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was corpulent and pasty, like a hairless rat on an
     unlimited cheese budget. DeLuca’s first thought was that for a station chief in Africa, Chandler didn’t appear to get out
     and about much. “I’ll be the general travel advisor.”
    “General Phil LeDoux,” DeLuca’s friend said. “Commander G-2, DOD Ops Intel.”
    It was DeLuca’s turn.
    “Special Agent David DeLuca, U.S. Army counterintelligence,” he said, “and as far as I can tell, I’m just here in case you
     need to send somebody out for pizza.”
    “A bit more than that,” Kissick said, after the laughter died down, “but all in good time.”
    The man next to DeLuca introduced himself as Hanson Sedu-Sashah, assistant to United Nations general secretary Kofi Annan
     and the UN’s liaison with General Rene LeClerc, commander of the UN peacekeeping forces in Liger. “I am Ghanaian,” he said,
     “but I know a bit about Liger, if you have questions.”
    The man next to him introduced himself as Hans Berger, with WAOC, the acronym for the West African Oil Consortium. “My group
     includes Dutch Shell, Exxon-Mobil, Chevron-Texaco, and Agip. I am here only to listen, but I can also answer any questions
     you might have about the oil industry in Liger.”
    “Lionel Ayles-Kensey,” the next man said, his Britishness given away by both his accent and his bad teeth. “British foreign
     service. My family had a farm outside Baku Da’al until the locals had enough of the Brits and threw us out in ’62. I could
     give you a bit of historical background, I suppose, but I’d better not speak for the prime minister—I believe General Denby
     was going to be here for that…”
    “General Denby was unable to attend,” Kissick said.
    An African man of about forty, in combat fatigues with three stars on his collar and with a face showing the markings of ritual
     scarification, introduced himself as General Adala Bukari, representing the African Union, another peacekeeping force, as
     DeLuca understood it, unable to keep the peace anywhere it went but probably still a good idea, an alliance of military personnel
     from across Africa tasked to observe elections and cease-fires but not interfere.
    “I have been working, for some time,” he said, his voice barely rising above a whisper, “with Ambassador Ellis and with President
     Bo, to oversee the camps. And food shipments. General Ismael Osman is our contact in Liger.”
    The last man at the table was a full bird colonel named Suarez, representing the 27th Infantry Division out of Ft. Drum, New
     York, where ten thousand reservists were getting ready for deployment. The division commander, General Gaines, had stayed
     behind to oversee the preparations.
    “Liger,” General Kissick began, a map of the country appearing on the plasma screen. “Mr. Kensey has written a more complete
     history for you in your printouts, but let me thumbnail it for you so we’re all on the same page. You can bridge the oversimplifications
     yourselves. British colony since 1674. Dutch before that, Portuguese before the Dutch. Three main tribal regions, with the
     Fasori in the south, along the coast…” He pointed to a line on the map. “The Da in the middle and the Kum people in the
     sub-Saharan north. The Sahel. The European traders built a string of fortresses and castles along the coast but never ventured
     more than a few miles inland, which was considered ‘The White Man’s Graveyard.’ The whites traded with the Fasori. Most of
     the slaves who passed through the castles were Da, captured either by Fasori slave traders or by Kum warriors bringing their
     slave caravans south to market. Because of their contact with Europeans, most of the Fasori today are Christian, maybe half
     Catholic and half Protestant-Pentecostal. It used to be 85 percent Catholic, but the Pentecostals have been making inroads
     and doing heavy missionary work throughout the country. The Kum have traditionally been Muslim, moderately