A tall muscular-built man approached – also black. He barked at the crowd and they parted so he stood before Gary. The tall man leaned forward and looked down at Gary. Gary was definitely intimidated but squared up bracing himself for the worst. At least he would go down bravely. The man spoke.
“You Gary Sanders?”
Gary nodded. “That's me.”
“You're with me.” The man turned and walked away. Gary hesitated for a moment but seeing as he had nowhere else to go and, fearing that the path that opened up behind the man would close and swamp him, Gary started after him. The man led him out to a waiting pickup truck. It was beat up and old. The man opened the door and waved Gary in. Gary remembered the advice given to children never to go with strangers. What was he doing? Who was this guy? Would he be found months later dismembered and dumped to be eaten by jackals?
Once they were both seated inside the pickup, Gary asked, “Who are you? What should I call you?” The man looked across at Gary and smiled.
“Are you a God-fearing man Mister Sanders?”
“Yes, I guess you could say that.” Gary affirmed that he attended church and was supposed to be God-fearing though he was a little unsure what that really meant.
“Two weeks in Mozambique you'll be afraid of more than God Almighty. You can call me Nito.” They drove off.
“Pleased to meet you, Nito.”
“Pleased my ass. You've been sent out here and you hate the place. There are a million other places you'd rather be right now, Mister Sanders. There's no point trying to lie to me. You've got some important mission and I've got to babysit you while you scratch about with your head up your ass. Am I right?”
“Far from it, Nito. And you can start calling me Gary. Okay, I'd rather be with a nice blond girl I met last week and was having dinner with yesterday evening. But duty calls. If my head ever creeps up my ass, you have my permission to pull it back out. And by the way, where are we going?”
“The Hotel Intercontinental. You speak Portuguese?”
“I do. When can you take me to Pemba?”
“You want to go now? I thought you like a nice rest. Catch up on your beauty sleep, eh?”
“Sounds nice. Let's go tomorrow. We need to be there the day after tomorrow.”
“No problem,” said Nito this time in Portuguese. He turned on the radio and it blasted pop music in Portuguese. Tomorrow's trip was going to be tedious and wearing. Gary was not looking forward to it. He was looking forward to the delights of the Hotel Intercontinental. The name conjured up luxury and he hoped he was not going to be disappointed by the reality. Numbed by the music, Gary lapsed into staring out the window at the urban planning disaster that passed for a capital city. He was contemplating how to deal mentally with Nito. He was already stunned at the toughness he was displaying despite the initial submission. He imagined he was playing a role – much like an actor – and finding that it was actually working for him. He knew for certain that his geeky tendency was not going to get results here. Perhaps Nito was doing him a favour by forcing the issue. There would worse than Nito in the days to come.
Chapter 11
Pemba, Mozambique
The drive from Maputo to Pemba was a bone shaker. Nito drove so erratically Gary was not sure if they drove on the left or right hand side of the road. He was not even sure if the pavement – where there was one – was reserved for pedestrians. The driving style was haphazard and merited forcing your way through. After a day and a half of Portuguese music, Gary was beginning to get accustomed to it. It was not like the Brazilian music his grandmother liked but it was passable. Nonetheless, when they stopped in Pemba, Gary was glad to get out the pickup and away from the blare. On the journey Nito had not been much of a travel guide. He only pointed out a low building – some kind of shop – where he said his brother Jose had been shot dead trying to steal some beer. Gary knew Nito particularly mentioned it to test him. He was determined to show absolutely no fear or squeamishness, “Crime doesn't pay.”
“Lucky for you the US government pays well enough...” came Nito's reply. Gary felt he might have pushed just a little too far on this occasion. Jose's death was a sensitive topic.
In Pemba, Gary explained that they were tracking a shipment of heavy water. It was going to be landed from a container ship that was due that night. Gary needed to find out where it was going and follow if possible. Nito nodded and went along. His only challenge was a condescending look and a derisory, “Heavy water, you say?” Obviously, Nito had no idea what it was or why it was important enough to pursue across continents and Gary was in no mind to elucidate. They meandered through Pemba to the dock area. Nito negotiated a room in an apartment block that was high enough to overlook the dockside. It was about two hundred yards from the perimeter fence but with the powerful telescope from Nito's kit bag, Gary had an ideal vantage point. They sat back and waited. They were not going to miss the container ship – it was not something that could be sneaked around.
At six o'clock in the morning Nito roused Gary. The ship was in sight several miles from the harbour. The rusted blue hulk was edging closer escorted by a tug boat. There was no activity on the dock itself. The name on the prow matched the shipping manifest of which Gary had a copy. He scanned the vessel through the telescope. There was nothing much to see but Gary felt it was important to be active. Maybe it would impress Nito, which it did not seem to do at all. Gary was looking for a standard forty-foot container identified by the serial number A4576. It would be one of dozens of regular metal boxes stacked on the boat but this one contained twenty-five tons of heavy water worth fifteen-million dollars. Other containers had electrical goods, computers and the like that were not worth a fraction of this one container. Hell, that container was worth more than the whole damn boat.
Gary started his vigil in earnest at eight-thirty. The day shift arrived at the docks and stood around for nearly an hour before getting to work. It was going to be a long day. The containers were lifted off the boat one-by-one. They were set down on the quayside. Some were stacked for storage; others were loaded on to trucks and trundled away from the dock. Nothing happened quickly, there were frequent breaks and tedious inactivity. As each container came off, Gary crossed it off the manifest. He told Nito what was in each one. Nito listened impassively. He was neither bored nor disinterested. He just sat nodding in agreement. By four in the afternoon, sixty-two containers had been offloaded. The boat was less hunkered down in the water. Seven more containers remained on board out-of-sight from Gary. There had been no sign of the one container he was waiting for. The dock workers disappeared and nothing was moving. Gary began to wonder if he had missed it but he had accounted for each unloaded container. It must still be on board. You cannot miss a big metal box forty feet long, eight feet wide and eight-and-a-half feet high. They waited. It was tempting to go to the toilet but to risk missing the critical unit was unthinkable. At last he could not wait anymore; Gary went to the bathroom. Nito almost immediately called out to him. He finished up in a rush dowsing himself with his own urine. When he got back to the telescope, Nito said, “No. My mistake, nothing happening.” Gary was not amused but looking at the dock he saw they were unloading another container. He forgot Nito's useless joke at his expense. He peered into the telescope and read out the serial number A4576. That was the one! The number on the side was clearly readable. There was no doubt. Gary watched as the container was lowered on to a waiting trailer.
“Nito, we need to follow that. Get yourself up!”
“Right you are, boss.” He looked through the telescope to get a visual on the truck then smartly dismantled the telescope and hoisted it back downstairs to the pick-up where he threw it carelessly in the back. They drove off and headed along the dock perimeter to the gate. Nito drove slowly. At the gate he waited until the truck and trailer appeared. Gary double and triple-checked the serial number. He was absolutely sure they had it.
The truck pulled out from the dockside and head
ed off. Nito tailed it discretely. They could hang back quite far without any danger of losing sight of it. They drove for three hours north from Pemba. They were in open country and there was little traffic on the road. The truck pulled off the main road and headed down a dirt track. Nito halted at the junction. They watched as the truck headed toward a compound of low buildings. The sign at the end of the road read Eden Village Orphanage. Gary turned to Nito, “Where is he going?” Nito just shrugged his shoulders. Gary asked again, “What's down there?” Again Nito shrugged his shoulders but added:
“Nothing.”
Chapter 12
Eden Village Orphanage, Mozambique
“Hello! Good Morning. Bom dia!” called Gary as he pushed open the screen door of the most office-like of the low buildings that formed Eden Village Orphanage. Nito stayed with the pickup leaning against the fender with his arms crossed. Gary felt the derision from Nito burning on his back. It was a simple plan that Gary had formed and Nito laughed it down when Gary explained it. He would walk into the orphanage and ask for a tour.
Gary walked inside. His entrance startled a group of children who scurried away but a robust black lady held her ground and barked at Gary in one of the local tribal languages which Gary had no comprehension of. Gary persisted in a mixture of English and Portuguese. At last the lady told him, “You wait.” She called and gave orders to one of the children who ran off with the errand. Gary wondered if he had gotten himself in too deep but forced himself to smile and wait patiently. He produced a packet of sweets from his pocket and enticed a flurry of small children from their hiding places. Gary saw their wide smiles and bright teeth. They seemed happy. Gary pulled out some colourful cartoon stickers and stuck them to their t-shirts. Using sleight-of-hand he peeled off some stickers and placed them back in his pocket folded. In the mêlée of gifts and giggles no one noticed. Gary planned to do chemical analyses of them later. After some minutes a short Filipina lady appeared. She spoke in English.
“Good morning. Welcome to our humble orphanage. My name is Lily. How can we help you? I'm sorry. I don't know who you are.” Her manner was friendly and Gary was relieved that he was not being turned away.
“Good morning. Gary – Gary Sanders. That's my name. I was passing the end of the road and I saw your sign. I was curious what you do – so I came to visit. I hope that's all right. I don't mean to inconvenience you.” Gary smiled and applied all his charm. He hesitated. His next utterance could be construed as a breach of the third commandment. “My church in the US is looking to sponsor a work here in Mozambique and, as I'm here on business, I was asked to look around.”
“Well, Mister Sanders, I can give you a tour but you would need to talk to the director about sponsorship.” Lily led the way through to the central courtyard. Gary eyed the bright red container he had followed from Pemba dock. It was sitting outside the infirmary on the south side of the courtyard. Gary was directed to the other end of the courtyard where there were two dormitories for the children – one for boys and the other for girls. The boys' building was bigger. Watching and following them was a crowd of children. Lily constantly waved them away but with little success. “They are very excited to see … an American.” Gary sensed she really meant a white man. “They think that you must be related to our director, Doctor Campbell – perhaps his brother.” Her comment answered a number of questions forming in Gary's mind. Who ran this place? Was he African? The children were chattering in a mixture of languages but occasionally Gary overheard snippets of Portuguese calling him uncle.
“Is Doctor Campbell American?” Gary hoped his ignorance would not raise suspicions.
“No. He is from Scotland.” Lily was always smiling and happy to talk.
“What about you Lily? Your English is very good. You're not from Mozambique either.”
Lily laughed infectiously. “Mister Sanders, do I look African? I'm from the Philippines. General MacArthur liberated us from the Japanese and afterwards we learned English – from Americans just like you. My grandparents were head-shrinking shamans but now we are Roman Catholic mostly.”
Lily showed Gary round the children’s dormitories. They were clean and seemed comfortable enough. Gary was impressed and the children seemed healthy, well-fed and were laughing and playing. Lily explained that it was free-time for the children. They were wakened at six o'clock every morning, ate breakfast, did chores and then had lessons for three hours before free-time. In another hour, lessons would start again for a further three hours before dinner. Gary pointed out a building separated from the main courtyard.
“Is that where Doctor Campbell lives?”
“No, some of our older children live there. Would you like to see?”
Gary and Lily walked over. The building had a wide veranda and there were several older teenagers sitting around. Gary was immediately drawn to a Chinese girl who looked obviously out-of-place. She was sitting at a small coffee table across from one of the boys. As Gary approached, he realised they were playing chess. From the look of dismay on the boy's face, the Chinese girl was winning. In response to Gary's look of surprise, Lily explained.
“Doctor Campbell teaches all the children to play chess. He says it is good for their mind. And it seems to work. Many of our children leave and go to school, Mister Sanders – some in America.” Gary's eyebrows rose.
“Really, which ones?” Gary could not contain his curiosity and surprise.
“Harvard and MIT. Good schools I'm told. But what would I know? I just miss them but Doctor Campbell travels a lot to visit them and makes sure they are doing well.”
The Chinese girl looked up at Gary and then she looked enquiringly at Lily. Finally, she motioned to Gary to sit down. “You play?” She spoke English.
Gary was, at first, reluctant. “No, thanks.” Chess club was one of the few social settings where Gary had felt comfortable growing up. He was a competent enough player but had not played for some years.
“You scared you lose to a girl?”
Lily cut in. “Celia! This is Mister Sanders. He is visiting us today.” Celia rose and bowed slightly. She was short – even shorter than Lily. She had brown eyes and long straight black hair. Gary reckoned she was sixteen, eighteen at the most but it was impossible to tell. Celia sat down again and began to arrange the chess pieces motioning for Gary to do the same.
“Five minutes.” Celia spoke to Lily.
Celia moved first. She looked directly at Gary the entire time. Gary stared at the board and pieces but had the uncanny feeling that Celia did not look down at all. She barely watched his moves. She played furiously. As soon as he moved a piece, she instantly countered. With barely three minutes played, Gary was hopelessly behind. Those three minutes were very rewarding because he listened though Celia spoke little. From inside the building, Gary could hear two or three boys talking excitedly in Portuguese but their accent was not from Mozambique. Instead it was a very-distinctive accent. Had Gary not been several thousand miles from Rio Janeiro, he would have recognised it straight away but here, in the wilderness of Mozambique, it was unexpected. He recalled his visits to his grandmother in Brazil where he played with the local children but was warned on pain of a severe beating not to go near the street children who infested the favelas and shanty towns. What he heard now was the language and slang used by those street children. What were they doing here? It was a mystery – just like Celia, the Chinese girl, who had just soundly defeated him at chess. Gary thanked Celia for the game and he was led back to the courtyard by Lily.
“Lily, I could not help but notice. Celia is Chinese – what is she doing here? I don't understand.”
“She teaches mathematics, Mister Sanders. And she is Doctor Campbell's daughter.”
“Oh! I just assumed she was one of the orphans. I feel so stupid,” confessed Gary.
“Mister Sanders, we do not like to call them orphans. We treat them like our own children.”
“Of course, yes. Please, call me Gary. What is it
you do here, Lily? I'm sorry I ask so many questions but I don't know much about … places like this. It is a wonderful place, truly it is. I almost wish I had grown up in a place like this.” Although Gary was playing his part like an actor, he was drawing on a lot of his own feelings – he reasoned it was the best way to appear genuine. His candour surprised even himself. He really did wish he had grown up here. He was greatly curious to meet Doctor Campbell. He was drawn to him to see what he was like.
“I am a nurse, Gary. I care for the children who are sick. We have a ward by the courtyard. That's the final stop on the tour. Look, here is Doctor Campbell.” Lily indicated a tall white man with tanned skin wearing a creamy linen suit and a wide-brimmed panama hat.
“Hello, you'll be the fine gentleman getting the tour of our little home.” Doctor Campbell spoke was a Scottish accent. “I trust Lily has made you welcome? Good. I came to look for you. I met your driver – Nito? – out front. I'm afraid I don't have much time to spend with you, I'm flying down to Maputo later this afternoon.”
Gary smiled at Doctor Campbell's welcome. He was cautious not to let his guard down. The matter he was investigating was extremely serious and there was every possibility that this tall, lean man in front of him was behind some dangerous plan. There was something strange about this so-called orphanage – something that did not quite fit. Gary could not put his finger on it. It was a wonderful place and here, surrounded by happy and healthy children, it was hard to imagine nuclear intrigue but he had a job to do and a thorough investigation was needed. He wanted to please his superiors. Gary wanted it for himself – he liked doing a good job. Gary desperately wanted to get inside that container and see what it held. Surely, Doctor Campbell would not just show it to him so he needed to work out a plan. He paid particular attention to the layout of the compound with a view to a nocturnal visit with Nito – it might come to breaking and entry.
The Nephilim Protocol Page 6