Black Mamba

by Tierney James

  “Negative,” Chase chimed in when Vernon handed him a map of Southern Africa. “According to Tess, he believes the Kifaru diamond is the key to regime change in Botswana. That sweet little lump of carbon could destabilize the entire region. We want to know if the diamond is really all that important to the people of Botswana.”

  “Why would he care? He’s a drifter contracted by the CIA when it pleases them.” Zoric took the last cookie from the tray and shoved it in his mouth

  “My research shows he’s had multiple aliases throughout his life.” Tessa glanced at her notes then handed the tray to the passing attendant, taking note of how Carter enjoyed her backside. He winked with a kind of mischievous delight that made it difficult for her to hold back laughter.

  The former astronaut had found the boot to his behind at NASA for his womanizing. She couldn’t help but think him adorable in a bad-little-boy way.

  “So how much truth to the fact he was in the foster care system?” Zoric continued.

  Tessa shrugged. “None that I found. Oh, there were kids meeting his description and history, but the pictures didn’t match or the trail went dead. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t find anything that hinted he’d ever been in the United States until he became a legal adult. He enrolled in an engineering school in Rolla, Missouri and was a so-so student, although the professors I talked to said he always knew more than he let on.”

  “Meaning?” Chase said.

  “They suspected he purposely failed or didn’t answer all the questions. At any kind of project or group work, he always excelled. He didn’t like to show his work on some tests. Said he didn’t see the point if he could give them the answer. They thought he didn’t show the work because he might be cheating. Maybe it was an attempt at rebellion.”

  “But he graduated?” Zoric asked.

  “Yes. But the bottom of his class. One more thing of interest is he worked part-time at a fast-food place and managed to graduate debt-free.”

  “No way he paid for college working at a place like that,” Chase added.

  “Exactly. He kept a small bank account under the name Louis Girard Jones.” Tessa retrieved her laptop from a satchel under the seat and powered up. After scrolling, she found the file with the details of Handsome’s life. “He drove a late-model Chevy, stayed off campus in a nondescript apartment complex where other students rented. He wasn’t a partier, as far as I can tell, and no serious relationships during college.”

  “What about afterward?” Sam asked. “Did he get a real job in engineering?”

  “Yes, but not the typical job. For about three years, he served in the Canadian Forces Reserves before switching to the Canadian Military Engineers. Their job is to provide survival, mobility, and combat effectiveness for the rest of the military.”

  “So, what you’re saying is he took that fancy education and used it to study land mines and demolitions.” Zoric took out his pocket knife to clean his fingernails but returned it when Sam pushed it away with a hateful smack on his arm.

  “That is true, but Canadians also use that kind of expertise in maintaining lines of communication, bridging and setting up utilities. There are a lot of jobs in that field. He bounced around a number of them for another five years, received commendations for excellence before leaving. After that, there seems to be a lack of information.”

  “Any friends, relationships, or trouble with the law?” Sam quizzed.

  “With one man. A Dr. Andre Girard, originally from Montreal. He and his wife opened a practice there in pediatrics. Here is a picture of them at the clinic, Mrs. Girard looking very pregnant.” She paused for effect, but no one seemed impressed, so Tessa continued, “Anyway, Dr. Girard traveled to Africa several times in the late seventies and early eighties to volunteer in a clinic supported in part by his parish.”

  “His wife didn’t go?” Tessa wasn’t surprised at Carter’s question since his interests centered on the female factor.

  “From what I gather, she miscarried the baby and wasn’t physically able to go to the international conference on health care in Africa at that time. Dr. Girard, being a keynote speaker, decided to attend. He took a side trip to Botswana to go on a photographic safari.”

  “What does this have to do with Handsome?” Sam yawned.

  “I’m getting to that.” She tried to contain her excitement. “When the doctor returned, he and his wife pulled up roots and moved to a small community on the north shore of Lake Superior, helping First Nation communities with health care. Six years later, Mrs. Girard died of complications from a blood clot.” She continued to talk as she searched for another file on her computer. “The doctor then moved back to Toronto to open a practice there and to raise his son.”

  “Were the son and Handsome connected somehow?” Chase asked, leaning in to catch a glimpse of her computer screen.

  “No.” She turned the screen around, displaying a picture of a man walking into a church, holding the hand of a boy about the age of eight. “This is Dr. Girard and his son.”

  Everyone leaned in to get a better look. “But that child is black.”

  Chapter Three

  Vernon, who already knew the information Tessa provided the group, took the opportunity to retrieve his own laptop. He’d passed the job off to her months ago because he needed to send new tech people into the field with teams from other universities. When she’d get sidetracked or lost in the information universe, he would pull her back and redirect her search. Tessa used the geography skill of human-environmental interaction to finally open doors to discovering Handsome Jones.

  When the others dozed off the night before, she’d finished up her presentation and double-checked facts that sounded preposterous with him to make sure everything made sense.

  “Black?” Sam took the computer to peer closer with Zoric. Even Carter leaned out into the aisle to get a better look.

  Chase’s brow creased after taking a second look at the picture. “And Dr. Girard’s other child?”

  “There was no other child. His wife miscarried at five months and was told she’d never be able to carry a baby to term. It was her second loss.” Tessa took the computer from Sam.

  “So, this black child was adopted, I’m assuming.” Sam’s voice grew softer. Tessa thought she noticed a little moisture at the corners of the woman’s eyes. Maybe Sam had a heart after all.

  “Not exactly. Well, not until the child was in his teens. Then the paperwork magically appeared on record including a birth certificate that said the child was born in Biloxi, Mississippi. My research indicated he was an American citizen, given up for adoption when the good doctor volunteered at a clinic there. That child was John Girard. We know him as Handsome Jones. Most of their friends knew nothing about John—I mean Handsome, until about the time you see him in this picture with Dr. Girard.”

  “How did they keep it a secret and why?” Chase accepted another cup of coffee from the flight attendant.

  “Living on an Indian Reserve in rural Canada can keep your friends at bay. The Girards worked hard and didn’t really stay in touch with their former friends. I think the reason has to be because Handsome was really the son of John Kabo, born in a small village in Botswana where the good doctor vacationed on safari shortly after his wife miscarried their child.”

  “You make it sound like he brought home a puppy to replace the one his wife lost.” Sam smirked then cocked her head and slid her hand down her long black ponytail. “How could that even happen?”

  “Africa. Back in the 1970s and 80s, a lot was going on. The camp Dr. Girard stayed in was hit by General Baboloki’s men, killing almost everyone, including the tourists staying in the safari camp.”

  “How did he survive?” Chase asked.

  “I was able to track down a bush pilot who flew tourists to various camps along the Okavango during the seventies. After the camp was destroyed, he moved his family to Harare, Zimbabwe for several years before taking a position at a vineyard in South Africa. Agai
n. Flying tourists in from Johannesburg and Cape Town, South Africa. I tried to talk to him before we left Sacramento, but he died several years ago.”

  “A dead end,” Sam interjected. “Sorry. No pun intended.”

  “Not exactly. I located his daughter, who didn’t know her father may have been involved in the rescue of our good doctor and a baby. Said the last years of her father’s life he had Alzheimer’s and often rambled about saving the future of Botswana from the butchers of the bush. He talked about a doctor taking a baby from his father’s arms and escaping with him. Because the pilot feared for his life, he moved his family a number of times.”

  “And you think Handsome Jones was that baby?” Chase asked.

  “It certainly looks that way. The doctor currently is in Gaborone working in a clinic. He has spent the last few years working with UNICEF and Doctors Without Borders. He also built a clinic in the bush where he spends a lot of time. Actually, it’s not far from where we plan to go later in the week.”

  The flight attendant announced they were landing at Victoria Falls Airport and everyone needed to be buckled up. Tessa closed her laptop and shut her eyes when the thump of landing gear went down. Memories of all the Tarzan movies she’d watched as a kid flooded her senses along with the image of the old black-and-white movie of Stanley and Livingston, and even George of the Jungle.

  Africa—a dream come true or a nightmare waiting to happen? She stole a sideways glance to find Chase staring at her with narrowed eyes. Whatever lay ahead, he would be beside her. He blinked a kind of reassurance.

  ~ ~ ~

  President Baboloki admired himself in one of the many mirrors through his mansion. The wide mouth stretched across his face to appear pleased when he lifted his chin to check for lines of age. When he found none, the president ran his hands down the front of his khaki-colored uniform pinned with a variety of ribbons and medals to remind people of his accomplishments over the last thirty-eight years.

  Women had often told him his eyes were the color of obsidian and feared they might drown in their depths. The narrow nose reflected his Tswana heritage, but the short stature and jet-black skin spoke of the Zulu of South Africa. Great kings came from that tribe, so he felt honored when some compared him to the tribe from the south. And like the Zulu who assumed they would be in charge, President Baboloki never considered anyone might second-guess his decisions concerning Botswana.

  The army followed him blindly, so he rewarded them with salaries that could feed their families and give them prestige in their villages and clans. They remained loyal and crushed resistance whenever it reared its ugly head.

  The parliament continued to hold some ideas from the old days, thanks to the wealthy landowners and safari companies, but the diamond business flourished under his deregulation and favoritism, thanks to their propensity to make cash deposits in several accounts he kept in Switzerland and the Cayman Islands.

  However, the world was changing, and the United Nations questioned whether the Kimberly Accord kept the diamond business from funneling money to areas of conflict throughout Africa. Groups of do-gooders from the United Kingdom and the United States seemed to think with the new stability and productivity, there should be more infrastructure, schools, medical facilities, and technology. He believed in withholding technology from the people indefinitely. Exposure to the wider world might give his people the idea they had choices concerning their destiny.

  Some snoops from the US State Department had arrived on his doorstep to discuss avenues of mutual concern with an eye to the future. To President Baboloki, this meant meddling in things that weren’t their business. They landed in Harare two days earlier to speak to the new Zimbabwe president who quickly reported to Baboloki what they had to say. Zimbabwe’s economy was on the verge of collapse and wanted to secure some loans from Botswana with their tattle-tale diplomacy.

  There had been a time when meeting such influential foreigners would have given him pause. He took it upon himself to find the best teachers to educate him in the ways of the world, including mathematics, science, and finance.

  He gave his image one more inspection in the mirror before turning at the sound of one of his assistants entering.

  The man dressed in a suit and tie snapped his heels together before giving a quick nod of submission. “They have arrived, sir.”

  “Show them to the veranda and serve them some refreshments. I will be there shortly.”

  “Of course.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Chase checked the time again then let his eyes follow Tessa who moved about the gardens off the veranda. They had been waiting over an hour for the president to make an appearance. Was it a power play, or did matters of state keep the president from joining them? The man was known to enjoy a grand entrance. Someone pulled back a curtain from a second-story window and stared out at them. Tessa might have an admirer.

  What wasn’t to admire? She meandered around the grounds, the breezes catching the hem of her blue cotton dress. She lifted the blonde curls that fell to her shoulders in disarray, baring her neck in the process. The urge to taste her nape was almost always in the back of his mind. Apparently, someone else enjoyed watching her absentminded stroll amongst the flowers.

  His instincts whispered he should pull her back, keep her closer so he could protect her from interested parties. But then again, Tessa had a way of drawing people out and maybe this pie-in-the-sky demeanor could work to their advantage. She continued to be the most unassuming person he knew—too trusting, too innocent, too gullible to believe people might be evil and have ulterior motives.

  This remained the exact reason he’d fallen in love with her long ago. He feared Afghanistan might have destroyed that goodness in her, but if anything, she came back stronger and more convinced a guardian angel was never very far from her. Chase accepted that role in spite of her love for someone else. They kept their relationship professional, no harm, no foul or so he tried to convince himself. He’d play her superhero or her knight in shining armor for the duration of their friendship. But one day he was going to have to do something about her husband, Robert Scott.

  “I should have left him there,” he mumbled, thinking of the time he rescued the man from a potentially damaging situation that could have gotten him thrown in jail or disbarred.

  “What?” Tessa approached him, smiling.

  “Our host is putting us off,” he said, eyeing her head to toe without trying to cover his admiration. Something about the way the breeze moved the hem of her dress reminded him of a Monet painting.

  “African time. You need to enjoy the day. It’s beautiful here.” She picked up a glass of cool lemonade and pointed to a nearby tree. “Look at those birds. Aren’t they incredible? And these plants. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  “Yes. They are quite spectacular,” came a voice with a British accent. Chase and Tessa turned to see the president walking toward them. His eyes did a quick appraisal of Tessa’s figure without being vulgar as he took her hand and kissed it tenderly. “Welcome. I apologize for the delay. There seemed to be some confusion regarding proposed legislation coming before our parliament.” He gazed into Tessa’s eyes and continued to show admiration.

  She eased free from his grasp. “No need to apologize. You left us in a most beautiful garden, President Baboloki. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you. I am Tessa Scott, and this is my assistant, Captain Chase Hunter.”

  He shifted his eyes to Chase, offering a more narrowed expression as he appraised the competition. The men clasped hands for only seconds. “Captain? Military. Are you here in a professional role or”—he turned a warm gaze back to Tessa—“protection for the lovely lady?”

  “A little of both.” Chase chuckled. He laid a hand on her back, marking his territory. “We’re a team, for sure.”

  Tessa flashed both men a patient smile as a blush crept up her neck and face. “Thank you for the lemonade. Was it freshly squeezed?”

  The presi
dent moved toward the garden path. “Yes. We actually have our own lemon trees.”

  “Will your wife be joining us? I’d hope to speak to her about how she can assist in some of the women’s programs that have been successful in other parts of Africa.”

  He held out his arm, inviting Tessa to his side. “No. I’m afraid when shopping is involved, she drops off the face of the earth. Come. Let me show you the grounds. Are you interested in gardening?”

  Tessa slipped her arm through his as a sudden breeze twirled her hair across her face. “Yes, and that would be lovely. I have many questions about some of these species. I never figured a military man such as you, would be interested in such a pastime.”

  “Well, I find that it soothes the soul,” he said, patting her arm. As they headed down the path, Chase moved to follow, but was cut off by a security officer in a three-piece suit. “We’ll be back in a few minutes, Captain Hunter. I’ll take good care of Ms. Scott. No need to worry about her safety while she is here with me.” He leveled a warning glare at the captain.

  Tessa didn’t react to the heavy scent of testosterone. “Tell me about this one, President Baboloki, the purple one with the chartreuse leaves.” She touched the flower before smiling up at the Botswana president who beamed back at her.

  Chase relaxed as he took a step closer to his guard. “How about you and me have a little something stronger than lemonade. Your boss got anything like that?”

  Chapter Four

  “The grounds are lovely, President Baboloki. Thank you for sharing your knowledge of these unusual plants.” Tessa withdrew her hand from the president’s arm once more. This time he accepted her retreat as they joined the captain at a small table on the veranda.

  Twice during her tour of the garden, she caught a glimpse of a woman staring at them from a downstairs window. She didn’t shrink from her observations when they made eye contact. Dressed simply in a pale-blue shift, the woman didn’t appear to be one of the maids she’d seen carrying out tasks in the president’s home. They were all dressed in black dresses with white aprons. Her short-cropped hair might have been gray. Maybe she was a tutor for the president’s young son or an assistant for his wife. She quickly dismissed the curiosity when the president spoke.