Free Robert Ludlum's (TM) The Janson Option (Paul Janson) by Paul Garrison Page B

that throughout Africa, Somalis were as famous as Nigerians for high-decibel debate.
    “What does ‘missions’ mean?” Isse shouted.
    “Al-Shabaab—pray like we say or we’ll kill you.”
    “There is more to al-Shabaab. They are about respecting Islam.”
    Ahmed laughed. “Islam should be more than bitching about being dissed.”
    “Al-Shabaab demands respect.”
    “Somalis don’t need that shit.”
    Isse balled his fists. “Islam is not—”
    Janson stepped between them, impermeable as a cinder-block wall. “Isse, do you have pirates in your family?”
    The student said, “My father is a doctor, my mom’s a nurse. One of my grandfathers was a cleric, the other was a pharmacist.”
    “I can see how you’d be short of pirates in your immediate family, but what about clansmen and cousins?”
    “I know what you’re saying, sir. But it’s not like all Somalis are pirates.”
    “Let me put it this way,” Janson said patiently. “Who are you connected to in Mogadishu who could help us ransom this lady who was kidnapped by pirates?”
    Isse looked alarmed. “I thought you needed a translator. I mean, I just don’t know any pirates.”
    Kincaid stepped closer. “Do you know anyone in the government?”
    “Sure. Ministry of Health people. They stay with my parents when they come here.”
    “What about clerics? Any of your grandfather’s colleagues?”
    “I never met him. He was killed before I was born—But I really want to help you.”
    Janson said, “I appreciate that. Jess, why don’t you give Isse and Ahmed a tour of the cockpit? Jess is a pilot too,” he explained to Isse and Ahmed.
    Ahmed bounded eagerly after her. Isse followed, looking anxious.
    Janson exchanged grown-man smiles with the real estate agent.
    “Mr. Hassan, do I understand correctly that you have maintained your business contacts in Mogadishu?”
    Salah Hassan’s smile grew enormous. “There’s a saying in real estate: the broker knows everything in town before it happens. Since my clients are from Somalia, I’m up to date in two towns: Minneapolis and Mogadishu. Knowing who is up and who is down, who chooses to emigrate, who has to run for it, that’s how I know to have my agents scout a home or a factory or a shop before they arrive.”
    “In Mogadishu? Who’s up? Who’s down?”
    “Home Boy Gutaale. He’s nicknamed Home Boy for ‘He who came home.’ Gutaale prospered abroad, here in America, with a heating-oil business. But instead of just hanging out in a dollar country, Gutaale went back home and put himself on the line—long before things started calming down. Gutaale is much admired by the wealthy expatriate Somalis who control Somali business from abroad. It’s in their economic interest that Gutaale imposes stability.”
    “How would Home Boy do that?”
    “You could call him a warlord. Very, very good at it. He is a mythic figure, secular, not religious, allied by blood and marriage to many clans. Ordinary people love him too. He’s got the common touch. Wears a bushy red beard people see a mile away. And also, he’s pushing the old dream of Greater Somalia, which they all love him for.”
    “The empire?” asked Janson.
    “Believe it. Five hundred years ago the king of Soomaaliweyn ruled the Horn of Africa from Mombasa all the way to the Red Sea. Home Boy reminds the world’s most infamous failed state of our prouder history. People have begun to call him the George Washington of Soomaaliweyn.”
    “Won’t Kenya and Ethiopia object?” Janson asked drily, thinking that there was nothing like a war with the neighbors to pull a nation together.
    Hassan replied with a dismissive shrug, “Did your George Washington give a hoot for British objections?”
    “Have you ever met Gutaale?”
    “He spoke at one of our fund-raisers. Haven’t seen him since he went back and that was years ago.”
    “But I understood you’re back and forth from Mog. Never bumped into him there?”
    Hassan smiled. He