Fever

by V. K. Powell

  “Can’t it wait until you’re feeling stronger, or at least until tomorrow?”

  “I really want to get it over with. I’ve put it off for too long. He has questions to answer.”

  Sara moved closer and lowered her voice. “Please, don’t do this. He’s not worth it.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t do anything stupid. I have too much to live for now.”

  “At least let Ben go with you.” Sara kept trying for compromise.

  “This is my fight. I need to do it alone.”

  As Zak drove away, she regretted not having the talk with Sara that she had promised her. And she wondered if going after Wachira was even more dangerous than tracking the lion.

  *

  Titus Wachira’s men searched her, poking her bandages in a few strategic places, before they allowed her to enter his inner sanctum. He sat behind a huge mahogany desk inside the otherwise sparse police-headquarters building. The desk dwarfed the man and made him seem physically insignificant. A heavy odor of stale cigar smoke clung to the room and made Zak’s visit more unpleasant.

  “Ah, Madame Chambers, come in and have a seat.” He dismissed his men for the evening and ordered his driver home, assuring them that she would be no threat to his safety. “I have long waited for this visit. You have read your FBI’s reports?”

  Zak stood in front of Wachira’s desk, maintaining the advantage. “Yes.”

  “And have you come to kill me still or to apologize?”

  The thought of either filled Zak with revulsion. “Neither. I have come to end your campaign against the Ambrosini Foundation’s school. Release the property and allow the facility to be completed, for the children. Surely you won’t deny them a proper education.”

  “Why do you think I can do this? I am a mere policeman, not a politician.”

  “But you’re working with one, a very powerful one. And if you persist, I’ll have no choice but to expose your moneymaking alliance.”

  “You know nothing which can hurt me.”

  “I know you were responsible for Roger Kamau being sent to replace me. I know you paid someone to damage our water system, to plant a gun in Joey’s truck and have him and Sara Ambrosini arrested. I also know that someone under your orders lured a lion from the game reserve toward our camp with the intent of scaring us away from the land.”

  “You have proof of these things?”

  “I have your confession, in your own words. Is that good enough?” If a black man’s face could pale, Wachira blanched. His lips quivered slightly and perspiration popped out on his forehead. “Now I know you are bluffing. Leave my office.”

  “And I also know that you and the minister of education are working to reclaim that parcel of land to build a resort to line your own pockets. The press would be very interested in that story, I think.”

  “Get out.” Wachira’s eyes bulged with disbelief and fear.

  Zak turned to go, her heart light with the knowledge that she had read Wachira correctly. He was responsible for everything, and the information she had on tape and in her photos would be enough to expose him. “You have until tomorrow afternoon to give me your answer.”

  “You have my answer now. Go to hell.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Sara heard the old truck pull back into camp, she turned up the lantern in her tent so Zak would know she was awake. She’d been gone for hours and Sara had started to worry that she might not return.

  “Sara?” Zak whispered from outside.

  “Yes, come in.”

  Zak stepped inside and zipped the flap closed behind her. “Can we talk?”

  “Never thought I’d hear you ask that question.” Sara moved into her arms and kissed her lightly on the mouth. “We can do anything you want. But talking sounds good considering your physical limitations. How do you feel?”

  “A little tired but okay.”

  Sara moved two folding chairs closer to the lantern. “It’ll be more comfortable than sitting on the ground.” When they were seated, she asked, “How was your meeting with Wachira? Did you find out what you needed to know?”

  “Not really. He refused to admit the truth, so I had to take other measures. But I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

  The evasive answer made Sara uneasy, wondering what had happened between them. The possibilities were many and all unpleasant. But prodding would not provide an answer any sooner. “Okay.”

  Zak raked her fingers through her short black hair and finally made eye contact with Sara. “I told you a little about my work, but there’s more you need to know.”

  Sara waited for Zak to continue, certain that whatever she had to say would not be easy. Whether she planned to disclose something about the nature of her job or about her feelings, the honesty and vulnerability required would be a challenge.

  “I’ve already told you the work is dangerous, for me and anyone close to me. That’s why I avoid personal involvements. I don’t even see my mother on a regular basis because of the risks to her. We meet in random places on the spur of the moment. That’s no way to treat someone you love.”

  The look on Zak’s face told Sara this part of her life caused her great unhappiness. After seeing them together, she knew that Zak loved her mother deeply and being separated from her, especially after her father’s death, had to be particularly difficult.

  “Jesus, Sara, I don’t even have a home, a physical place to lay my head. When I’m not working, which is seldom, I live in hotels and flophouses around the globe. The few possessions I value are in a sixteen-by twenty-four-inch rucksack that I carry everywhere.”

  Tears formed in the corners of Zak’s eyes as she spoke, and Sara wanted to brush them away, to ease her pain and reassure her that life could be different. But she sensed that if she touched her, Zak would recoil or break down, either of which could stop her verbal flow. She chose to let her continue at her own pace. Comfort would come later.

  “You have such a great network of friends and family. I haven’t had that in years. I’m not even sure I know how anymore. Attachments have become a liability I can’t afford.”

  “Is that still how you want to live your life?” Sara touched the side of Zak’s face and forced her to look at her. “Honestly, is it what you want now?”

  “I’m not sure I deserve anything else.” The words were barely a whisper. “I was on assignment when my father died. I should have been there to protect him. But I failed him, just like I’ve failed you. They threw you in a godforsaken jail and I couldn’t stop them.”

  Sara knelt between Zak’s legs and hugged her gently against her chest. “My darling, you are not to blame for your father’s death. If you had known he was in danger, you would have been there, just as you’ve been there for me since the day we met. Your father wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt. Being alive and happy is the way to honor his memory. You have a choice. Is this life you’ve been living what you really want?”

  “It was until I met you.” Zak’s gaze burned a path to her soul down which the words glided, settling into the empty space and filling it with possibility.

  “What are you saying, Zak?” Sara’s heart pounded so loudly it drowned out the chorus of crickets outside.

  “I’m trying to say that I’m in—”

  The camp was suddenly ablaze with bright beams of directed light. A man’s voice, magnified by a bullhorn, bellowed, “Zak Chambers, come out.”

  “What the hell?” Zak jumped to her feet too quickly and grabbed her sides as the pain struck.

  Sara was so stunned she looked from Zak to the ominous shadows of men with long weapons projected on the sides of the tent. Circumstance once again had buried the words she imagined Zak was going to say, the words she wanted to hear more than any other. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. Wait here.” She wiped the tears from her face, opened the flap, and stepped out with Sara behind her. “Please, Sara, wait here.”

  “I’m sorry, bu
t I can’t let you go out there alone. I have to be with you.”

  Ben and Imani were already standing beside the fire pit, a combination of police and military personnel searching them. As Zak approached, several weapons were leveled at her.

  “On the ground. Get down,” an officer shouted.

  She raised her hands in the air but continued toward them. One of the men fired a burst of rounds in her direction. She shielded Sara with her body. “Are you crazy? Stop shooting.”

  “On the ground, Madame Chambers,” he commanded again. This time Zak knelt with her hands on top of her head. Four officers approached and one kicked her in the back, sending her face-first into the dirt.

  Sara rushed toward the men screaming, “Stop. She’s hurt. You’ll tear loose the stitches.”

  Two military men grabbed her and dragged her beside Ben and Imani. “Watch your friend or she will go to jail too.”

  The police officers who surrounded Zak kicked her arms and legs wide apart and roughly searched her for weapons. When they pulled her up to shackle and handcuff her, scarlet stains formed on the sides of her khaki shirt. “You bastards, you’ve popped her sutures. She’s bleeding again.” Sara started toward Zak but Ben restrained her. “What are you doing? Where are you taking her?”

  “Madame Chambers is under arrest for the killing of Police Commander Titus Wachira.”

  “What?” Sara’s question squeaked out in a combination of fear and uncertainty. Zak looked at her but said nothing as the officers shoved her toward a small paddy wagon.

  “Stop. Wait.” Sara’s commands went unheeded. “Where are you taking her? How can I get her released?” Sara called after the receding entourage.

  Several of the officers laughed in response and she heard one say, “No release and no visitors for a very long time.”

  Sara stood by helplessly as the officers locked Zak in a windowless van that looked like a tin can. She struggled to free herself from Ben’s grasp, to do something, anything to change the course of these horrific events. The spotlights were extinguished, plunging the camp into eerie darkness as the police caravan disappeared over the river embankment. Minutes ago she and Zak were safe in her tent having a conversation that might have changed their lives. She felt certain Zak was about to declare her love. And then her world turned upside down.

  Was it even remotely possible that Zak killed Wachira? Her hatred for the man and her quest for vengeance were no secret. She’d threatened him in Sara’s presence on at least two occasions. Numerous police and military personnel had witnessed her attack on him at the hospital dedication. That day Sara had seen for herself the uncontrollable violence that Wachira evoked in her. And tonight when Zak returned from her meeting with him, she had been very evasive about their encounter. She’d said, “He refused to admit the truth, so I had to take other measures.” Did those measures include murder? Could she have done such a thing and then returned, unfazed, to talk of love? The possibility rattled around in Sara’s mind, but she refused to accept it.

  “Let me go, Ben.” Sara’s voice was so soft she wasn’t sure she’d spoken out loud. “Ben, let go of me,” she repeated, and shook his hands from her arms. She looked toward the retreating line of police vehicles and then ran toward the truck.

  “Miss Sara, where you going?”

  “I’m going to follow them, to find out where they’re taking her.”

  Imani followed Sara and pinned her against the side of the truck with her body. “Sara, stop. You cannot do this thing. Ebony would not wish it.”

  Tears stung Sara’s eyes and she cursed her emotionality. It was not the time for tears. She needed courage and strength, and after witnessing Zak’s mistreatment, she had an abundance of both. “Don’t try to stop me, Imani. You saw what they did to her. She’s bleeding again and will get infected. They can kill her without doing anything.”

  Ben joined them and tried to explain. “If the jeshi know you are following, they will ride all night to confuse you and conceal their destination. You do not know the country.”

  “Then you do something. You know she didn’t kill him.”

  Their expressions confirmed Sara’s greatest fear. They were also conflicted. They knew Zak was entirely capable of this crime and the most likely suspect for the police. But like her, they wanted to believe their friend was too principled and too compassionate to go to those extremes.

  Sara collapsed against Imani, crying and clinging to her. “What can we do? We have to help her. The confinement alone is enough to drive her mad.”

  Ben answered. “Ebony has friends here. Tomorrow we will find her and prove she did not do this thing. But tonight, we must rest. Day comes soon.”

  “Our Ebony will not be lost,” Imani assured her. “It cannot happen. Come.” She guided Sara back to her sleeping quarters and lay beside her until restlessness exhausted her enough to sleep.

  *

  Zak spat out a mouthful of sand and tried to get her bearings inside the cramped paddy wagon. Her legs were shackled together, the chain running through a large eyebolt on the floor. She was handcuffed with old bracelet cuffs connected to her shackles by another length of chain, limiting her movements. The bench she sat on was metal, bolted firmly in place. Other than a half-full bottle of water that rolled and bounced with the motion of the vehicle, the space was empty. She didn’t see anything she could use to loosen her restraints or as a possible weapon. No windows, just small holes around the roof line barely large enough for the hot, choking air to enter. She had no idea where they were taking her or what would happen when she arrived.

  The assessment of her confinement completed, Zak focused on her physical condition. With no possibility of immediate escape, she needed to preserve her energy for future opportunities. Her sides ached and warm stickiness matted her shirt to her body. Some of her stitches had come loose and she was bleeding again. Definitely not good. That meant she would continue to lose strength, speed, and mobility. Block the pain and check for other limitations, she told herself. Her eyes burned from fine granules of sand that scratched and irritated them each time she blinked. She waited for the water bottle to roll toward her and grabbed it. Lying down on the floor, she irrigated her eyes and felt some relief. At least she could see more clearly. She shifted to find a comfortable position on the hard surface. Rest would help her heal, but the constant jolting of the vehicle made it impractical. Planning was futile, escape unlikely, and sleep impossible. The only other option was mental diversion to keep her occupied and sane.

  She thought of Sara and the few minutes they’d shared before her arrest. Her business with Wachira completed, she’d intended to tell Sara that she loved her and ask if she could accept the unattractive restrictions of her world. She had never felt this way about anyone, and the possibility of a future with Sara had given her hope. But separated from her now, it felt like all the tenderness they shared had turned evil. Just thinking of Sara dispatched a twisting, tormented ache more devastating than any other. Maybe this interruption was an omen, a sign that her life would never be simple or uncomplicated. Perhaps love was not to be a part of her existence.

  The idea summoned a wave of despair and sadness. She could still hear Sara’s shouts, demanding the officers release her, the love and concern so evident in her voice. Zak’s heart ached when she considered the anguish and uncertainty Sara must be going through. Even if they were eventually allowed limited contact, Zak didn’t know if she could comfort her. Sara was too perceptive to be easily deceived by reassuring platitudes, and Zak knew too much about Africa to lie convincingly.

  African justice came in many forms and depended on countless variables. The officers who arrested her could kill her before she was ever booked into the sluggish judicial system. Escape attempts, staged suicides, and animal attacks were the jeshi’s favorite methods of human disposal. Or they might simply allow her to die a slow, agonizing death from her preexisting wounds. Zak shivered, her body suddenly cold and weak. As her thoughts
drifted, another possibility surfaced. Perhaps Ben would get the photos and tapes to President Kibaki. Wachira’s corruption would be exposed. But even so, she would still be the suspect in his death. She’d been foolish enough to meet him without electronic backup, so there was nothing to substantiate that she left him alive. And the evidence she’d acquired before wasn’t likely to clear her of his murder. As the gravity of her situation registered, a deep chill soaked into her bones and Zak slipped into unconsciousness.

  “Get up.” The vehicle had stopped and a soldier jabbed the bottoms of Zak’s shoes with his assault rifle, motioning her toward the door. Another officer waited with a black hood in his hand. When she moved, her body ached and sharp pains ripped through her sides. She scooted slowly toward the two men, hoping to mitigate some of her discomfort and glimpse her surroundings. But before her feet touched the ground, her head was covered with the dark fabric and any chance of visual observation extinguished.

  Two men flanked her, leading her across a dusty expanse of ground and into a building. It smelled of stale food, soiled linens, and unhygienic bodies. She surmised they were in one of the austere block structures that the military used to temporarily house prisoners. The men talked in Swahili, unaware that she understood the language. One was irritated that she’d bled in the back of the van and they would have to clean it. The other spoke of having a girlfriend in Mwingi that he hoped to visit during the layover. They also exchanged guesses about how long she’d last once they dropped her in Liboi in three days’ time. Mwingi was hours from the Narok District where she’d been arrested. The police, with assistance from the military, were obviously putting distance between Zak and any support or efforts to intervene. Liboi was in the northeastern province of Kenya closest to the Somali border. The area contained a high refugee population and the prisons were the worst in the country. If they were taking her to a Liboi detention facility, she would be buried in a sea of forgotten humanity.