing army uniforms,” he said. “Bashir controls the army. It’s one thing for them to raid a local village with impunity. But they’re still undeniably on a leash…a long one, maybe, but a leash nonetheless. Say what you will, they don’t lift a finger against us unless he tells them to.”
    Harper was momentarily shaken by the quiet rage he heard in the president’s voice—as well as the utter conviction. But he did his best to set it aside, knowing that he couldn’t stop now. Someone had to bring the man back from the brink, and it was clear that he was the only person still willing to try.
    â€œYes, but that just supports my point, sir. Even if they destroyed the whole camp, some of the refugees were bound to escape. There were going to be witnesses either way, so why would Bashir make the government’s role in the attack so blatantly evident? Why would he allow the trail to lead right back to his doorstep?”
    â€œTo