by Davis Bunn
The question only heightened her discomfort. Her gaze was both smoky and blue, like a high-altitude sky seen through the early morning mist. “My boss is on maternity leave.” She bit down on what she was about to say next, and finished, “It’s complicated.”
Theo watched her gaze drift around the lounge, like she could not bring herself to look at this man who resembled Kenny Bishop. “I imagine that’s a good word to describe a lot of what you must go through, working for my brother. Complicated.”
She nodded slowly. “I never spoke directly with Kenneth Bishop until yesterday. He called me and said I needed to make this trip. Today.”
“That sounds very familiar.”
“Will you tell me what you know? I mean, about our being here.”
“The simple answer is, I don’t know anything.” Theo related the previous day’s events, starting with the call from Kenny’s lawyer. That meant describing the absence of any relationship with his brother, which led to how much Kenny seemed to have changed.
At that point, Theo’s natural reserve came rushing to the fore. He tried to stifle what had become more of a confession than a conversation. But the look in her eyes kept him going. Della Haverty’s gaze remained locked on him throughout, scarcely blinking, her lips parted slightly. He finished with, “I couldn’t tell Kenny no. Not even when he refused to tell me where I was headed. So here I am. A ton of questions and no answers. Zip. Nada.”
Then he stopped. And waited. Wishing he could draw out the moment just a little longer. Truly sorry when she straightened, glanced away, took a long breath, and said, “They’re calling our flight.”
The journey to Accra, capital of Ghana, would take seven hours and ten minutes, almost as long as Della’s journey from Washington. Della had no idea how she was going to sit next to Theo Bishop for that long and manage to avoid telling him the truth.
While the plane taxied, Della asked him a few questions, mostly to give herself more time to figure out what she should say. But when they reached cruising altitude and the flight steward came around with drinks, she was no closer to an answer. The longer she listened to him talk, the more certain she became that Theo Bishop was telling her the unvarnished truth.
Theo resembled his older brother somewhat, mostly in superficial ways. The differences were far stronger than the similarities. Della put Theo’s height at six-foot-one, and his weight at rawbone lean. But where Kenneth was almost emaciated, Theo had the physique of a rugged outdoorsman. He shared a look of deep exhaustion with his brother, although in Theo’s case the burdens did not seem to impact his calm. Or his looks. Which were, well, arresting.
Then she realized she had totally lost what he was saying, so she spoke the first thought that came to mind. “Why UNC Asheville?”
He tilted his head and smiled for the first time. The furrows lining his face rearranged themselves, and he became more handsome still. “You know I teach?”
“The brother of my boss, of course I know. Well, the boss of my boss’s boss, to be completely accurate.”
“The place, the region, the school’s size, the students, they all suit me.” He studied her a moment. “How well do you know my brother?”
“I’ve met him exactly once.” She held up her hand. It was not a planned gesture. In fact, Della felt as though she was pleading when she said, “I don’t know how much I can tell you. And if I start, I’m afraid I’ll say too much.”
“My brother told you not to speak with me?”
“Actually, I think your brother would approve of my telling you everything.” She took a hard breath. “Like I said, it’s all very complicated.”
“Then let’s un-complicate things. You tell me what you want, when you want. How’s that?”
“Okay. Great, actually. You can live with that?”
“Yes. Just one question. Do you know anything about why Kenny saved my company? Or where we’re going?”
“That’s two questions.” She smiled. “You call him Kenny?”
“Only because yesterday was the first time I’ve seen him in over four years.”
“The answer is the same to both questions. No. I don’t know anything.”
“Well then.” He nodded. “How about we solve those mysteries first, then worry later about what you’re ordered not to say?”
“I like that,” she said with a smile. Della had always considered herself to have an excellent built-in lie detector. The needle had not quivered once in all the time Theo had talked. “I like that a lot.”
Theo woke from a deep slumber when the pilot announced they would land in Accra in forty minutes. He rubbed his eyes and accepted the steward’s offer of coffee. Della was still asleep, her face turned toward him and the sunset beyond their window. The golden glow suited her. She pouted slightly, as if struggling with a dream. Finally, he touched her shoulder and said, “Sorry to disturb you.”
She straightened slowly. The smile she gave him seemed like a brief glimpse beneath her armor. “Are we there yet?”
“Soon.” He offered his cup. “Share?”
“Oh, yes, please.” She sipped, hummed, sipped again. Then smiled when the steward returned with a second cup. “What did I miss?”
“I have no idea. I just woke up myself.”
Once on the ground, the plane powered toward the main building. And there it sat. Theo watched the world beyond his window descend into full darkness. The black was almost complete. If he leaned forward, he could see the modern Kotoka Airport terminal. It glowed like a solitary lantern in a dark land.
Finally, Theo heard the aircraft’s door open and felt the pressure shift. Almost instantly he smelled an incredible mix of odors, woodsmoke and spice and diesel and rank vegetation. He watched as a truck drove portable stairs up to the gangway. Then the steward returned to his aisle. He was no longer smiling. “Dr. Bishop, you are to come with me, sir.”
“Can I ask why?”
“This way, please. You too, Ms. Haverty.”
Theo found it mildly interesting how the crew and other passengers responded. The white faces watched their passage with weary curiosity. The Africans, however, refused to meet Theo’s gaze. The steward handed Theo his backpack and stepped away as a uniformed soldier said, “Dr. Theodore Bishop?”
“Yes.”
“Passport.”
Theo handed it over. “Can I ask what this—?”
“Your passport too, Ms. Haverty.” He accepted both, scrutinized them, and said, “Follow me.”
“Will you please tell us—”
“You will follow me now.”
They descended the stairs to find two more soldiers waiting on either side of the gangway. Beyond them idled a military truck with yet more soldiers. The officer walked over to where a white man stood by the truck and said, “They are all yours.”
“Thank you, Colonel.” The white man waited until the Ghanaian officer moved on, then asked, “This all your gear?”
“Yes. What’s—?”
“Yours too, Ms. Haverty?”
“Tell us what is going on.”
“My name is Bruno Seames. I’m head of your security detail.” He gestured to the truck. “Climb in, please. We don’t have much time.”
Della dropped her pack to the tarmac. “I’m not going anywhere until I get some answers.”
“That’s entirely your choice, Ms. Haverty. But I and my men are leaving as of now. We have a very tight window to get you in, show you what’s happening, and bring you out safely.”
“Why do we need a security detail?”
“Come or not, that’s all we have time for. Dr. Bishop, if you’re coming, climb on board. Now.”
Theo shrugged to Della, handed the man his pack, and climbed into the truck. The cab contained a rear seat that was little more than a padded bench. Theo’s knees were almost in his chest. Bruno dumped Theo’s pack in beside him and had started to climb into the passenger seat when Della said, “Wait.”
Reluctantly she slipped i
n beside Theo. As the truck started to move away, she said, “I don’t like this one bit.”
The truck ground its gears and set off across the tarmac. The main terminal building passed to his right and then disappeared behind him. The truck followed a well-paved road that headed into the vast African darkness. All Theo could see ahead of them was the tiny mobile island where the headlights fell.
Ten minutes later, an odd-shaped structure cut a silhouette from the night. Theo became certain that up ahead loomed the biggest plane he had ever seen.
Then the plane’s engines started. They growled a deep drumming note, one that grew increasingly loud the closer they drove. Theo was about to yell that they were going to collide with the aircraft when . . .
The truck accelerated.
And drove up a ramp.
Straight onto the plane.
The driver cut the engine, men attached ropes to tie down the truck, and Bruno Seames opened his door and yelled, “Go! Go!”
They sat there. Inside the truck.
As the plane taxied and took off.
Flying them into the African night.
seven
There was a light in a wire-mesh cage above the metal door leading to the pilot’s cabin. When it flashed from red to green, Bruno’s team instantly went to work. They released a set of tie-downs and pulled off canvas tarps, uncovering three massive clusters of equipment. As they began unpacking boxes and metal lockers, Theo remained where he was, seated in the back of the truck, because Bruno had not moved. Theo said, “Back to the lady’s question. Why are we traveling with a security detail?”
“Here’s what you need to understand.” Bruno casually draped one elbow over the seat’s back. His eyes were dark green and utterly blank. Theo thought it was like staring into a shadowed pool. Bruno was aged somewhere around Theo’s mid-thirties, but his background had carved his expression into timeless lines. His years meant nothing. The quiet manner, the toneless voice, all of it was a mask. Theo knew this at gut level. Bruno went on, “My team does this for a living. We are very good at our job. Do you know why?”
Over the plane’s thundering engines, Theo heard a slight accent. Dutch, perhaps. Or Afrikaans. “You’re still alive.”
Bruno’s gaze tightened slightly, as close to a smile of approval as the man could probably come. “We are contracted to take you into a very volatile region. From the moment we land, you do not use names. Not among yourselves, and not with us. There is every chance that others will be monitoring our communication.”
He pointed through the truck’s windshield to a massive black man whose tattooed arms extended from a sleeveless military shirt. “I’m Team Leader One, he’s Team Leader Two. The others stay nameless because you will never speak to them. Anything you have to say, you say it to us. Tell me you understand.”
Theo resisted the urge to respond with a demand for answers. He could see that Della was both tense and frightened. Arguing with the man responsible for keeping them alive, asking questions he probably would refuse to answer, would not help her state. He said, “Team Leader One, Team Leader Two.”
Bruno’s gaze tightened a second time. “Do you hunt?”
“Some.” The truth was, Theo had never enjoyed it. He did it because many Carolina hill clans distrusted anyone who could not handle a gun or track a prey. So he had forced himself to learn both.
“Can you handle a side arm?”
“Yes.” At least he could on a firing range.
“What about you, Ms. Haverty?”
“I . . . No.”
“Okay. One more thing before I cover our destination.” There was a subtle change to the man, a slight tensing to his features. The civilized veneer dropped away, and Theo looked into the face of a killer. “The situation on the ground could deteriorate very swiftly. If things go south, we survive by immediate extraction. If you hear me say planeside, you drop whatever you’re doing and you run. If you hesitate, if you argue, if you think you need thirty seconds more for whatever you’re doing, you die. Tell me you understand.”
Theo heard the nervous quiver to his response. “Planeside.”
Bruno opened the truck’s door. “Time to introduce you to ground zero.”
Bruno spread out the map on the equipment closest to the cockpit. The plane’s lights were switched on now, giving the rear hold a harsh yellow cast. The map looked interesting. Theo had always had a thing about maps. This one was unlike any he had seen before. It unfolded from a packet hardly bigger than a wallet, but stretched out over a yard square. The material was silk or some other very light fabric, the colors so vivid they glowed.
“We are flying north by west,” Bruno began. “We’re staying well offshore because of two ground conflict zones we need to avoid. In about an hour and a half we turn due east and come in here.” He pointed with an index finger on the map spread out in front of them.
Theo knew he should be frightened by all the unknowns. But just then he could scarcely contain his excitement. He was leaning over a cloth map while a highly experienced mercenary talked about Africa.
Bruno went on, “The southern provinces of Senegal are known as the Casamance Region. It’s separated from northern Senegal by Gambia, which is this narrow strip of land stretching west to east. Senegal and Gambia are fighting over border disputes, so this southern section is isolated and highly unstable.”
He pointed to a river mouth. “The Casamance River is the main transportation link between the coastal towns and the region’s capital, Ziguinchor. Which means we’re probably going to be able to make a clean, safe in and out.”
Della spoke for the first time since entering the plane. “Safe from what?”
If Bruno noticed her strident fear, he gave no sign of it. “There are two possible sources of risk. The less important are the Jola tribesmen. They are the dominant force in Casamance, but they only make up four percent of Senegal’s total population. The Wolof, the dominant Senegalese tribe, are the Jolas’ ancestral enemies. The Jolas have been fighting a sporadic civil war for over thirty years. Yet virtually all of the recent conflicts have been farther inland.”
Theo gave Della a chance to respond. When she remained silent, he asked, “And the greater risk?”
“The Senegalese Army, the region’s only effective government. When this incident first arose, they tried to seal the area. But in the past thirty-six hours, fishermen and smugglers have brought out tales that all add up to the same thing.”
Della’s voice rose another octave. “And what precisely is that thing?”
Bruno refolded his map. “There is nothing I can say that will make it any clearer. Or prepare you for what you’re about to see.”
eight
An hour into the flight, two of Bruno’s team heated up ready meals and passed them around. The food’s smell mixed with those of the old plane and the adrenaline-stoked team, and made Della nauseous. She didn’t want anybody to notice, so she took a plate when it was offered to her and pretended to eat. But Bruno saw beneath her façade and said, “We will get you in and out. It’s our job. And there’s nobody better.”
Della admitted defeat and set her plate to one side.
The team continued to work while they ate. There was a swift coordination to their every move. They joked among themselves, the words spoken swift as bullets. Theo ate standing up, positioned by the truck’s left fender, from which he watched everything. Finally, she walked over to join him. “Do you understand what they’re saying?”
Theo smiled. “I don’t need to.”
It was wrong to like him like she did. Wrong to think she could trust the brother of Kenneth Bishop with anything, much less her safety. But she could not find a reason to keep herself from asking, “Why are you so calm?”
She half expected him to give a typical macho response, as in, It’s a mask, I’m terrified, something. Instead, he pointed with his chin to the massive dark-skinned warrior, Team Leader Two. “He reminds me of somebody. A hillsman named C
lem. Not how he looks, but in the way he carries himself.”
Theo turned and showed her the same open gaze that had so impacted her back in London. As though he did not know any way to be except honest. Which was totally absurd. Almost as crazy as the faint flutter she felt in her middle. Here in the back of the biggest plane she’d ever seen, flying toward a dangerous dawn. Ridiculous.
Theo went on, “When I turned fifteen, I took all my savings—three hundred and forty dollars—and bought this awful Ford pickup. The odometer had frozen at two hundred and sixty thousand miles. I spent a year rebuilding it. In the process I became friends with a local mechanic. When he spoke with other men from the lost valleys, Clem’s accent was as hard to understand as those guys. They used their speech as a way of shutting me out. I was accepted, but only so far. I would always stay an outsider.”
Della watched the team, saw how they excluded her and Theo, how this seemed to make them stronger. Tighter. She disliked it, yet there it was.
“Clem hauled my truck into the rear yard of his garage and basically guided me through the refit. For my sixteenth birthday, he took me hunting. That next year he taught me how to track. He was the finest hillsman I ever met. I never much cared for the hunt, and he knew it. But he liked how I wanted to understand his world.” Theo went quiet, then added, “Clem died ten years ago. I haven’t thought about him in a while.”
She licked dry lips. “Why are you telling me this?”
He pointed a second time at the crew. “I’m watching them, and I see Clem. The same steady nerve, the same competence. What you need to understand is, they will not let us down.”
Della took a long breath, released it slowly, and felt the tight grip of her nerves begin to ease.
“You should eat something,” Theo said, his eyes still on the crew. “Whatever it is up ahead that makes having a security detail necessary, you need to stay strong.”
Half an hour later, the team began prepping hazmat suits. Theo’s gut did a swoop-and-dive at the sight. Della stepped up beside him and cried, “Somebody has got to tell me what is going on.”