Free The Golden Hour by Todd Moss

hear.”
    Click.
    •   •   •
    The main entrance of the original CIA headquarters looked and felt more like a college campus in the 1950s than the modern epicenter of America’s global intelligence-gathering and operations network. A pack of young women in identical gray tracksuits ran by, ponytails bobbing in sync.
    Judd stepped inside the lobby and walked across the marble insignia on the floor, an eagle head and shield with a sixteen-point compass. Around the outside ring read CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA . On the wall to one side was a stone engraving with the agency’s motto: AND YE SHALL KNOW THE TRUTH AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE .
    Judd approached the security desk, flashed his ID again and waited for his escort. There were clusters of young people, all casually dressed, rushing around.
    Across the lobby, Judd eyed a statue honoring General William “Wild Bill” Donovan, founder of the original Office of Strategic Services, or OSS, the precursor to the CIA, during World War II.
    After a few minutes, a stoic young man in khaki slacks and a button-down shirt appeared. Judd had never seen him before. “Dr. Ryker? I can take you up.”
    Judd was led silently through a series of corridors and up an elevator. After another long corridor, they arrived at a door marked AFRICA ISSUE . Inside, rows of cubicles were stacked high with paper, the walls covered with maps, political posters, and headshots of African leaders. Their destination was a windowless conference room with several twentysomethings seated patiently around a table. The analysts.
They could be my students.
    As Judd entered the room, a woman stood up. Judd guessed that she was maybe thirty years old. “Good to have you here, Dr. Ryker. I’m Zoe, the new regional team leader.” Judd shook her hand and turned around to thank the escort and confirm that visitor custody had been transferred, but he was already gone. Judd would never see him again.
    “Let’s get started.” Zoe was all business. “I’ve rallied all hands on deck. Political analyst, economist, military watcher, and a leadership profiler. But we haven’t had time to prepare a formal briefing. What would you like to know first, Dr. Ryker?”
    “Thanks. I appreciate you pulling the team together on short notice. Let’s get an update of what we know.”
    “Okay, politics. Sunday here is our lead Mali analyst.” She gestured to a young black man with a closely cropped goatee sitting next to her. “Sunday, go.”
    “Roger.” Sunday looked directly into Judd’s eyes. “This morning, about twelve hours ago, we had a classic coup d’état. It is a break in the data pattern, however. Aaay, yes, Africa has seen a steep decline in coups in recent decades. More specifically, my cross-country statistical analysis shows a zero-point-eight percentage-point drop per year in annual risk prediction metrics since 1985. Despite this trend, Mali’s risk metrics remain high relative to both its income and regional peer groups.”
I
like this kid.
    Sunday continued, “Turning to this morning’s events, General Mamadou Idrissa arrested the president and has him in detention.Idrissa had been consolidating his power base for years, building loyalty among his special guard that operate in the Timbuktu zone number six against Tuareg insurgents. He recruited these elite forces mostly from his home area, near Dogon Country in the eastern belt along the border with Burkina Faso. The Scorpions are well trained and highly motivated.”
    “Trained by us,” interjected Judd.
    “Aaay. Trained by U.S. Special Forces. We suspect that Idrissa pays the Scorpions extra to maintain loyalty. He is now using sizable cash offers to secure the support for the junta of other military brass and members of parliament.”
    “He’s not doing that on his army salary, so he has to be dirty. What’s his racket? Is he in mining? Running drugs?” asked Judd.
    “Not clear. He’s