Fever

by V. K. Powell

  Zak stepped into her body space, her legs on either side of Sara’s, and pulled her into an embrace. “You know that’s not the case. Now, please, get in the truck. I’ll talk while I drive.” Sara gave her a skeptical look. “I promise.”

  When they were on their way again, Zak kept her word. “Ask your questions, Sara.”

  For a moment Sara was so overwhelmed with the consent that she had trouble choosing the first one. Her heart won. “Do you have any feelings for me at all?”

  “What?”

  The disbelieving look on Zak’s face said she’d been expecting another question, any other question. “Do you?”

  “That’s it? That’s what concerns you most?”

  Sara placed her hand on Zak’s thigh. “After what I told you last night, that answer determines whether I have any more questions at all.”

  Zak’s hand covered hers and she gave her a quick glance. “Yes, Sara, I have feelings for you. And quite honestly, they scare me more than anything.”

  Sara slid her hand up the tight thigh to Zak’s crotch and squeezed. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you, much.” She kissed her on the side of the face and steeled herself for the rest of Zak’s revelation. “Okay, so now tell me about your secret life—whatever you can.”

  “First, you have to swear that what I tell you goes no further, not even a hint of it, not while drunk at a party or while making love with your life partner fifty years from now.”

  “I so solemnly swear. Get on with it. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff is tedious.” Sara hated the biting tone in her voice, but she also hated prying tidbits out of Zak like she was a suspect.

  “Let’s assume, hypothetically, that there is an individual or a country that wants certain information and can’t obtain it through normal channels. I could be employed to retrieve it for them and leave no trace that it ever existed.”

  Sara waited for the part where Zak murdered the original document holders and shredded their bodies into tiny pieces. “And?”

  “And that’s basically what I do. Gather intelligence, conduct research, locate, retrieve, and return things of great financial or global consequence. Often these items involve terrorists or other underground factions whose retaliation efforts can span decades.”

  “You’re a spy.”

  “Loosely interpreted, yes.”

  “Do you kill people?”

  “Only once, in self-defense. I draw the line at wetworks.”

  “And what about Wachira? Are you making an exception to the I-shall-not-kill policy?” Zak stared out the side window and Sara was relieved. She was afraid of what she might see in her eyes. And she really wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer to that particular question. She chose to remember the woman she made love to as a passionate, caring individual incapable of murder. Her mind felt bombarded by the things Zak told her and the possible ramifications. “So a background check could alert these people that you’re in Africa, put you in danger, and, by extension, your mother, Ben, Imani, and anyone else close to you.”

  “And you. It’s not possible to have a normal life or ordinary relationships with a job like mine. Now do you see why I don’t want you involved? I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you because of me. These people make Wachira look like a priest.”

  “It’s too late. I’m already involved—in Africa, in the school, with you, Ben, Imani, and Estelle. And, in case you forgot, I’m in love with you, Zak. If that’s your real name.”

  “It is, but my original birth records were pulled from the system. There is no publicly available verification that my mother ever had a child, no school transcripts to document my attendance, no traceable social security number, driver’s license, or credit cards.”

  Cupping Sara’s hand where it rested on the seat between them, Zak said, “So, you should probably reconsider the love thing after all I’ve told you.”

  “It’s not that simple. You don’t turn love on and off at will. I’m just not sure how it fits into a life of violence, clandestine operations, and an absentee lover.”

  Zak released Sara’s hand. It felt as if the temperature inside the truck grew suddenly cooler and her tentative connection with Sara more elusive. She’d never considered sharing part of her life. Now even this limited revelation seemed to pull Sara farther away from her. She had just violated the Company’s number-one rule against disclosure of information, and she’d done it for a woman.

  Sara looked pensive. “But you’re right. I need time to think about all this.”

  The admission filled Zak with an urge to shout at the top of her lungs in equal parts exhilaration and terror. Sara had touched something inside her that made further avoidance and denial seem sordid and painful. She wanted to share everything with her, as they’d given their bodies last night. But the more Sara knew about her past assignments, her connections with the underworld, and any future projects, the more danger she’d be in. And what about the hatred she carried for Wachira? Was there room enough for two passions of such strength to exist without destroying each other? Could the diametrically opposed forces survive in the same heart? And if not, which would be stronger in the end? The thought chilled Zak.

  Distance and secrecy were the best weapons for protecting her mother, and now Sara. Love, if that’s what it was, had proved itself to be not only blind but a cruel jokester. She’d been offered the most precious gift but knew she couldn’t accept it. Her feelings for Sara would remain locked in her heart where they would both be safe. She didn’t have the right to claim happiness when it placed others at risk. Zak vowed to free Sara and any hope she had of a future with her when they reached camp. She deserved to hear the words, not just be subjected to another round of rude, dismissive behavior.

  Ben ran to meet them as they approached the mostly deserted site. It was obvious the men had not returned to work on the school. It stood as it had before they left, and the look on Ben’s face said he had more bad news. After the greetings and unloading, Sara read by the river and Ben briefed Zak.

  “The lion still roams at night whereby the men will not return. They fear for the herds.”

  “Has there been any trouble here?”

  “No, but I make big fire and much noise at night.”

  “Good, let’s keep this quiet. Sara doesn’t need to know. Tomorrow we’ll go out and find ourselves a lion.”

  The late afternoon and early evening passed with no distractions. They sat by the fire while Ben told stories of his family’s visit. When Sara excused herself and started toward her tent, she asked Zak to walk with her.

  “Will you be joining me inside tonight?” Her tone wasn’t challenging or sarcastic, but the soft inquiry of a woman who wanted her lover beside her.

  “I thought you needed to think.”

  “My mind works quite nicely without my body’s participation. And the body wants what the body wants, and I want you so much.”

  Zak was torn between her desire to give Sara what they both wanted and her responsibility. “I need to relieve Ben on watch. He deserves a break.”

  Sara pulled her into the shadows on the opposite side of the tent and kissed her long and hard. “I’ll be here all night, and I believe we both think more clearly when we’re touching.”

  “See you in the morning, Sara.” She stole another quick kiss and took the long way back to fireside. She retrieved the GPS monitor from her bag and, after a short explanation to Ben, drove away from camp with her lights out. Tomorrow she and Ben would track big game, tonight was for Wachira watching.

  *

  As Zak approached the Narok Police Station, the flashing indicator was barely visible on her screen. She realized that the vehicle was in motion away from her and hurried to catch up. It was headed in the same direction that she’d followed before, toward the minister of education’s home. Praying that she was right, Zak drove off the road and cut cross-country toward the stand of trees surrounding the residence.

  She had barely m
ade it into position behind a rock close to the house when Wachira’s vehicle arrived. The minister met him on the front porch and they sat, apparently comfortable that they were secure in the remote setting. Cool night breezes swept through the trees, and the men’s voices, along with the strong smell of alcohol, carried easily to Zak’s location.

  Removing a voice-activated recorder from her pocket, she attached a small amplifier antenna. She hoped she was close enough to capture the conversation and that they felt free to discuss their dealings openly. Fortunately, Wachira was both arrogant and boastful.

  “Mr. Minister, I have fulfilled my part of the bargain. The wealthy American woman’s stay has not been an easy one. The guide sent to replace Chambers worked for me. Too bad that he was threatened and ran like a scared dog, spineless man. They had water problems at the camp. She was arrested for possessing a weapon, a grand plan, if I must say. Now there is talk of a lion terrorizing the area.” Wachira’s laugh confirmed that he was somehow responsible for this latest obstacle as well. “The land dispute is still unresolved. Her original paperwork is lost and her claim cannot be proven. These things have cost her much money. The Ambrosini woman will soon leave Kenya with her school unfinished and much less wealthy.”

  “You have done well, my friend. Soon the land will be ours and the new resort will make us very rich. The vice president will reward us handsomely. What about the Chambers woman? She will not go quietly, especially with her dislike of you.”

  “I will see to her. Do not worry.”

  “Very well.” The minister stood, obviously dismissing Wachira. “We will talk again soon.”

  Wachira shook his hand and returned to his vehicle. Zak maintained her position, waiting for the headlights to disappear. Another man approached the minister and stood beside him. She pointed the small night-vision camera in their direction and snapped several quick pictures. He could be inconsequential, but documentation obtained and not needed was always better than the reverse.

  “You have a job for me, sir?”

  “Soon, I think we can solve two problems at once, very soon.”

  Zak waited until the two men were inside the residence and left. On the way back to camp she retrieved the tracking unit from Wachira’s vehicle and gave the device, monitor, camera, and recorder to Ben for safekeeping. Then she took guard duty and alternated her watch with reading the reports Estelle had left for her.

  The three documents were typed on letterhead of the FBI’s Criminal Justice Information Services Division, the most prestigious and effective investigative branch of the United States government. The fact that Estelle had gotten not one but three separate reviews of her father’s case from an agency so overwhelmed with terrorism and crimes on its own soil was no small accomplishment.

  A cover memorandum accompanying the reports indicated that the officer who conducted each probe was unaware that others were directing parallel cases. This was done, the memo stated, to assure the integrity of the individual outcomes. The letter was signed by the director of the FBI with a handwritten postscript.

  Estelle, I sincerely hope this puts your mind to rest. If I can be of further help, please let me know.

  Zak finished the first report and threw it to the ground, unwilling to accept what she’d read. Wachira gave the command to physically subdue the crowd of workers the day her father died. His order did not include the use of deadly force. The officer who fired the shot was a new hire only on the job for two weeks. His weapon’s safety was not engaged, and when the crowd rushed the officers, it went off. In conclusion, her father’s death was the result of an accidental discharge, not the intention of Titus Wachira or his officer. The young man was so distraught over the incident that he resigned from the police the next week.

  She stared into the fire until it was almost extinguished, trying to reconcile this information with what she’d believed. She added more wood and stomped around the perimeter of the camp in a mindless security sweep. Disbelief and confusion swirled in her head until she was running the exterior of the barricade at a trot. Perhaps if she ran far and fast enough, the words wouldn’t fully register. Maybe if she just kept going the lies would be swallowed up by her mood and the deep African night. Heat and exhaustion finally persuaded her to sit and read the other two reports. Maybe the first one got it wrong and the others would clarify the events and make everything right again. Without Wachira’s culpability she couldn’t hold onto the feelings that had sustained and driven her.

  But the other two accounts were identical, including interviews with the young officer and his deep remorse about the incident. She reread all the documents, looking for gaps or inconsistencies in the facts, but found none. This wasn’t possible. She’d believed another version of the story for years. First thing tomorrow she would call Stewart and check her facts. She had dedicated so much of her life to making Titus Wachira pay for her father’s death. Now it seemed he wasn’t responsible, at least not directly. What would she do with that information? How could she disengage the fury and vengeance that coursed through her veins like a virulent contagion?

  Zak tossed the reports onto the fire, watching them disintegrate into a cloud of ash. She started toward the acacia-thorn fence to make another round when she heard it, a low, guttural rumble from the shadows just beyond the firelight’s reach. She recognized the sound from many years of bush hunting with Ben and the others of his tribe, the wounded growl of a lion.

  Clutching the staff in her right hand, she pounded the ground as she strode toward the sound. Eyes glowed like lighted candles and fixed on her from a clump of dry elephant grass. She was about to rush the lion, yelling and flapping her arms as distraction, when Ben came alongside her, a rifle in one hand and a fire stick in the other.

  “We must lure him from the tents.” They sidestepped into position as they’d done many times while hunting, arm’s length apart and advancing. Ben waved the fiery bush wand in front of the lion as they began a methodical dance away from their site. Slowly the illumination from the camp fire dimmed and disappeared into the dusty light of dawn behind them. They led the restless lion farther westward into the murky savannah. The animal seemed anxious as they herded him back into the darkness. His growls of pain and discontent increased along with lunges at his tormenters.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sara awoke to the sound of a lion’s powerful roar, gunfire, and an ensuing silence so deep it felt ominous. She dressed as she stumbled to the tent opening and flung it back. A quick scan of the outside confirmed that something was definitely wrong. The fire, which usually burned all night and into the morning, was completely cold. Both vehicles were parked in their usual spots, although one had been moved from the position it was in when she went to bed. There was no sign of Zak or Ben. She was never left unattended, even for short periods.

  She ran to the trucks and checked inside—nothing. Tiny hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. Grabbing a pointed stick from the ground as if it could protect her from the growing discomfort, she turned 360 degrees and scanned the plains as far as she could see in the dim morning light. Still nothing. She headed back to the mess hall calling for Zak and Ben, with no response. A quick look in the tent verified that she was truly and frighteningly alone.

  What could have happened while she slept? It was possible that Zak and Ben were hunting, reminiscing about childhood adventures. Maybe they’d taken a morning stroll and lost track of time. Perhaps Wachira’s men had returned and arrested them, leaving Sara to fend for herself. As the possibilities quickly came to her, she dismissed each one as unlikely. It was not like Ben and Zak to deviate from their established pattern of behavior for recreational purposes, especially when they were responsible for her safety. And a visit from the police would have raised enough confusion and resistance to awaken her. So where were they?

  Sara’s skin grew clammy as panic rose in her chest. She reached for her cell phone, thinking she should probably call the police, but didn’t have a numb
er. Did they use 911? How about Imani? Maybe she’d have a suggestion. Again, no way to contact her. Randall Burke came to mind, but he was thousands of miles away. As panic started to give way to full-blown fear, she remembered that she had Zak’s cell number programmed into her phone. She started to dial but stopped as a noise in the distance captured her attention.

  Heavy pounding. Slow, even strokes. Drumming, possibly. No, it sounded more like labored steps or the hard footfalls of an animal in distress. She turned in the direction of the sounds and strained to hear more clearly. Not a four-footed gallop, only two. A person. Zak and Ben. She ran toward the methodical thumping, hoping her instincts were right. She’d traveled only a few hundred feet when she saw them emerging from the gray night sky to the west. The sight stopped her, fear bunching in her muscles like a storm cloud. Ben ran like a burdened but very determined pack animal. Across his shoulders Zak was draped like a heavy blanket, her limbs swinging limply, her midsection wrapped in Ben’s colorful shuka. Ben’s bare chest and legs were shiny with dark, wet liquid—blood. It seemed to flow from around his neck—from somewhere on Zak’s body. Sara’s knees almost buckled but she forced herself to keep moving. “Ben, let me help.”

  “No,” he panted heavily, “can’t stop. Make bed. Hurry.”

  Zak looked helpless and pale flung across Ben’s back, and Sara didn’t want to leave her. But he could get Zak to camp, and maybe by then she’d be together enough to render some real assistance. How, she wasn’t quite sure. She ran ahead and threw a sleeping bag and blankets on top of the picnic bench that served as a dining table inside the mess tent. Emptying four bottles of water into a pot, she set it on the stove and started the gas burner. She put unsoiled towels and the first-aid kit on the table just as they arrived.

  Ben eased Zak onto the table on her back with the tenderness of a loved one. The multicolored fabric bound tightly around her waist was soaked with blood. “What happened, Ben?”