The Geneva Option Read Free

soft, exposed, in easy reach. She gripped her pencil and mentally measured the distance across the table. The pencil’s point was sharp against her skin. Her heart started thumping. She silently calmed herself and controlled her breathing. Not now. Not here.
    Yael’s face and voice showed nothing of what she felt inside. She was calm and in control, a professional UN official on a delicate assignment. She opened her hand and let the pencil fall on the table. She leaned toward Hakizimani, her manner confiding. “Professor, please, face reality. You are wanted by the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda for genocide. All UN member states are required to arrest you on sight. Your capture is merely a matter of time. You can no longer travel. You have to live in the jungle. Your friend, General Akunda, also thought he was invulnerable. He is now in a cell in The Hague. His indictment was sealed, so he was quite surprised to be arrested while he was buying chocolates in Brussels for his wives.”
    She picked up her drink and slowly inhaled its aroma. “It’s very good, the Gold Label. Much more complex than the black. There’s no whisky at The Hague’s detention center, of course. General Akunda’s trial starts next week. He is facing a life sentence. Would you like me to take him a message from you?” she asked, smiling brightly. Hakizimani did not answer.
    Her voice turned cold. “Professor. Be sensible. We know where your bases are, how many soldiers you have, where the mines are, and which airstrips you use to move the shipments out. We know who your business partners are in Kigali and Kinshasa, Paris, and Geneva. We can easily leak this information to the hundreds of journalists who cover the UN. The French and Swiss governments will feel obliged to take action. We even know who your bodyguards are and that you are increasingly worried about their loyalty. Which is why you just fired your security chief and appointed your cousin instead. Good move.”
    She nodded thoughtfully. “Or maybe not. You might like to ask your cousin how he paid for his new 1,600-square-foot apartment in the 6th arrondissement in Paris. But your more immediate problem is that President Freshwater is taking a special interest in your case.”
    Hakizimani sat up straight. “Why?”
    â€œIt seems it’s personal. She is an old hand at African crises—a former US ambassador to the United Nations and assistant secretary of state for Africa. President Freshwater was a junior Rwanda desk officer at the State Department during the genocide. She wrote lots of long and detailed memos calling for US intervention. Nobody took any notice of her. But now, they do.”
    Yael paused. She had Hakizimani’s full attention now. “I can help you.”
    â€œI don’t need your help. I have read your so-called indictment,” he replied confidently, sitting back and crossing one leg over the other, as though he were holding a tutorial. “It is based on the incident at the Belgian Mission School in Kigali. The only one when UN aid workers were killed—by Tutsis of course, who then tried to blame us. The school was surrounded for hours. They were panicking inside, sending faxes, making telephone calls to the UN in Kigali, in New York, Geneva. Everyone knew they were dead men if they weren’t rescued. CNN and the BBC were reporting outside the gates. A dozen peacekeepers could have saved them. But they never arrived.”
    Hakizimani sat silently for a moment, staring into space as he drew on his cigarette. His eyes narrowed, his breathing deepened and sped up. Yael sat up, alert now. Her sixth sense—an acute sensitivity to other people’s moods—was in full flow. She could feel the memories coursing through his head. She sensed anger and indignation, the lies and denial blending and mutating into a righteous rage, one that could turn violent. Her adrenaline