by Fiona Quinn
“Yes. But Israel?”
“They have a lot of tourist shillings to spend. Tanzanian tourism is focused on getting Israelis here. If the government could point to the good fellowship between their government and the Israelis, that would also go a far piece in encouraging goodwill and tourist money. But the Israelis are ever cautious of the safety of their citizens in countries where extremism has a footing.”
“If your theory is right, Momo targeted the Bowens not for the three-million dollars, but to stop him from connecting with Abraham and the Tanzanian government.”
“That’s not exactly how I see things. As a starting point, tell me what all of these scientists have in common. What does this have in common with the Bowen kidnapping?”
Meg was squatting in front of the bars with her hands gripping the rungs by her cheeks like a monkey at the circus. “Are you sure this isn’t a false positive? That these are connected?”
“Think of it as a Venn Diagram. What are the overlaps in these two parts?”
Meg looked up at the ceiling and let her mind wander. “The Afar tribe. Momo. Me, but I was supposed to be Abraham Silverman. The Key Initiative scientists, Derek Bowen.”
“Right, and if you take Momo out of that, what do these people have in common?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned her head back down and rested it on her arm. “We’re here to do good things. We’re here to find the win-win.”
“Keep going. What’s the big win here for all of these people?”
Meg shifted her eyes back and forth across the ground as if she were reading the truth in the debris. “Sustainability.”
“And that would lead to…”
Meg puffed out her cheeks and blew out with force. “I feel like a schoolgirl being led by her teacher. Why don’t you just tell me?” Exasperation had edged into her words. She needed to eat. She wondered if she should use another of her precious energy bars, or if she needed to ration them to one a day. Either way, she was sweating and angry and having a darned hard time concentrating.
“I’m testing my theory and seeing if you land in the same place I did.” The tone of his voice was entirely too warm and patient, and Meg felt like a shithead.
“All right,” she said. “Security would mean that everyone flourishes and can live better lives. Sustainability means security and a better life. A good life.”
“And who could possibly be against that?” Rooster asked.
“Well, there are people who prefer chaos. People who want power. People who reap the benefits of being exploitative. If someone is desperately trying to find their next bite of food, then they don’t have the strength or capacity to see, let alone fight the bigger battle. That’s why we need to be here, to help move everyone toward a safe existence. So, for example, girls can be educated and not get married off for the bride price as mere children to enrich and sustain the family. Are you saying Momo wants to keep Tanzania destabilized?”
“I’m testing a theory, not a fact. Panther Force has spent a great deal of time in Somalia dealing with the pirates who are taking Americans prisoner to fund the terrorism there.”
“Like Momo wanted to get money from the Bowens.”
“Right, but here’s an interesting part of that family tree. Remember how you were telling me that Bin Laden spent time in Zanzibar?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Well yes, but one of his close bodyguards, the man who cooked his food for him, was named Ahkmed Ghani. Ghani grew up in Zanzibar, but is now serving a life sentence in the United States for his ties to the US Embassy bombing in Dar es Salaam, killing over two-hundred people. Al-Qaeda wanted Tanzania, Somalia, and Ethiopia to all become fundamentalist states. If that were true, and they had Yemen—”
“They’d control both sides of the Red Sea.”
“Exactly. To do that, they are working in Somalia to attack international aid workers, civil leaders, journalists, and peacekeepers.”
“But that’s Somalia. That’s not happening in Tanzania. The Tanzanian government is willing to bring the country forward, and the government’s stewardship of the animals is the reason why the Key Initiative is centered here.” Meg swiveled around and dropped her butt to the floor, but kept her grip on the bars. The cement floor was dirty and cold, wicking her body heat away. But her legs were stinging from being held in a crouch. “We’re focused on Tanzania, but we are reaching out to Kenya and Ethiopia, and Abraham was setting up studies for his university in Djibouti. But, yes, the three we are focusing on are Tanzania, and several tribes in Kenya and Ethiopia while we get a model together. We aren’t going into Somalia. I… You’re suggesting that… What exactly are you suggesting?”
“Ghani’s half-brother is Momo Bourhan.”
“And our goals are stabilization, jobs, and a bigger place in the world community. If we are successful, then it would make the task of radicalization much more difficult, if not impossible to establish. If they thought we were a threat, why didn’t they just kill us at the hotel with all of those innocent tourists?”
“Good question. If you had to die, how would you like it to happen?”
“In my sleep,” Meg whispered.
“Right. Quick, painless, enjoying life and then on to your great reward. In the field, my buddies and I have had that discussion. Yeah, if I got my druthers, I’d pick fighting and gone. I wouldn’t choose being captured and tortured and waiting to die, and then dying publicly. People stand up and say ‘I’ll die for this cause.’ You don’t often hear people say, ‘I’m willing to suffer horribly for this cause’.” He paused, then dropped his voice even quieter. “I can feel you getting scared. I don’t want you scared, but we do need a plan, and to get behind the solution we have to agree on the equation.”
“All right. Tell me what you think that looks like.”
“I think that Momo meant to fund something big with the Bowens’ ransom. He was very specific about the amount of money he needed, and in over a month of negotiations, he never wavered from that amount. That money slipped through his fingers. I think this is the timeline—Momo was planning an attack on the Initiative. He was studying each of the Key scientists. He would have had his eye on Abraham Silverman. Silverman was scheduled to go to Djibouti and visit the Afar camp with Bowen. I know that because Bowen had it listed on his calendar that was left on the yacht. If Momo had that information from tracking Silverman, and looked up the name, a simple Internet search would have found Derek Bowen was in the United States news about the controversy of American companies engaging in off-shore drilling. In Bowen’s interview, he mentioned how much he loved boating in the Red Sea, and the goodwill he had toward the people of Africa through his travels. He pushed the point by saying that he and his wife would be sailing the Red Sea to Zanzibar for the meeting and staying on their yacht. It wasn’t hard information to find. We had already determined the news article was how the Bowens’ were targeted. I think Bowen was the icing, not the cake.”
“We’re the cake?” That was a stunning revelation. “Why?”
Chapter Thirty-One
Rooster
Jail
Rooster squeezed then released Meg’s hand as footfalls turned the corner onto their corridor. He didn’t want them to chain his free hand too. Fear washed over him. Were they coming for Meg anyway? Were they going to make a video of her as well? Had he failed her? Anxiety effervesced on his skin. It boiled his blood. If anyone dared touch a hair on her head, he’d rip their balls off, shove them down their throats, and watch them choke. A hair. A single hair. He pulled himself to his full height, flexing his muscled against the pain, spreading his chest and shoulders wide. His ferocity sent waves of violence into the air. Rooster knew the danger was palpable because the guard came to a full stop. Hesitated. Then called out in broken Kiswahili, “I bring water.”
The guard set a bucket down then skirted Rooster’s cell as far to the right as he could get. He placed a second water bucket next to Meg’s cell, r
ight up next to the bars. A child’s cup was tied to the handle.
Rooster glared at him the whole time. Made sure this piece of crap knew that despite the beating Rooster had allowed to happen he was not benign. The man slithered along the cell that had once held the ghost. He lifted the bucket intended for Rooster and crossed the hallway, out of reach. He set the bucket down next to the wall and with his foot he pushed the bucket to within Rooster’s reach, then skittered away.
“Whatever you’re doing over there, you put the fear of god into that one,” Meg said. “I bet they’re going to draw for the short straw to see who will have to do the next round.”
“Finish drinking what’s in your water bottle then fill it from your bucket. Go look at it in the light and tell me what you think. Where did they get the water?”
Rooster listened to Meg following directions. When she answered, she was sitting at the bars next to the wall separating them. “There’s no sediment. It’s clear. I’d say this came from a barrel. When we were getting out of the truck, I was looking around. It’s so flat here, I could see a great distance. I didn’t see any signs of natural water—the kinds of birds in the sky I would expect to see if there was a body of water was close. They may have a well, since this place seems to have been an established site long ago. But usually those wells collapse over time if they’re not cared for. I think this is probably okay to drink.”
“Okay, put a little in your mouth and swish it around and see what you think. If you still think it’s all right, then go ahead and rehydrate, slowly. Then fill the water bottle from the bucket and keep it hidden in case they decide to limit water as a punishment.”
“And if I think it’s suspect?”
“We’ll have to make more aggressive moves to get out of here. Humans need water to survive. The sooner we make that decision, the more capacity we’ll have to follow through.”
“Do you have a reason for not being more aggressive at the get-go? Oh wait, I already know this. Slow and steady wins the race. Can you tell me what happened when they took you away? Not in terms of what they did to you, but did you find out anything else that might be helpful?”
Rooster was reaching as far as he could toward his water bucket. His finger was just able to snag the wire handle. He pulled it carefully toward him. He filled the plastic bottle Meg had given him and used that to dampen Meg’s t-shirt and gave himself a bath, washing away the filth he had been rolling in, along with the blood. Head wounds bled profusely. It probably looked worse than it was, he thought as his fingers explored the gash along his brow. After he was clean, he rinsed Meg’s shirt and wrung it out as close to the far corner as he could. He noticed a snake coiled and sleeping amongst a pile of twigs and dirt. Big guy too.
Rooster drank some water and settled in to talk, now that he’d gotten his thoughts together. “What did I find out when I was visiting with our hosts? Momo was asking questions in English. They were making recordings. I saw a battery system and wires. He’s been shocking the others—that was the screaming. They didn’t shock me. I guess that part would have come at the end of the video. They punched me a few times to let me know they were serious.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s over.”
Meg obviously understood that wasn’t a lane he was going to travel. She went back to a pragmatic line of thought. “The questions are important. They give us information about where the bad guys’ heads are.”
“No one asked about contact numbers, or family, or resources. They asked me my name, my country of birth, and my country of residence. They wanted me to read a poster that said African countries are sovereign…blah-blah-blah…America is the great Satan.”
“Propaganda, not ransom then. Okay.” She seemed to be steeling herself. “Did you read the poster?”
“I said some of the words. I coughed through other parts. That was part theatrics, part reality.”
Rooster heard Meg blow out a long breath. Her voice shook when she said, “Rooster.” She cleared her throat and tried again with better control. “If they show the videos of our scientists being tortured, it will send fear through scientific communities around the world. These scientists aren’t soldiers. They didn’t sign up to fight and give their lives. They signed up to do science and help with scientific applications. Without knowledgeable people working on-site to come up with solutions, then the suffering will increase with the climate change.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Rooster said slowly.
“This is a real problem. This is one of the things we needed to tackle with our initiative. Young men are caught between reality and tradition. They’re no longer allowed to show their strength and bravery in the ways their forefathers did. They’re told it’s against the law to do the very thing that gave their fathers honor. They feel denied. With their ways of life disappearing with environmental changes, there aren’t a lot of options when it comes to having the resources to raise a family and lead a good life. Under these circumstances, they can be convinced that it’s someone else’s fault they’re suffering.”
“Convinced that they must choose sides, and terrorists make promises that the men want to see fulfilled,” Rooster added.
“Take away hope, and you have an army of desperate people willing to listen. That’s true no matter where you live. Put fear into the hearts of scientists, and they’ll stay where they’re safe. Not all, but most. If this theory is right, it’s a worldwide setback. Potentially catastrophic.”
“You can see what Momo would gain from taking you all. This will give him a great deal of prestige amongst radicals. Here’s the shift in dynamic for our personal stakes—Momo needs money for something, and I offered that to him on a plate. As the president of Honig Consulting International, I have excellent kidnapping insurance. One of the problems I faced with the Bowens was that only he was covered. Mrs. Bowman was disposable. I made sure to emphasize that as my wife, you have your own policy. You are valuable on your own. Now as to whether they’ll take you to the room to make a video, I think they’ll hold off until they have a chance to verify what I said. Depending on how far we are out here, that might take a day or two. It will be verified, and the negotiations for our ransom will begin. We will be in a different category than the others.”
“That makes me hopeful for us. But the others don’t have this extra safety net. I feel guilty that they were beaten and I wasn’t. Not that I want to be. Not that I’m not grateful. Grateful and guilty and horrified.”
They sat in silence for a long moment.
“Rooster, would it be painful to hold my hand?”
“I’m reaching for you now. This is as far as I can stretch against the cuffs.”
Meg touched his fingers. She ran her hand over his, up around his wrist, where he was moist and raw from his restraints. She lifted her fingers immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She laced her fingers with his. “I have to do something. What can I do to help?”
“You can feed me information. Let me see what I can come up with. Tell me about the goal of the Key Initiative—what was your approach to the work you wanted to do?”
“We had a three-pronged line of action. The three Ps—people, profit, and planet. Under people, we wanted to do community building that included health with a focus on women’s rights and safety. The planet—that was my bailiwick—focusing on land, water, wildlife, and sustainable green energy. And finally, profit. The education and business enterprises that would give people options for providing a comfortable life. We were coming together under a holistic management approach.”
“Johnathan, who was with us in the truck, what is his specialty?”
“He’s from NASA.”
“And how will that help?”
“He, Norman Lidzt, and I were working on a project mapping migration in Tanzania and Kenya. Johnathan was watching human populations. We were correlating our data gathered from the satellite imagery. He got involved because in his off time, he had
NASA’s permission to help with the chimpanzee project. In just three decades, eighty percent of Gombe’s forests have been devastated. This hurt the villagers as well as the wildlife, especially the chimpanzees. The US Geological Survey’s Landsat satellite images to help scientists see what they were facing. It’s been a big help to groups like the Jane Goodall Institute.”
“To develop laws like those protecting the lions?”
“Well, maybe to some extent. I mean, the images help the government understand the scope of the problem and inform them when they’re designing the best strategies for preservation. But in Tanzania, just like in America, survival in the moment means that they feel they can put off important changes. Fracking, by way of example, is shown to cause earthquakes in the US, but it’s also putting dinner in some child’s belly. In America, in Tanzania, all over the world, we need to replace long-term harmful behaviors with long-term healthful options, so people aren’t being asked to suffer as we shift. It takes good policy making.”
“Right, well we’re on the same page there. What effects have those satellite images had?” Rooster wondered if some of the scientists might be kept alive to tap their expertise and others might be sacrificed to make jihadist videos that sent a global chill through the scientific world. Having access to satellite imagery—or being able to read that imagery—still stuck with Rooster as an important piece on this chessboard.
“The Jane Goodall workers go to the villages and show them the information. They sit down with the elders and act as a resource as the elders make decisions and plans for their villages. Armed with the information and different, more effective ways to do things—ways to make life easier and better, people will choose that way. They’re already starting to see the images becoming green again. It’s hopeful.”
Rooster’s mind was churning through the information he’d been gathering since he put his foot on Djibouti soil. But now he saw a danger to this connection. “Do you know Jane Goodall? Do you think if your or Johnathan’s capture comes to her attention that she might pressure the Tanzanian government to come after us?”