by Cindy Gerard
“They will not escape the city,” he said again, and recounted all the reasons why. “The entire police force is on high alert. We have initiated foot patrols, vehicle patrols, and door-to-door canvassing. The Army has dispatched three fully armed companies that have been patrolling the streets in heavily armed Range Rovers since we found the apartment where they had been staying vacant.”
They’d missed the Americans by minutes. Saidu cursed his bad luck, which had naturally been a failure in Dalmage’s very vocal opinion. True, Dalmage had provided them with a pinpoint location based on a brief cell phone communication, but Saidu had had no officers within ten blocks of the address at the time. Truly—how was he to have caught them?
“They’ve gone to ground,” he said, explaining why the American prisoner and the unidentified woman who had orchestrated his escape had not been captured. “Which means they are stationary for the time being. If we don’t track them down before they move again, we will find them as soon as they appear in public.”
Dalmage’s rebuttal was short, clipped, and succinct. “Find them. Or find your family dead by morning.” The line went dead.
Saidu’s fingers clenched so tightly on the phone that they ached. When his head cleared and his heart rate settled, he did what he should have done this morning when this nightmare started.
“My love,” he said when his wife answered the phone. “It appears I will be working all night. Please kiss the boys good night. Also give my regards to your auntie when she arrives in the morning.”
The silence on the other end told him that she understood. A man did not straddle certain lines for as long as Saidu had without the expectation that his duplicity might catch up with him someday. And he took no chance that his conversation might be electronically monitored. Long ago, in preparation for the possibility of danger, they had agreed upon the prearranged message. “Give my regards to auntie” was code for “Take the boys and leave the city immediately.”
“I will tell her you said hello,” she said in a subdued and shaken voice before disconnecting.
Saidu breathed deep, his sense of relief undercut by the uncertainty of his future. He ran a sweating hand over his jaw, wondering if he would ever see his wife and sons again.
Joe felt almost human again after his shower. Despite their little race through the city, he felt stronger. It was about damn time. Just as it was time to tell Stephanie the rest of the story on Dalmage. Blind faith could only sustain her for so long.
Wearing only the shorts she’d bought him, he joined her at the table. “Where’s your partner in crime?”
She looked up. She seemed surprised that he was there—and shirtless. She quickly redirected her gaze to his face.
“Suah slipped out to do some scouting. He’ll be back in a few minutes. You look better, by the way.”
“I’m fine. How about you? How you holding up?”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“This hasn’t exactly been a stroll in the park.”
“Strolling is overrated,” she said. The vibes she was giving off said, “Let it go.”
So he did, and got straight to his point. “You haven’t asked me about Dalmage.”
She fiddled with a corner of the map spread out on the table. “There hasn’t exactly been an opportunity. But we don’t have to go there now. You need to rest.”
“So you believe me. Just like that.”
“Obviously, not ‘just like that.’” She leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms. “But yes, I believe you now.”
“So what changed?”
She almost smiled. “There’s not enough time left in this day to cover that territory.”
He couldn’t get a read on her mood. Maybe she was just weary. Maybe she was simply tired of fighting him on this issue. Frankly, he was tired of fighting it, too. “I want to finish this.”
She clearly didn’t like it, but said, “Fine. But please tell me you’ve got more than that picture and your gut instinct going for you.”
“I’ve got plenty more. But the picture finally broke it wide open. My first night in Freetown, I started flashing around the photograph I’d taken from Chamberlin’s office. I got a hit right away. A man who had once been forced to serve as a member of the RUF militia recognized Dalmage.”
She shifted her shoulders, settled in. “From where?”
“From seeing him up close and personal in an RUF camp during the same period TFM was running ops there.”
The look on her face told him he had her full attention.
“This guy was a personal attendant to the RUF general in charge, so he’s as credible as it gets. According to him, Dalmage was a frequent visitor. Big buds with the general. He heard conversations that always involved an exchange of money.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Dalmage was on the take?”
He shook his head. “No. The general was. Dalmage was buying protection for a particular section of land that was always the main topic of their conversation.”
She looked a little shaken, like she’d figured out exactly where he was headed. She asked anyway. “And this land . . . where exactly is it?”
“Within a mile of where the team was ambushed.”
She closed her eyes as a sick look crossed her face. “So Dalmage was protecting the land. He ordered the RUF ambush to make certain that TFM didn’t get anywhere near it.”
“Yes. And then he arranged to have us shipped out of there the next day and made certain the unit was disbanded shortly after.”
“So what was on the land that he didn’t want you to see? Diamond mines? Was he was jockeying for position in the diamond trade?”
The brutal legacy of the Sierra Leone blood diamond trade was the logical assumption. But not the right one.
“No diamond mine within a hundred miles.”
“Then what?”
“That’s what I was tracking down the night I was arrested. The guy who ID’d Dalmage referred me to a woman who had lived in the region until just a few years ago. She wasn’t much help, but told me she knew of a priest who had firsthand knowledge of some hinky land deal that had impacted his parish.”
“The priest who was killed?”
“Yeah. Apparently he’d had a run-in with someone several years ago because he’d asked the wrong questions about the right people. They almost killed him. Had actually left him for dead, but one of his parishioners found him, patched him up enough that he could be transported, and helped him go into hiding. He assumed a new name, a new parish, and went on with his life.”
“So how did you find him?”
“That’s where Suah came in. That night, when he hunted me down and offered to help? I figured what the hell and told him what I knew, what I didn’t know. Took him less than an hour to find the priest. He was right here in Freetown.”
“That boy has sources that would make the NSA drool.”
“Tell me about it. Anyway, the priest was skittish. Didn’t want to talk to me at first, and I didn’t blame him. For all he knew, I was there to kill him.” He grunted. “How ironic is that?”
“You can’t blame yourself for his death, Joe.”
“Under what system of justice does it compute that I’m blameless?” The anger that burned every time he let himself think about that dead priest propelled him out of his chair.
It would always eat at his gut that an innocent man had gotten caught up in his vendetta. “I opened up that can of worms. I don’t know how Dalmage found out, but he did. And he had that priest killed to keep him quiet.”
“Exactly. Dalmage had him killed. Not you.”
“Same result. And all for nothing.”
“You never got to talk to him?”
“No. We were on our way to a meet that Suah had arranged. We were a block away when I heard the shots. Two men came out shooting when we reached the cathedral. I got off a couple of shots but they disappeared into the dark. When we went inside, the priest was already
dead.”
“That’s when the police arrived?”
“Convenient, huh? And that brings us up to speed.”
She was quiet for a long moment. “Dalmage is on the president’s short list for secretary of state.”
His gaze sharpened. “Say what?”
“I heard it on the news at Dulles just before I boarded my flight.”
“Jesus. That can’t happen.”
“No. It can’t. We need to find out what’s on that property,” she said abruptly. “We need to find out what prompted Dalmage to risk losing everything he’s worked for—his reputation, his status, even a potential presidential appointment.”
Which was exactly what Joe had been thinking. But as he turned her words around in his head, it hit him. “Or maybe that’s backward. Maybe what we need to know is what’s on that property that will ensure he gets that appointment. Maybe that’s been his goal all along.”
“I don’t follow.”
“What if that property contains something that would give him leverage? Don’t ask me what kind. I haven’t gotten that far yet. But let’s say it could place him in a major position of power.
“Hell,” he said, warming to the idea, “third world countries don’t have the corner on the market for egomaniacal despots who get off on the idea that they’re destined to control the world. The history books are full of bloodthirsty tyrants who didn’t give two figs about human life. Dalmage has proven he falls into that category.”
He paced to the corner of the room, knowing in his gut that he was on to something. “We have to find out. That son of a bitch is not going to profit from another death.”
And if they couldn’t prove it, he was still determined to make Dalmage pay. Even now, he was running through scenarios to take him out and just be done with it.
“You know you can’t kill him, right?”
He stopped mid-stride and turned back to her. Saw in her eyes just how well she knew him.
“Killing him is not enough, Joe,” she said with a cold determination that chilled him. “I want him more than dead. I want him exposed for the traitor he is. I want him publicly humiliated. I want him to stand trial for killing my brother. For breaking my mother’s heart and nearly breaking my father’s spirit.”
He wanted the same things. But first and foremost, he wanted Dalmage dead.
“We have to get out of Sierra Leone,” she pressed, determined to convince him to do this her way. “We have to get back home and tap every resource at our disposal, then take a backhoe to his past until we dig out every business transaction, every donation, every acquaintance, every single detail of his life, and get to the bottom of this.”
She pushed up from the table and walked over to him. “Killing him isn’t going to solve anything, Joe. All it’s going to accomplish is making him dead and making you a cold-blooded killer. Even if we’re able to prove his complicity in Bry’s death later, you would still be in prison and Dalmage would simply be dead. It’s not enough.”
She was right. He knew she was right. Yet the need for retribution burned like hot coals in his gut.
“No sleight of hand tomorrow,” she said, more plea than command. “You fly out of here with me and we do this the right way. We make him pay with something even more important to him than his life: his pride. We expose him as a traitor and a murderer on a world stage, and he’ll die of public humiliation a thousand times before his heart ever stops beating.”
He looked into her eyes and knew there was only one answer he could give her. “Fine. We fly out of here tomorrow.”
All the tension melted out of her body. He lifted a hand to her hair, his need to comfort the woman he loved as instinctive and necessary as drawing breath.
The instinct to kiss her overpowered him. He had no right at all. But when she leaned toward him, he knew that her need was just as immediate, just as strong as his.
Yearning filled her eyes as he cupped her head and tipped her face up to his. God, he’d missed the easy way she welcomed him. Missed this unapologetic surrender that made the victory hers.
He lowered his head until his mouth was a whisper away . . .
And Suah burst into the room.
She jumped back, flustered and embarrassed. “Is everything okay?”
Suah nodded, looking stoically—and a little proprietary—from her to Joe. “Is everything okay here?”
The little smart-ass knew exactly what he’d interrupted. And it hit Joe that Suah had a big crush on Stephanie. Interesting.
“Fine,” they said in unison, pretending that nothing had just happened.
Thanks to Suah, Joe thought morosely, nothing had.
14
The boy was so thin. Stephanie had a hard time keeping her mothering instincts under wraps around him. She understood that she had to handle Suah carefully or his colossal independent streak would kick in and he’d refuse to eat, just to prove he didn’t have to.
But the mothering worked tonight. She fed them both and avoided eye contact with Joe while Suah gave them a report of the situation on the streets. A sit rep, in Joe’s vernacular.
The entire Freetown police force seemed to be involved in the manhunt for the escaped fugitive. The Sierra Leone military had been enlisted to help, upping the intimidation factor by patrolling the streets in swarms of Land Rovers with submachine guns mounted on their hoods.
“The rest of the boys? Are they okay?” They’d taken such huge risks for her and Joe.
“They know how to take care of themselves,” Suah said.
Joe had remained silent through the entire report. Now, he pushed away from the table and walked over to the bed. Without a word, he lay down and covered his eyes with a forearm.
She knew that silence. Guilt was eating at him again. And since there wasn’t a single thing either of them could do or say to assuage it, she left him alone. She hoped he’d fall asleep; he still needed rest. He was going to need every ounce of strength to get through tomorrow.
So would she.
“You should stay tonight,” she said when Suah rose from the table, pocketing a piece of bread. There was no reason to believe that Dalmage or the police had any knowledge of Suah helping them, but still, she worried.
“I have made other arrangements.” He was already headed for the door. “Be ready at nine tomorrow morning.”
“Suah.” She stopped him before he could leave. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
His eyes gave away his embarrassment for a moment. He could maneuver these dangerous streets, handle himself with the dregs of this city, but he had no idea how to field the simplest thanks.
So he deflected with a disengaged look, as always, and turned to go.
She wasn’t going to let him get by with it. She joined him at the door, placed both hands on his slim, bony shoulders, and turned him around to face her. “There may be no time for this tomorrow, so I want to say it now. You’re a good man. A very good man.”
Clearly uncomfortable with the praise and the affection in her voice, he nodded stiffly and made to leave. This time she stopped him by wrapping her arms around him and hugging him. She kept on hugging him, even though he stiffened like a thin tree trunk in her embrace.
When she pulled back and gently brushed her fingertips across his cheek, she saw that he was anything but rigid on the inside. For a brief, heartbreaking moment, those huge brown eyes spoke to her of longing and loss and a sorrow that cut straight to her soul.
“I will leave Bekah and several others on watch tonight,” he said, pulling back his shoulders. “No one will approach without warning.”
Then he was gone. And she was left staring at the closed door, wishing there was some way they could take him with them when they left.
It was a ridiculous idea; she knew that. There was no time, and they were in no position to try to arrange diplomatic approval to take him with them. Suah could never leave Sierra Leone—and even if by some miracle someone could make it happen, it woul
d be highly unlikely that the horrors and abuses of his childhood would ever leave him. Or that he would want to go.
With a heavy heart, she locked the door and turned back to see that Joe was sleeping again. She thought about that almost-kiss earlier. Wise or not, she would have let him kiss her if Suah hadn’t returned when he had.
She watched Joe sleep, feeling a sense of satisfaction that although he was still banged up and far too thin, he was clean and bandaged. And for the first time since they’d dragged him into that van, he appeared to be comfortable and truly resting.
She quietly dug into the suitcase she’d brought back from her outing and pulled out a pretty blue cotton-gauze sundress that she’d bought at a street market when she’d picked up clothes for their great charade tomorrow. Then she headed for the shower, relishing the prospect of washing away several layers of dirt, sweat, and tension.
Clean and somewhat energized, even though she’d been functioning for days now on very little sleep, Stephanie walked out of the small bathroom wearing her new dress and drying her hair with a nearly threadbare towel—another market find. Joe was still sleeping even though the dim lightbulb suspended from the ceiling was still on.
That they even had electricity was amazing. She’d figured out fast that the lights in Freetown generally failed at the first sign of a rain shower.
She walked to the window and inhaled the scent of the downpour that marginally cooled the air and cleansed it of the cloying city smells that were alternately an assault and an exotic feast to the senses.
She tipped her head to the side and worked the towel through her hair, thinking about home. She missed the crisp winter air of Maryland, even the snowy streets that sometimes made driving treacherous, and the frost-covered windshields that she grumbled about in the early morning when she needed to get to work.
She’d barely thought about work. Would she even have a job when she got back? She realized with only a small amount of surprise that she wouldn’t care all that much if they decided to fire her. This “adventure” had changed her. Profoundly. She doubted that she’d ever be content with a desk job again. Rhonda might be miffed at her for leaving her to deal with the fallout, but she’d also be proud, Stephanie thought with a secret little smile as the rain peppered the building’s tin roof.