Mon pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose and rubbed. The last teleconference had run almost an hour and half over, plagued by United Nations headquartersâ substandard satellite internet and the pure obstinacy of the Russian ambassador.
She looked at the wall clock out of the corner of her eye and could barely register the red digital numbers. She blinked again and looked more closely.
âItâs 12:34, madame,â came a soft, accented voice. âIn the morning.â
Mon didnât have the energy to be startled. She simply looked at the slender, sharp-figured man standing in the dimly-lit doorway of her office, then said, âYou are â?âÂ
âPerdĂłn,â he said, putting up his hands. âYour aide said I could come in.â He took a step back. âShould I come back later?â
Mon blinked again, focusing her eyes and taking him in. A loose thought danced into her mind: That suit fits too well on him. Then: I am far too tired to be thinking that about a man I just met.Â
âNo.â She pushed herself to her feet and extended her hand. He shook it with a firm, almost uncomfortably callused grip, then sat.
âCaptain Cassian Andor,â he said. âIâm with MONUSâ â the long-time UN peacekeeping mission for Sokonno â âBut Iâm here to provide security for you, for the conference.â
Mon inclined her head. âGood to meet you, Captain. Iâm Mon Mothma, the special envoy for Sokonno.â She settled back into her seat. âI apologize for not being able to see you sooner, itâs been a long week.â
âItâs fine, madam. Iâm just in from Kayez myself.â Andorâs voice was throaty and warm, but Mon heard urgency in his tone.Â
âKayez?â Mon leaned forward in her chair. âI wasnât aware that MONUS had a base in the north.â Kayez was the entire reason she was here, and why the conference was happening in the first place. The discovery of gold in Sokonnoâs northern border area was both a potential economic boon but also a massive destabilizing force. The Sokonnese military, Sahelian jihadists, Russian private military companies were all circling.
âMONUS doesnât.â Andor leaned forward. âI went with my commanding officerâs permission.âÂ
Mon pursed her lips. Colonel Luthen Rael, the commanding officer of MONUS, was a long-time Swedish Army officer but had been in peacekeeping in Africa for years; he was both renowned for his effectiveness and criticized for exceeding his mandate.Â
âI gather you did not go wearing a uniform,â she said, almost not wanting to hear what the captain was about to tell her.Â
âNo. First I posed as a tourist, then as a mining liaison. Then as a journalist.â Andor saw the look on her face and paused.
âCaptain,â Mon said. âItâs highly ⌠unorthodox to pose as a journalist. It may put legitimate journalists in danger if certain actors think that journalists could be undercover soldiers or spies.â
Andor gave a small, dismissive huff. âMadam, Iâm from MĂŠxico. Everyone already thinks journalists are spies.â
Mon stiffened. The Mexican contribution to MONUS was small, but highly specialized. âI have to ask, captain, if you were part of that stunt a few months ago? The Nguessi incident.â
âDo you mean the hostage rescue?â Andor looked back at her, his dark eyes calm and unwavering. âI was the commanding officer, yes.â
âI mean the photos, afterward. The ones that were posted on Telegram.â She felt tension crackle up her spine.Â
âI didnât take the photos,â Andor said. âThat was Major Markiâs idea. She was the one who found the jihadistsâ private Telegram group, off the leaderâs phone. She thought she would let them know what happened to the men they sent, courtesy of MONUS.â
âAnd whose idea was it to spell out âNe revenez pasâ using the terroristsâ weapons?â Mon asked.Â
âHer French is better than mine,â said Andor, with a small smile. âThey havenât come back, either.â
Mon sighed. âThat bright idea almost got all of MONUS thrown out of the country, you know. And your Fuerzas Especiales detachment sent home.â
âBut you fought to keep us,â said Andor. âAnd weâre still here.â
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