by Lisa Harris
Natalie set her mug on the desk. “Do you want to see the photos now?”
He’d been avoiding any visual images of the tragedy. Already the scene played out too vividly in his mind. Suppressing his growing desire to forget the entire situation, he reached for the stack of photos as the low hum of the fan stopped. The power was off again. He picked up the telephone with his free hand. Great—no power and no phone. They might as well be on the moon as far as getting word to anyone about the situation. And there was no telling when they would be back on. Outages were becoming more and more frequent, phone service completely unreliable.
Chad flipped through the photos Natalie handed him, and his stomach clenched. She was right. An old woman fell to the ground as a rifle butt struck her from behind…A young boy attempted to fight back against his attacker…Dark shadows of blood…Terror on faces…
There was no denying anymore that the Ghost Soldiers existed.
He turned to Joseph, his heart wrenching at the boy’s loss. “I’m sorry this had to happen.”
Joseph fiddled with the half-empty bottle in his hands. “Me too.”
Chad gave the photos back to Natalie. There had to be a solution. No one deserved to be ripped away from everything they knew and loved for another man’s greed. But that didn’t mean Natalie was the one to try to put a stop to the horror.
He leaned forward and rested his elbows against his thighs. “You gave copies of the photos to Stephen, and he’s got connections in the government. You need to let him take care of this.”
Natalie shook her head. “I don’t trust him.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “I know you said you thought he wants you to be quiet about what happened, but you don’t really think he’s involved, do you? What would be his motive?”
“What’s anyone’s motive to use slavery as a means for gain? It’s pure and simple greed.” She caught his gaze. “I never would have thought that Stephen could be involved, but there’s a leak somewhere. I told Stephen about the photos and within the hour my purse was stolen and my house was trashed. That’s not a coincidence. Either he’s involved or it was Patrick, who in turn sent the thugs after us.”
“Maybe, but that doesn’t get us any closer to a solution.”
“That’s why I’ve made a decision.” Natalie took a final sip of her tea, then set it on his desk. “I’m going to the capital to follow up on my own connections in the government. Rachel works directly for the minister of health and has access to demographic files that might help us find out where Joseph’s family is. There also might be someone at the U.S. Embassy who can help.”
He felt a lump rise in his throat. “That’s impossible.”
“What is?”
“Going to the capital.” He sighed. Shouldn’t it be obvious? He could think of a hundred reasons that made the trip impossible. Impassable roads, the possibility of getting arrested, the dangers of hitting something—or someone—at night, as well as the additional roadblocks and security due to the upcoming election. And even if she did insist on following through with this insane quest, he could never let her go alone.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost one. The day had been slow, but he didn’t get off work for another four hours. He could get Dr. Wrede to cover for him, but was that really a solution?
He decided to reason with her. “You know a trip to the capital is too dangerous, Natalie. If we left now, we wouldn’t reach the capital until the middle of the night, even if we could get past the damaged roads and heavy security. And that doesn’t even factor in the volatile political situation with the impending election. It’s not safe.”
She set her bag in her lap and raised her chin. “I’m open to options. What would you suggest?”
Chad frowned. Why did she have to be so stubborn?
Joseph’s bottle clunked against the edge of the metal chair. “If I do not find my father, they will kill him.”
They both turned to the boy.
“Joseph’s right.” Natalie blew out a short, hard breath. “His father has TB, and you can imagine what they will do with a man who can’t work. And what about the election? You know what happened when President Tau took over. Over four thousand people were killed in protests, police brutality, and the eventual coup. If something’s being planned again, there’s going to be backlash. I don’t want that to happen.”
“You know I don’t either.” That thought alone carried enough motivation to get him involved. “The election is in three days.”
Natalie gripped the strap of her bag. “Joseph’s father might not have that much time.”
Chad swallowed hard. No phone. No power. No safe way to get to the capital. If these were the odds for performing surgery, he’d never make the first incision.
He could think of only one viable option.
He rubbed his jawline and considered the consequences of what he was about to say. A glance at Natalie’s determined gaze clinched his decision. “I think I know someone who can help.”
TWELVE
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 12:56 P.M.
BOGAMA
Gabby rubbed the tight muscles of her neck, irritated that she’d just lost her chance at a one-on-one interview with Alexis Yasin. She leaned back against the leather seats of the rented vehicle and watched crowded street corners of Bogama whiz by. Months of research and countless hours of digging through red tape had sent her chasing leads through four African countries, but she’d come to the RD specifically to follow a lead on the European investor. While Yasin was only one of dozens of wealthy financiers who had sprinkled their money across the continent, he stood out because of his additional generous disbursements of humanitarian aid. She hoped that made him different from the average investor—whose generosity was too often an attempt to appear genuine while exploiting cheap labor and lax safety laws for monetary gain.
One of her sources, a freelance journalist based in Bogama, had placed the businessman in the country, but all her attempts to track him down the past four days had been futile. Granted, the man was known to avoid interviews, which might account for his evasiveness. But still, she wasn’t convinced.
She pulled the file on Yasin from her leather briefcase and studied her notes on the man. Born in 1968 and raised in London by a single mom, he’d received a degree in International Finance in the early nineties. The next record of him was in 1995 when he went on to build his empire from the ground up. Throughout the years, he’d managed to keep a low profile while his bank account rose, undoubtedly into the billions. But while the world saw him primarily as a generous businessman, she’d been able to verify his financial involvement with at least two questionable mining companies in this country—one near the capital and the other outside Kasili.
While there was always the slim possibility he wasn’t aware of the substandard conditions at these mines, instinct told her that if she dug deeper, she’d more than likely find yet another man who didn’t think twice about using child labor for the sake of his bank account. Fifteen years of living on the continent as a child had not only convinced her to follow in her father’s footsteps in the fight for personal freedom for the underprivileged, but it had also had taught her that corruption and injustice often run deep with many who yield any kind of power.
“I’m sorry you weren’t able to secure an interview.”
Gabby glanced up from her file to the front seat where Adam, the translator she’d hired on Natalie Sinclair’s recommendation, sat. “So am I, but I’m not done trying. I need that interview.”
Adam yawned. Obviously she wasn’t the only one tired of the hectic schedule she’d forced them both to keep. “Are you hungry? The driver says traffic is light and we have time to stop for something.”
Gabby waved away the offer. “Thanks, but I think I’d prefer to skip lunch.”
A taxi blasted his horn past them as they headed toward the east side of town where the airport was located. She tried to ignore her queasy stomach—the vict
im of an early-morning street vendor’s fare. She’d known better, but memories of boerewors in South Africa and koshari in Egypt had prevailed. The thought of another three flights and layovers between Central Africa and Washington, DC, didn’t help either. But while it was the part of her job that guaranteed a week of jet lag, one didn’t stack up awards in journalism by giving in to fatigue—or unwelcome bouts from food that didn’t always agree with one’s system.
Their driver, Jacob, stopped at a red light. Gabby closed her eyes, wishing there was a way to avoid the long flight ahead of her.
A gunshot shattered the quiet. The driver’s window exploded and glass flew across the seats. Adrenalin rushed through her as her gaze darted to the passenger window. A half dozen men surrounded the car.
Oh, God, no…
The driver’s door opened and someone dragged Jacob from the car.
Her father’s body flashed before her. Her mind screamed. No! It wasn’t going to happen again.
Someone pounded on her door, then jerked on the locked handle.
Another shot fired from outside the car.
“Adam!”
“Get down.” He shoved her onto the back floorboard, then threw himself behind the wheel. “Hang on.”
Tires squealed. The force of the acceleration threw her against the backseat. Hands over her head, Gabby braced herself and prayed for a miracle.
THIRTEEN
TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1:15 P.M.
NEAR THE KASILI AIRFIELD
Natalie drummed her fingers against her leg and gazed out the passenger window of her car. The hot breeze from the shattered back window ruffled her hair—and her fraying nerves. The silent commute to the airstrip had had her mind whirling in a dozen different directions. When had her modest ambitions of saving the population though vaccines turned into the necessity of liberating a group of modern-day slaves? She was a health care worker, not an abolitionist.
She shot a quick glance at Chad, who gripped the steering wheel as he wove through the crowded streets. His normally serene expression was marred with a concentration that formed creases across his brow.
She pulled on the fabric of her skirt and wadded a section between her fingers. Letting Chad drive had wiped away her last vestige of control—a feeling she feared she was in no position of winning back anytime soon.
A group of schoolgirls stood on the muddy street corner, while the roar of taxis, bikes, and motorcycles filled the pothole-ridden thoroughfare. The normalcy of the scene struck her. Even the upcoming election hadn’t put a damper on everyday life. But all of that could change in an instant.
Chad took a right turn off the main boulevard onto a narrow dirt side road outside of town. Half a kilometer later, a hangar and a one-story building came into view. All that stood between them and the airfield was a rundown chain-link fence and a strip of tall grass waving in the afternoon breeze.
They passed a large truck, its black exhaust filling the car with the smell of sulfur. Natalie coughed as she pulled her hair into a ponytail and held it back with a clip from her backpack. There was one question she still had to ask. “What if your friend won’t fly us to the capital?”
A shadow crossed Chad’s face. “There’s a good chance he won’t be able to.”
Natalie shook her head. “If this doesn’t work, we’ll just find another way.”
He gripped the steering wheel. “I told you about my patient who died yesterday. You can’t save them all, Natalie. No matter how hard you try, it’s just not possible.”
He might be right, but that didn’t lessen her resolve. “Then we need to come up with Plan B.”
“Better yet, let’s pray we don’t need a Plan B.” Chad parked the car under a short overhang and tossed her the keys. “You two stay here. I’ll see if I can find Nick.” He jumped out of the car and disappeared into the large hangar to the right.
“You okay back there?” Natalie turned to Joseph, who sat in the backseat, and remembered that neither of them had eaten lunch. “You must be hungry.”
He nodded. “A little, ma’am, but I’m fine.”
Pulling her backpack into her lap, she dug into the front pocket. “Hope you don’t mind living on granola bars today.”
“Thank you.” Joseph ripped off the wrapper.
Natalie leaned against the headrest as she munched on her stale granola bar. What she wouldn’t do for a decent meal to hold her over the next few hours. If she had her way, though, they’d fly straight to Bogama, leaving little chance of squeezing in lunch anytime soon.
The clock on the dashboard clicked off ten minutes, then twenty, and there was still no sign of Chad. She slid out of the car for some fresh air. What had they been thinking? No pilot was going to rush them to the capital without advance notice or adequate funds. Coming up with Plan B was inevitable. If only she had a clue what Plan B was.
Joseph joined her along the side of the car. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”
“Your father?” Natalie caught the shadow that crossed his face. “We’re going to find him.”
“But not before it is too late.” He shook his head and leaned against the passenger door. “Last time I saw him he struggled to work in the fields. He will be even worse now.”
Natalie’s resolve strengthened. There was now no choice of whether or not she was going. If Chad couldn’t find a pilot, she’d simply take her chances and drive there herself.
Joseph fiddled with the frayed hem of his shirt. “Dr. Talcott said to pray. Do you believe it works?”
His candid question dug up a layer of fresh guilt. She crumpled the empty wrapper in her hand and shoved it into her skirt pocket. How had she managed to rush through the day without relying on her heavenly Father? Her occasional one-sentence pleadings for help had been far outweighed by worry.
I’m sorry, Lord. “I know prayer works.”
His dark eyes seemed to plead with her for answers. “My mother prays to Jesus. My uncle to Allah. My grandmother…she prayed the ancestors would protect us. But no one was there to save them when the Ghost Soldiers came.”
Natalie swallowed hard as the vivid images of the photos flooded her mind. She shuttered her eyes against the mental pictures but knew their poignancy would never disappear. “Who do you pray to?”
“Jesus. When I do pray.” He kicked at the gravel with the toe of his shoe. “But today I am not sure there is a God big enough to hear me.”
Natalie was struck by the vast implications of his comment. How many people had turned their beliefs away from a God who didn’t give them the answers they expected? Away from a faith that shattered in the horror of the night?
“God never intended things to be this way.” Natalie winced as her own clichéd words rang shallow. Words tended to fall flat when everything a person knew was gone. “All the bad things men do ruined God’s plan for us.”
Joseph shook his head. “Then why did it happen?”
“I don’t know, Joseph. I just don’t know.”
A glossy starling flew across the gravel parking lot, its iridescent wings glistening in the sunlight. The Bible claimed that God cared even for the birds of the air. She had to believe that God heard Joseph’s family’s cries. Yet that conviction was blurred by the fact that some now lay in unmarked graves while the rest were forced to work for another man’s gain.
Man’s choices don’t change who God is.
The words echoed through her mind as the starling flew out of sight behind a cluster of trees. Maybe that was true, but why didn’t God intervene more often to stop Man’s wrong choices?
Chad emerged from the hangar with a man following him. His broad grin erased some of the frustration she felt. Maybe God was about to answer their prayer after all. “Natalie, I’d like you to meet Nick Gilbert. He flies for Compassion Air. He may end up regretting this, but he’s agreed to fly us to Bogama this afternoon.”
Natalie’s lungs let out a whoosh of air before she even realized she’d been holding her brea
th. She shook the hand of the thirty-something pilot, who wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. “We really appreciate this, Mr. Gilbert.”
“Call me Nick.” Despite his strong southern drawl, the boyish-looking pilot seemed at home in his surroundings. “I was scheduled to pick up a group in the morning anyway, so your timing is perfect. Besides that, I never was one to pass up a goodwill venture if I could avoid it.”
“Thank you, sir.” Joseph stepped forward to shake the man’s hand.
“Why don’t y’all come with me?”
Natalie grabbed her backpack from the front seat, hesitating at the broken window. “What are the chances I come back to a stripped or missing vehicle?”
“The overhang should keep any rain out, and I’ll warn the security guards to keep an eye on it.” Nick eyed the vehicle. “That’s about the best I can do, though.”
“Then that will have to be enough.”
There wasn’t time to find another place to store the car, and with the phones down, she couldn’t even ask Stephen to come and get it. Besides, she might not completely trust her boss, but she owed him an explanation of her whereabouts. All she could do was try the connection again from the capital.
She pulled a few items from the glove compartment, tossed them into her bag, and hurried to catch up with the men. Inside one of the hangars sat a small plane.
“This is one of our Cessnas,” Nick was explaining as she walked up. “We use it for ferrying teams to remote villages, as well as transporting medicines, food, and other supplies.” He handed a clipboard to Chad. “I’m going to need each of you to sign this form. Then I’ll take care of the official paperwork as quickly as I can so we can reach Bogama before dark.”
Natalie eyed the plane. Bullet holes riddled the belly, and it needed a new coat of paint. The road might be filled with police blockades and potholes, but she was no longer convinced that the route by air would prove any safer. “Are you sure it can fly?”