Deliberate Harm

by J. R. Wolfe

  “The police will find us,” he said. “We are better to give ourselves up and ask for their mercy. Sometimes they are kind. It depends. I don’t know how they decide to be kind or not, but asking for their forgiveness is our best—”

  “Stand up,” she repeated.

  Farai rose from the chair, albeit at a frustratingly slow speed.

  Portia dove underneath the rusted metal table and patted the floor until she felt a small nook in the floorboard that appeared as a natural part of the wood but actually served as a latch for a trapdoor.

  “What are you doing?” Altan asked.

  She yanked on it and opened the hatchway. Altan rushed to her side and knelt down, as she snatched a flashlight from her messenger bag and shined the beam on the hidden room below.

  It was no larger than eight-by-eight feet.

  “Whoa!” Altan looked into the black hole. “What’s this?”

  “We used this space to hide medicine from the thieves. We used to cover the door with a rug that’s unfortunately long gone.” She straightened and peered over the table. “Come on, Farai,” she said. “This is our best chance to evade the police.”

  “It is no good,” he said in a thin voice drenched with defeat. “They will take us into custody. This was a mistake.”

  “It won’t be a mistake if they don’t find us,” she said. “Now come on.”

  “For God’s sake,” Altan said, “let’s go, man.” He stood and ran over to Farai and forced him under the table.

  Portia kneeled on the floor, watching. “Hurry,” she whispered. “We don’t have any other choice.”

  “Mhoroi,” a male voice shouted from outside the closed front door of the medical clinic.

  “Go, Farai,” Portia said. “We can’t wait any longer.”

  To her great relief, Farai didn’t argue. He managed to maneuver himself down the short flight of stairs. She scurried behind him with Altan following, his handgun at the ready in one hand, closing the trapdoor with the other. Farai stood on her other side in the shadows. She turned off the flashlight, allowing an inky blackness to enfold them.

  “Mhoroi,” a male voice shouted from above them. “Mhoroi! Hello!”

  The sound of racing footsteps matched the pounding of Portia’s heart. Her legs were unsteady and began to shake. She dug inside her shoulder bag and found her earplug, placed it in her ear, and then reached in again, fumbling for her Glock automatic. The flashlight slipped out of her other hand, dropping to the concrete floor with a clunk. “Shit,” she said under her breath.

  Altan’s large clammy hand clamped itself over her mouth for a brief moment. Then he pulled his hand away and placed his forefinger against his mouth.

  Indiscernible shouts of angry men erupted above them like a thunderclap; the uneasy silence that followed made Portia’s skin crawl with dread. Finally, the bang of a door slamming shut was as sweet to her ears as the soft melody of a violin. They all waited with bated breath as more beautiful silence followed.

  They had been lucky, but luck never lasted too long. If she and Altan had any serious chance of finding Imma, she’d need to be more assertive and fearless. Unfortunately, that meant convincing Farai to stop his cat-and-mouse game and talk candidly. But how? Begging him and appealing to his better self was an option, but it would show weakness and take valuable time. Bullying was distasteful, but it could also be an effective tactic.

  Portia reached down, picked up the flashlight, and turned it on. She focused the beam on Altan and Farai.

  They had possum-like eyes, and beads of sweat trickled down their foreheads.

  Portia swallowed hard. They had no time, she decided. Bullying poor Farai was the best and worst choice. “Hold the flashlight, Altan,” she said.

  “All right,” he said, taking it from her.

  Without wasting any time, Portia snatched the Smith & Wesson from Altan’s grip and pushed Farai against the wall with such force that he had no time to resist. She aimed the automatic at his head. “I know your family was in danger,” she said, “but you should’ve told us you were being threatened. We would’ve helped you.”

  “What are you doing, Portia?” Altan asked. “Let’s not lose it.”

  “This is the perfect place to lose it.” She didn’t actually plan to hurt Farai, she just wanted answers. “If Farai doesn’t tell me what he knows about Imma, I’ll kill him right here. This room is well insulated. No one will hear gunfire.” She paused, letting her thoughts get even nastier. “We can keep the body here too,” she said. “No one will find it, at least not for years.”

  Altan, maintaining the beam of light on Farai’s face, studied her closely. He tipped his chin slightly upward and said, “You’ve made some good points.”

  “I’m sorry, Portia.” Farai’s eyes misted. “Dr. Thoms helped us. I am sorry, but I love my family. You must understand. I had no good choices.”

  “You have a good choice now,” she said. “Did Dr. Thoms escape from prison? Is she alive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t believe you. You have connections to the police. You must know what happened to her?”

  “I don’t know, but Moyo will know.”

  Portia stepped back and lowered the handgun. “Who’s Moyo? Is he the police officer?”

  Farai placed his hand over his heart as if to make sure it was still beating. “Did you intend to kill me, if I did not help you?”

  Shame momentarily paralyzed her. Yet, every bone in her body ached for Imma. Would she have killed him? “No. I’m sorry Farai. Truly, I apologize, but I must find Dr. Thoms.”

  His face was as emotionless as a stone. “I will help you because Dr. Thoms helped so many who came here. Moyo is the uncle of Taalib, the boy injured in the pickup truck with his family when a roadside bomb exploded.”

  “I didn’t know his name,” she said, “but I remember the boy. Imma treated him.”

  “Moyo was very grateful that Dr. Thoms cared for Taalib. So, I think he arranged for her escape.”

  “Where can we find Moyo?” she asked.

  “I don’t think I should tell you,” he said. “I’ve already said too much. Moyo might get angry.”

  “Please, Farai, tell me where he is. I won’t let him know how I found out.”

  “He’s a powerful man,” he answered slowly.

  “What does he do?” she asked.

  “He sells illegal weapons. He has many friends all over the world, but no one is ever completely safe here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ll keep your word and not tell him I told you where to find him?”

  “Yes. I promise.”

  “You must talk to him soon. Do not wait, even a day.”

  “Why?”

  “The police are after him. They want to arrest him. If that happens, you will never be able to talk to him. They will kill him.”

  “Where is he?” Altan asked.

  “He will be at Victoria Falls Bridge in the morning,” Farai said. “I am sure of it.”

  “Thank you, Farai.” She turned toward Altan and removed the earplug from her ear. “Let’s get out of here. We’ve got quite a drive ahead of us.”

  CHAPTER 13

  “Doc, by the look on your face, those men must still be waiting outside the restroom.” Chessa’s voice shook with worry.

  “I’m afraid so,” Imma said. She wished she could’ve maintained a smooth veneer for her close friend. She’d been trained to handle the worst in the ER, but the horrors that happened in that Zimbabwe prison didn’t happen to strangers who were her patients—the horrors were her own, and they shadowed her like a tenacious thief ready to steal her composure at the slightest sign of trouble. And she believed she was staring at trouble now. “This restroom only has one exit. If we leave, they’re sure to follow and capture us.”

  “We have no choice,” Chessa said. “We need to contact security and tell them our predicament.”

  “We can’t take that
risk. Stan told us not to contact the authorities until he gave us the go ahead. If we tell security who we are, they’ll turn us over to the police.”

  “I suppose you’re right, but we have to do something. We can’t just stay here in the loo forever. Let’s run for it.”

  “We can’t do that.”

  “Why? I bet there are several young men out there who’d protect us. A fight would ensue, and we could run away.”

  Imma shook her head. “We’ll draw unwanted attention to ourselves. Given our sorry appearance, we might even get arrested and—”

  “Are you two ladies all right?” A slender cleaning woman in her late twenties with creamy skin and an actress’s high cheekbones interrupted them. “Can I call security for you?”

  “No,” Imma blurted, “I mean—” She stopped herself and realized that this encounter might be an unforeseen opportunity with an angel.

  “My estranged husband is outside with a friend,” she said. “I left him because he’s violent.” She intentionally made her voice tremble. “He’s desperate to reunite with me.”

  “I know the type, believe me.” The cleaner nodded her head with confidence and studied Imma from her messy, short black hair to her loose blue jeans to her well-worn ankle boots smudged with bits of red Zimbabwe dirt. “He beat you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” Imma answered.

  “Let’s call security.” The cleaner’s brown eyes sparkled with an odd glee. “They’ll take care of him and his no-good friend.”

  “Please don’t do that,” Imma said. “I don’t want to make him angry.”

  “I get it,” the cleaner said, “He’ll make you pay for his trouble.”

  “Yes, and besides, I don’t think there’s anything security can really do. My husband hasn’t done anything illegal at the airport. Plus, I don’t want to place you at risk—”

  “You want me to distract them,” the cleaner said matter-of-factly. “I could do that but—”

  “For a hundred dollars?” Chessa blurted.

  The cleaner’s jaw dropped. “You have that kind of money?”

  “Yes,” Imma said.

  The cleaner remained silent, but the sparkles in her eyes revealed that her mind whirled with thoughts. “Another hundred,” she finally said, “and I’ll guarantee your problem is solved.”

  “How?” Imma asked.

  “My boyfriend is an airport ambassador.”

  “That sounds like a lofty position.”

  The cleaner raised an eyebrow. “He escorts unaccompanied minors through the airport, but he wears a uniform.”

  Not so lofty, Imma thought, but damn useful. “Okay. Tell me more.”

  “He’ll detain your husband and his friend to ask a lot of questions. That will give you ladies time to leave the loo and the airport.”

  “Sounds good,” Chessa said. “Let’s agree.”

  Imma nodded and grabbed a wad of bills from inside her handbag, thankful that Stan had made sure they had plenty of money. “Here,” she said handing the cash to the cleaner. “Will this do?”

  “Yes.” The cleaner grabbed a cell phone from a pocket of her uniform pants and made a call. “Paulie, it’s me. I need your help…” She walked toward the far side of the restroom and began talking in a low whisper.

  “Do you think this will work, Doc?” Chessa asked.

  “Yes.” Imma clenched her hands into fists. That somehow helped her not to shake. “But if something goes wrong and I’m apprehended, get out of here and meet Robert.”

  “No.”

  “Listen to me.” She stepped closer to Chessa so that their faces were only inches apart. In a low voice, she said, “If you’re kidnapped again, your father will do anything for your safe return, which means he’ll turn over the flash drive. He loves you more than the world.”

  “I know.”

  “So you can’t let that happen. Who knows how many innocent people will die senselessly as a result.”

  Chessa’s pale blue eyes misted. She gulped for air, as if the breath were her last. “I understand.” She looked up again. “But if you let anything happen to you, I’ll never forgive you.”

  Imma half-smiled while maintaining her hands in tightly balled fists. “Don’t worry. We’ve come this far. We’ll go further.”

  “All right,” the cleaner said, standing near the entrance of the lavatory, “Paulie is on his way. He’ll question those two blokes, and I’ll watch from here and let you know when you can leave.”

  “Perfect,” Imma said.

  Minutes passed by like hours. The cleaner pretended to scrub the floor with a mop, but she maintained a watchful eye on the other side of the concourse where the two waylayers were still planted and waiting.

  “Paulie is finally here,” the cleaner said. “He’s talking to them and pointing toward the terminal gates.”

  Imma and Chessa scurried toward her and stood motionless just inside the entrance, so as not to be seen.

  “That’s ace, Paulie,” the cleaner whispered.

  “What?” Imma asked in a low voice.

  “He’s got your husband and his friend turned so that their backs are to us. They’re heavily engaged in a conversation.” The cleaner motioned for Imma and Chessa to move toward the exit. “Now’s your chance to leave, ladies. Fingers crossed.”

  “Thank you,” Imma and Chessa said in unison. They rushed outside, past Paulie and the two men, and raced toward the baggage claim area. As they dodged between the flocks of travelers, Imma scanned their surroundings. The two men she feared might be on their heels were nowhere to be seen.

  “They’re not following us,” Imma said.

  “Let’s not bother with our luggage,” Chessa said, as they scurried down a long flight of stairs. “We didn’t pack much, and I don’t even like the clothes I brought.”

  “I agree,” Imma said. “Besides, we shouldn’t press our luck. Let’s grab a taxi and head for the rendezvous spot to meet your friend Robert.”

  CHAPTER 14

  The view from Victoria Falls Bridge was a painting of breathtaking beauty and wonder that only a divine hand could have designed. The early morning sky was a stunning steel blue and smeared with snowy clouds the shape of cotton balls. In the distance was Victoria Falls, a vast curtain of raging white water. Through the mist was a soft rainbow that arched over the pool of water below the falls. The surrounding cliffs were dramatically steep and dangerously jagged, while the vegetation was lush and green.

  The bridge should’ve been bustling with tourists and bungee jumpers. Instead, the surrounding roads had been temporarily closed and redirected to another route by Moyo’s crew of loyal outlaws.

  Moyo stood near the railing of the bridge, carefully pressing the sharp edge of a six-inch switchblade into Portia’s neck. She knew this was a master’s intimidation game. He didn’t want her to die, she guessed, but to squirm like a fish on a hook. So just the right amount of pressure would let her live but with the fear of death forever. No, she thought, I won’t fear only death; I’ll fear him. Her body pulsed with the desire to run, but instead, she was fossilized, unable to move or look away from him. The dancing flicker in his eyes and the upturn of his plump lips told her he enjoyed her fright.

  “There’s no need for anyone to get hurt,” Altan said. He stood nearby, between two skinny men aiming AK-47s at his head. “We’re only here to get information about a prisoner.”

  Moyo slowly pulled the knife away and scrutinized the red blots on the blade. He snapped the knife closed and walked toward Altan. His Hawaiian board shorts showed off beefy legs that bulged muscles on every step. He planted himself in front of Altan, his large biceps locked and loaded. He balled his hands into hammer-like fists. “I’ll decide if anyone gets hurt. Perhaps you’d like to jump over Victoria Falls Bridge without a bungee cord?” His voice rang with a disturbing humor. “I can make it happen.” The tilt of his head toward the railing of the bridge was a clear command.

  Cold-blooded smiles br
ightened the faces of the two bodyguards. They swung the straps of their assault rifles over their shoulders and vigorously grabbed Altan’s arms, pulling him toward a certain death. Altan struggled, his amber eyes wide and panic-stricken like that of a cow being herded to slaughter. He flung his body and arms wildly in every direction, trying to free himself. Yet, the bodyguards, despite their twig-like builds, had Herculean strength.

  Moyo watched intently but finally shook his head in disgust. He dashed over to Altan and, with lightning speed, delivered a powerful right hook to his jaw. Altan collapsed to the pavement unconscious.

  “Let him lie there,” Moyo said.

  A sickening terror quaked Portia. She spun around for help. There was a man about thirty yards away, busily checking bungee cords and harnesses. Like the bodyguards, he had a beanstalk physique. His short hair was a garden of gray, and his black skin was dry and wrinkled from the assault of the sun’s harsh rays. He wore a polo shirt that bore the logo, “Bungee Jump Victoria Falls with Us.”

  He’s the bungee operator, she thought. “Hey,” she yelled. “Please help us!”

  The bungee operator refused to look her way.

  “Please! I have money. Name your price.” She felt her shoulder squeezed tightly. She turned.

  Moyo stood in front of her. “He’s ignoring you,” he said. “I paid him good money to give me a private bungee jump. In fact, I’ve paid everyone good money. No one on this bridge will help you.”

  “Why did you hit my friend?”

  “He was annoying.”

  She clearly needed to get them out of this crazy predicament, but what could she do? Her handgun was neatly tucked inside her messenger bag, which was slung over her shoulder. If she made a move to pull it out, she’d be riddled with bullets. For now, the best course of action was to de-escalate this madness, not ratchet it up. “You instructed your men to let us through the roadblock.” She touched her neck. The wound was thankfully slight. She dabbed it with the collar of her polo shirt and said, “Why? Just to kill us?”

  “No,” Moyo said. “To teach you a lesson.”