“Sometimes I think you might have been happier married to someone else. Africa's such a mess. The only thing you've seen is misery.”
“My, aren't we gloomy.”
“I keep hoping it'll get better. Deep down, I know I won't live long enough to see it. I'm sorry Helen, you deserved better.”
“Do you really think I'd be content living in Connecticut? I wouldn't have missed this for all the tea in China. After thirty years, you still don't know me, do you?”
Instead of answering, he kissed her on the cheek.
“How's our little girl doing?”
“She's better. It's too early to tell, but it looks like she'll make it.”
“That's great.” He picked at a scab on his shin.
“Stop picking at it,” Helen said.
He rubbed the wound as if he didn't hear her.
“You said you thought we should go back home to Zimbabwe. Do you still feel that way?”
“Don't try to pin this on me. We both know you've already decided to see this thing through.”
He put his arm around her and grinned. “I'm the one who married the wrong person. A man should never marry a woman smarter than himself.”
Spooner stooped to duck into the tent. Helen bristled and pulled away from Rigby.
“Helen, could I speak to your husband?”
“Not before I say my piece. I can forgive you for lying to us, but you've been a real shit to Lynn, pardon my French. Men have taken advantage of Lynn her whole life, but you've taken abuse to a new level.”
Jesse glanced at Croxford, hoping for support, but Rigby stayed out of it. Helen waited for his rebuttal. When he didn't offer one, she got up to leave. “That's all I have to say.” She walked past him, refusing to make eye contact.
Jesse looked sheepish. He waited for Helen to leave before speaking. “Rigby, do you still need me for the rescue?”
“I'd like to do this alone. It's wrong to take Dutchy. He's got a wife and kids, but he'll raise three kinds of hell if I leave him. I need Otto standing by with the airplane. If I need backup, I can get you on the satellite telephone.”
“I can help you with these people,” Jesse argued.
“Don't think that because your skin's a little darker, these people are going to greet you as their long lost brother. I've got news for you, my friend, I was born in Africa. I'm more like these people than you are. Maybe you don't know that, but they do.”
“Look, you're taking this the wrong way. I just thought you could use some help. If you don't need me, I think I'll catch a ride with Otto to Kampala.” Jesse's tone of voice exposed his annoyance.
“Under the circumstances, I think it might be better.”
Jesse walked away, and then turned back around and stuck his head under the tent flap. “For the record, I've loved two women in my life. One's my mother and the other's Lynn Allison.”
“Why haven't you told her?”
“C'mon, Croxford, you of all people should know better. What kind of a life would she have married to me? She deserves better.”
16
Khartoum
The Arabic word Khartoum mean's elephant trunk. An outline of the city resembles the appendage. It's an ancient capital of clay-colored buildings located on the western bank of the Blue Nile. The metropolis forms a triangle with the Great Mosque at its center. Zealots have fought over Khartoum for centuries.
Nelson Chang pulled the curtain back and mentally recited the slogan written on a billboard across the street from the Chinese Embassy. It was a picture of smiling Chinese workers with the words: Your Close Friend and Faithful Partner inscribed at the bottom.
“The book you're reading about Khartoum's history, what have you learned?” Chang asked, turning to his personal assistant.
“Christians and Jews were not allowed within the city limits until 1881. The only Africans allowed in the city were slaves. The Mahdi laid siege to Khartoum in 1885. His dervishes killed the British General, Charles Gordon, and all of the British and Egyptian soldiers under his command. It was a lesson the British couldn't forget. In 1898, they sent Lord Kitchener to avenge the defeat. Khartoum fell to the British.”
“But hadn't the Mahdi already died?”
“Yes, they say he died from consumption. Historians say Scottish troops blew up the sacred tomb and played soccer with his head. Later, Kitchener had an inkwell made from the Mahdi's skull.”
“That's enough history for today. The British are even more savage than these Africans,” Chang uttered. He moved in front of a mirror and straightened his necktie. “What time does the press conference start?”
“In thirty minutes.”
***
Reporters milled around the embassy's conference room. Nelson Chang entered the room through a private door and found a seat in the back. A spokesman thumped the microphone to start the news conference. The Chinese ambassador sat to the right of the moderator. The Sudanese minister of information sat on the left.
The spokesman asked for the first question. A woman approached the microphone. “Mr. Ambassador, the United Nations Security Council recently passed resolution 1564, which threatens Sudan with oil sanctions unless the Sudanese government curbs the violence in the Darfur. As a member of the Security Council, China has vetoed that resolution. Has China become Sudan's chief international protector for selfish reasons? Is it because of Sudan's vast oil reserves?”
“As a member of the world community,” said the ambassador, “of course China deplores the violence in Darfur. But it makes no sense to punish the Sudanese people for the actions of a few misguided criminals.”
“Sir, as many as four hundred thousand Africans may have been slaughtered. Somehow, calling it ‘the action of a few misguided criminals' seems understated.”
The Sudanese spokesman grabbed the microphone. “That number has been grossly exaggerated by known enemies of the Sudanese people. It's true that unfortunately, some people have been killed. I can assure you, my government is doing everything in its power to address this problem. Next question, please.”
“Mr. Ambassador, China has invested fifteen billion dollars in Sudan's petroleum infrastructure. This includes an eleven-hundred-kilometer pipeline linking the Heglig oilfield in the Kordofan province with Port Sudan on the coast. My question is, has the Chinese National Petroleum Corporation made any geological surveys in the Darfur region? Simply put, what is their estimate of the oil reserves in the Darfur? As a part of that question, how many Chinese troops are currently deployed in the Sudan?”
“No comment. Next question please,” said the Sudanese minister.
A reporter in the back of room yelled, “You have committed terrible crimes against humanity.” Sudanese policemen grabbed the reporter and escorted him through a side door.
Chang touched his assistant on the shoulder and nodded at the exit. Bookended by two armed bodyguards, Chang was whisked down the stairs leading to the parking garage. The Land Cruiser waiting for him was wedged in between two Sudanese police Jeeps.
Chang covered his nose with a linen handkerchief as they drove past the camel market. The road was devoid of trucks and cars. An old man wearing a white robe and turban led a camel in the opposite direction.
The Chinese military garrison was located on the outskirts of Khartoum. It was large enough to house the four thousand Chinese soldiers who lived there. The perimeter barricade encircling the compound was a solid fence topped by razorwire. Nelson Chang presented his credentials at the guardhouse. Two armed guards framed the walkway to a building in the middle of the compound. Chang and his two bodyguards were greeted by a uniformed soldier wearing white gloves. They were ushered into a room where General Muhammad Nur and two Chinese military officers had been waiting.
The Chinese officers jumped to their feet and bowed politely, but the general remained seated. Chang said something in Mandarin to the general. The officers looked mortified, but Chang's bodyguards smiled. The Sudanese general looked inconven
ienced by the meeting. He picked his nose and wiped the contents on his robe.
“The general's interpreter asked, “Have you enjoyed your stay in Khartoum?” General Nur offered to shake hands, but Chang refused. Instead, he placed a cardboard box wrapped in brown paper in the general's lap.
“Tell him to open it.” Chang said to the interpreter.
The general had been the recipient of countless bribes from the Chinese. He was too impatient to wait for a paperknife. Instead he used his teeth to tear the paper. There was a manila envelope inside. Disappointed, he turned the carton upside down and shook it. A puzzled smile crossed his lips. “The general says he's confused.”
“Perhaps, I should tell him what the correspondence says. The letter is from President Omar al-Bashir. It places the general under my direct authority. It states that if he fails to obey me or if he demands a bribe, I am dutybound to inform his Majesty. He has assured me that he will have the general executed at my convenience. To protect him, I neglected to say that I've already given him a fifty-thousand dollar bribe.”
The general bypassed his interpreter and gushed, “In the name of the Compassionate One, I am your trusted servant. Tell me what you wish me to do.”
“I want you to finish the job I gave you. It's the American living with the Dinka. This man has been blackmailing his own father.”
Chang got up and walked over to a serving table underneath the office window. He filled a tumbler with water. Instead of drinking the water, he handed the glass to the general. “There's an agent of the American government trying to do great harm to me. I have reason to believe this man is in the Sudan. Here's his photograph.” Chang handed Nur a picture of Jesse Spooner.
“As Allah is my witness, I will do as you wish. This time it will be different.”
“I know it will be different. This time, I'm going with you to make sure you keep your promise.”
“Ah, Mr. Chang, you will love the desert. It's truly a magical place.”
“I'll hate the desert just like I hate everything in Africa.”
***
17
Kampala, Uganda
The road from the airstrip to Kampala looped around emerald green hills ripe with unpicked coffee and tea. Women dressed in brightly colored sarongs worked the fields. Jesse stared out the window but saw nothing. His send-off had been cordial, but reserved. He couldn't get Danny Gillespie out of his mind. The police report stated that Danny had died from an accidental gunshot wound. Six months ago it all seemed plausible, but that was before he found out about Max Turner allegedly killing his wife. He reached over the seat and tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Take me to the American Embassy.”
The American ambassador kept him waiting. When he was shown into the ambassador's office, he was surprised to find another man standing next to the ambassador. After the introductions, they sat down. He's with the CIA, Jesse thought.
“Mr. Spooner, what can we do for you?”
“This is a courtesy visit. I'm not sure how much you know about my assignment.”
“We have a vague idea.”
“Mr. Ambassador, I wanted you to know there's an American citizen still in the Darfur.”
“It's wonderful news about Arthur Turner being alive, although he's become somewhat of an embarrassment for us. There's a State Department travel restriction on entering the Darfur. As you know, all of the relief organizations have left the region.I'd like the major to bring you up to speed on the current developments in the Sudan.”
The major started his dissertation with the 1973 assault on the Saudi Embassy in Khartoum. “Palestinian terrorists, members of the group, Black September, murdered the American ambassador, who had the misfortune of attending a party thrown by the Saudis. Ten years later,” he continued, “the Sudanese government declared a jihad against the country's Christian minority. Eight years after that, Osama Bin Laden, who was living in Khartoum, declared his infamous fatwa against the United States for desecrating the holy cities of Mecca and Medina. Al-Qaeda operatives have moved large amounts of gold into Sudan to finance all of the major terrorist organizations. Hamas, Hezbollah and Abu Nidal all have training camps in the Sudan. The 1995 attempt to assassinate Egyptian President Mubarak and the bombings of our embassies in Kenya and Tanzania were planned and financed in Sudan.”
When the major paused to collect his thinking, Jesse barged in. “Look, Major, I get it. The Sudan's a snake pit. We're letting the Sudanese reek havoc as long as they help us gather intelligence on the terrorist organizations you just mentioned.”
“I wouldn't put it that way,” noted the ambassador.
“Oh? I'm curious, what's our policy with regard to rescuing people in the Darfur?” Jesse asked.
“We haven't had a permanent diplomatic presence in the Sudan since Clinton's missile attack on the so-called pharmaceutical plant in 1998.”
Nice evasive answer, Jesse thought, staring at the ambassador. The ambassador retrieved a pipe from his desk and banged it on the edge of a wastepaper basket. He refilled it with tobacco, lit it and sucked until it made a low gurgling sound. He pointed the stem at Jesse before speaking. “I thought you'd like to know that Maxwell Turner is here in Uganda.” Jesse was so befuddled he didn't respond.
“Mr. Spooner, it's certainly been a pleasure meeting you. Both men stood up and shook Jesse's hand. “And for God's sake, stop worrying about your American friends. Let me worry about them. After all, that's what I'm here for.”
***
The drive to the hotel was slowed by heavy traffic. There's something unsettling about the ambassador and the major, Jesse thought. Maybe it was the beads of sweat on the ambassador's upper lip or his clammy handshake. The major was calm and collected, but that was to be expected. Spooner, you've seen too many spy movies. Well, one thing's for sure—Lynn was probably telling me the truth about Arthur not being involved in arms trafficking. How could you be so stupid? Spooner thought, reprimanding himself.
The hotel clerk at the front desk was a lightskinned African woman. She became overly attentive when she found out Jesse was an American. When he ignored her, she became sullen and slowed his check-in to a crawl.
In his room, Jesse handed the porter a tip and collapsed on the bed before the man could close the door. Seconds later, he was snoring.
A ceiling fan sliced the light into spinning shadows. Jesse glanced at his watch from different angles trying to calculate the time, but it was too dark to see it. A soft knock on the door startled him. He noticed an envelope on the floor. He opened the door and looked up and down the hallway, but the messenger had disappeared. The note read:
Dear Mr. Spooner:
You and Arthur Turner have been targeted by the Sudanese government.
Good luck,
A friend.
***
18
The Darfur
Arthur and Agrippa camouflaged their vehicle as best they could. After they burrowed out a depression under the truck, they crawled underneath. The desert heat made it difficult to breathe. They lay motionless as another helicopter flew overhead. Arthur felt the rhythmic vibrations from the rotors beating against his ribcage. They had stopped near the refugee camp. Arthur's plan was to sneak into the camp under the cover of darkness. If the camp was occupied by an Arab militia, driving in would be a fatal mistake.
Arthur wet a rag with canteen water and draped it over his forehead. He closed his eyes and revisited the Ugandan massacre. There was no escape plan—it just happened. Arthur tackled his wife and they rolled endoverend over a cliff and fell into the river. They surfaced gasping for air. The rebels fired shots, but the current pulled them out of range. In spite of the terror, an exhilarating release washed over him. For the first time in his life, Arthur had taken control of his own destiny. He watched a Ugandan military patrol rescue his wife. He heard her calling for him as she was led away. He wanted to yell out, but he couldn't. Arthur was saved that day in a different way.
A
soldier from the Lord's Resistance Army found him wandering in the jungle. His body was racked with malaria and dysentery. The women who traveled with the army nursed him back to health. Arthur opened his eyes on the day his fever broke and knew his father was a murderer.
***
Abel and Tabitha walked at night. As they marched, members of the Asholi, Bari and Dinka tribes joined them. The refugees were old men and women. Spotted hyenas followed their exodus. As they moved across the desert, some people died. They buried them in shallow graves. The hyenas dug up the bodies. Jackals ate what the hyenas left.
They stopped at a dried up wadi, or riverbed. Abel re-excavated a borehole in the river bottom. He found percolating water, but the precious moisture seeped into the tiny hole very slowly. Abel handed up one muddy cupful at a time to Tabitha, who passed it to an old woman. The woman carefully carried it to the people hiding in the shadows. Each person sipped the water, savoring the last drop. All waited patiently for their turn to drink. Finally, it was Tabitha's turn. She started to drink but handed the cup back to Abel and ran into the bushes where she vomited. Two women ran to help her. When they reemerged, the women were smiling, but Tabitha looked heartbroken.
Abel felt her forehead. One of the women grabbed his hand and led him away. When he glanced back, he saw the other women gathered around Tabitha. “It's a gift from God. The girl is carrying your child,” the woman said, smiling.
He found Tabitha squatting in the sand with her face buried in her hands. She was sobbing softly. He shooed the women away and sat down next to her. When he put his hand on her shoulder, she looked up at him. “You should have poisoned me when I asked you to. Now I have dishonored you. Abel, you're the best man I've ever known. You deserve a good wife. I wish the baby in me was yours.”
“I'm the father and that's all anyone needs to know,” he whispered, smiling at the others.
The Lion Killer (The Dark Continent Chronicles) Page 20