by DiAnn Mills
“Our meeting depends on Paul.” She hesitated, wanting to believe Nizam and yet needing to be cautious. “I’ll pray for you.”
“Thank you.”
Larson stared at the phone long after the call ended. Now she fully understood Paul’s dilemma, for now she faced the same problem.
* * *
“What’s the verdict?” Paul stepped away from the window at the Nairobi hospital.
“The doctor wants me to stay another week.” Ben spat the words as though they were venom. “As if I haven’t been poked enough. I’m beginning to feel like they’re selling my blood on the open market.”
“Maybe they are.” Paul lifted a brow.
“Very funny. Daruka is going to think I deserted her.”
“When I get back, I’ll send Santino to tell her you’ve been detained.”
“And call Okuk too. Just don’t tell them where I am. I need to contact the SPLA and tell them I’m taking treatments for a medical condition. They don’t need to know anything else, and I’ll ask them to keep the information private. You have my satellite phone, right?”
“Yes, sir.” Paul couldn’t disguise his smile. He slipped Ben’s phone into his nightstand.
Ben frowned. “What has you in such a great mood?”
“You. You’re sitting there in a hospital gown barking orders like you’re on the field.”
“Clothes don’t make a man.”
Paul laughed. “Okay, I’ll do your bidding and be back to pick you up in a week. Seriously, has the doctor said anything to give you hope?”
Ben shrugged. “There’s a possible treatment. Of course, he may be telling me that to keep me here.”
“It’s probably the first time in years you’ve had a good diet.”
“Right. The food here reminds me of the tasteless glue served in refugee camps.”
“When you get out of here, I’ll treat you and Daruka to a steak dinner.”
A wave of sadness swept over his face. “My wife has never been out of her village. Can you imagine the look on her face the first time she sees Nairobi?”
“I could bring her here. Your son too.”
“I don’t want them to know yet. If things change, then we’ll talk about it.”
“As in staying here in Nairobi for treatment?”
“Yeah. Or if the diagnosis is worse.”
Paul nodded. “I’m praying for remission. How’s the pain?”
“Whatever they are putting in the IV has taken care of it. I think it’s a morphine drip. I’m actually sleeping, and I appreciate the private room.” Ben gestured around him. “TV, phone, and my very own mosquito net.”
“I never had any idea you felt so bad. Glad the meds are working. I’m flying home today. And I found some homes for Larson to look at.”
“You don’t sound excited about living here.”
“I want this move to be what God wants for us.”
“You’re a better authority on that than I am. If I were still a believing man, I’d say you and Larson have a direct line to God. Have you considered Juba?”
“It’s crossed my mind. I imagine the influx of refugees returning over the next several months will be very large. They’ll need medical care, but then again, NGOs from all over the world will camp there.” Paul paused. “I’ve never been a man who wavered back and forth on decisions, but I can’t seem to make one this time. Other than to get my family out of the land mine in Warkou.”
“With the South’s capital in Juba, modernization will occur.”
Paul reached out to shake Ben’s IV-connected hand. “I’ll talk to Larson. Guess I’ll see you in a week. Rest up and take your medicine.”
Ben saluted and laughed. “As if I had a choice.”
* * *
Two more days in the hospital, and Ben was ready to toss his gown into the trash and leave. But Dr. Khamati had given him hope—just enough to keep Ben from marching out the front door.
“The tests are providing necessary information for your treatment plan,” Dr. Khamati had said.
“I have the same question I had before. How long can you extend my life?”
“Possibly five years.”
“Quality?”
“I’m not sure. We’ve changed your pain medication, which appears to be managing the discomfort.”
“What about the cancer spreading to other parts of my body?”
“I won’t lie to you. That is always a consideration.”
The conversation continued to repeat in his mind. For five more years of life, he’d endure the chemo, radiation, and whatever else his doctors might want to try. David would be seventeen then, and Daruka . . . well, Ben could have her prepared. She wanted another child, and the many times he’d been with her made him nervous. Daruka had raised one child without him, and he didn’t want to leave her alone to raise another one. He hoped his physical condition and the medication kept him sterile. The doctor would have the answer.
“Colonel Alier?”
Ben glanced toward the doorway where an Arab man stood dressed in a dark silk suit and tie. He didn’t look like a doctor. As before, Ben was not registered at the hospital under his real name, and he’d been placed on the VIP wing. “You’re mistaken, sir. I suggest you check with the visitation office.”
The man smiled. “My name is Nizam Farid. I believe you are familiar with my brother?”
“I have no idea who you are talking about.”
Nizam pulled a chair alongside Ben’s bed and seated himself. Ben recognized Paul’s facial structure and penetrating eyes.
“I believe you’re lying to me.”
“Believe what you want.” Ben picked up a newspaper, shook it, and feigned interest. It lay over the nurse call button beneath his fingertips.
“I’d like for you to get a message to him.”
Ben pushed the call button. “You have five minutes to get out of here.”
“Colonel, my intentions are honorable.” Nizam smiled.
Ben trusted a hungry hyena more than this man.
“Sir, do you need assistance?” a nurse said.
Ben despised the woman. She’d taken care of him before and seemed to have all the answers, but today she looked quite appealing. “Yes, I need a security guard to escort this man from my room.”
Nizam stood. “No need. I’m leaving. My brother does choose a strange assortment of friends. You can tell him I’m looking forward to our meeting and discussion.” He nodded. “I was simply in the city and thought I might catch him here with you. His wife is quite pleasant.”
Larson? Has he been to see her? After Nizam left, Ben phoned security and informed them their safeguards had failed. He added a few of his own words to describe their inefficiency. Nizam now knew his room number. What had the man wanted? What would stop him from returning? If he really wanted Paul, he could find him in Warkou. Concern for Larson made Ben angrier. She needed to get out of Sudan.
Nizam had phoned Paul on more than one occasion, all on the pretense of learning more about Christianity. The man looked about as trustworthy as the northern government. Today’s visit made no sense, unless it was to prove a point: that Nizam could locate anyone he wished.
Ben should have asked him about Muti. He opened the drawer in his nightstand and dug under his personal belongings for his satellite phone. He needed to put a call through to his friend.
“Paul, are you alone?”
“Yes, just me and Thomas. Are you being released early?”
“No. This is something else. I had a visitor just now. Nizam.”
“Are you kidding? What did he want? How did he find you? Never mind. He has his ways.”
“I should have kept him here longer, but instead I called hospital security. I denied who I am and knowing you. What bothers me is why he came. And he mentioned Larson.”
“He called her while I was in Nairobi this last time. What did he say about her?”
“Said she was pleasant. I have no idea what thi
s is all about, but it doesn’t sound good. Is Santino still there?”
“Yes. Do you think Okuk can spare any more men?”
“I’ll tell him to send a couple of his best. They don’t have much to do since the peace treaty.”
“Larson wasn’t alarmed with anything Nizam said.”
“Think Eve and the snake,” Ben said. “Someone is reporting your every move, as though this is some sort of cat-and-mouse game. Not only does our mole have access to your phone but also to Larson’s and your goings-on. I learned that mole in Yar was reporting to Muti and someone else, but the traitor died before I could learn more.”
“Who could it be, Ben? Makes me wonder if they have a bugging device.”
“Look through everything you own.”
“I already have. I think I’ll call Nizam myself and demand a few answers. Hopefully he’ll answer one of the many numbers he calls from.”
CHAPTER 27
Paul scanned his morning email. Lately he’d received mostly junk. Very frustrating, even with a “junk” folder in his Microsoft Outlook. He scrolled down through his in-box until he found the message he was looking for. FTW had a short assignment for him. A mission organization in Juba had requested food, school supplies, and Arabic Bibles to transport to remote villages. An easy trip, but it would take a few days, and he hated to be separated from Larson for any length of time.
“Just make the arrangements and go.”
Paul turned to find his wife peering over his shoulder. “Are you spying on me?”
“I heard you moan and decided to see for myself what ailed you. You can’t shelter me forever, and there are two soldiers plus Santino here to protect me.” She bent and kissed his cheek. “You do your job, and I’ll do mine.”
He studied the screen. “If I leave this afternoon, I can load up in Nairobi, pick up Ben, then fly home after unloading the supplies in Juba. But that postpones our house-hunting venture.”
“A few more days won’t make a difference.” She smiled. “Besides, I’m planning a party for Santino. Between the clinic, Thomas, and the special celebration, I don’t have time to fly to Nairobi.”
“This event will be after Ben returns?”
She nodded. “I hope Daruka and David will come.”
“I agree. I’ll see what I can do to make that happen. Are you sure this is not our going-away party too?”
A melancholy look touched her lovely features. “Possibly. All our friends will be here. I asked Commander Okuk—”
“The man despises me.”
“He wouldn’t if he took the time to get to know you. But he likes Santino. I think the party will be more for Sarah’s benefit than her nephew’s. She’s been down a bit lately, and I’m sure it has to do with his leaving.”
“Have you asked her if she’d live with us in Nairobi if we left Sudan?”
“Yes. I added Santino could visit often, and she could help me with the babies. She seemed pleased.”
“Good. Ben wanted me to consider Juba.”
“Oh?” Larson folded her arms and walked to the door of the clinic. Her wound had healed rapidly from the gunshot—a miracle for a woman who insisted upon doing everything all by herself. “I’d be fine there too. With the southern government headquarters there, we’d be safe.” She tilted her head. “I’m sure the NGOs will move into Juba by the swarms. But it’s whatever you choose.”
Paul laughed and stood from his chair. “You are becoming entirely too easy to please. Where is my opinionated wife?”
“I do have my moments of . . . shall I say, hormonal overload? Seriously, I love you so much. I wouldn’t trade our life together for anything under God’s skies. When I thought Muti was putting an end to all of this, I questioned our commitment here. But I don’t want anything to separate us.”
He walked to the doorway. Sunshine streamed through the treetops much like the light she put in his life. Taking Larson’s hand, he led her outside. “There isn’t a poem written that speaks enough of my love for you. There isn’t a diamond large enough symbolizing my devotion. There isn’t a flower on this side of heaven more fragrant or lovely. Our life is a journey to God together. There is no one else I’d rather walk the road with than you.”
Tears filled her eyes. “What a beautiful poem. What is it from?”
“It’s not a poem. It’s my heart’s song for you.”
She leaned against his shoulder. “I look forward to the adventure of our lives together. Believe me, wherever you want us to live, I won’t argue.”
“You have too much faith in me.”
“Not at all. I have faith in the God who leads you.”
He kissed her forehead. Oh, if he could only trust as he used to. “We sound like two kids with grandiose dreams about tomorrow.”
“Are those aspirations so futile? Next summer we’ll have two babies, and I’m so very excited. Too many times I become depressed with our circumstances and wonder if my work does any good at all. I need my dreams so I can keep putting one foot in front of the other. I hope the new government in Juba and those men who also dream of a better tomorrow will make strides toward a better Sudan.”
“I hope so, and I wish I had answers.”
* * *
Larson wiped the perspiration from her face. She could use the generator to run the fan, but she hated to waste it on herself. Saving it for a patient who needed a source of comfort made more sense. But since pregnancy had taken control of her body, good sense often escaped her. Not a single patient needed her attention. It was well past noon, and the heat seemed to suck the life out of her. She whirled around and turned on the fan.
Santino smiled above a stack of patient files and another mound of papers. “Missing your husband?”
“Always. He’ll be home in a few days, and he calls often. Still, it’s not the same as his being here.”
“Is he bringing Colonel Alier with him?”
“Ah . . . yes. I didn’t remember telling you about Ben’s stay in Nairobi. I imagine he’s talking with leaders of the South.”
“That sounds safer than what he’s done over the past twenty years.”
“I agree. And with a wife and son, he needs to settle down.” She wiped off the locked cabinet containing her precious medicines. “How’s the project going over there?”
He blew out a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to find a reason for this mess.”
She laughed. “My perfectionism mandates I keep some order to what I do.”
“While the rest of us suffer?”
She reached inside the generator-operated refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. “Suffering is what you did for the SPLA. This should be a piece of cake.”
“Piece of cake?”
“Easy.” She handed him a bottle of water.
“Some of your sayings are strange to me.”
She twisted the cap from the bottle and drank deeply. “Imagine how I feel as the rare white person among a sea of dark faces.”
“And Christian too.” He sat on the floor of the clinic and spread out the files. “Now, how do I organize these?”
“Put them in alphabetical order by their last name, unless all you have is a first name. Start a separate file for those who are listed only by the date on which they received care.” She pointed to the filing cabinet. “The ones in there are labeled but not filed correctly.”
He groaned. “The university will be easier than this—more of a piece of cake. And I’m sure my job at the Hilton will not involve straining my eyesight because your writing is so bad. This doesn’t look anything like the English I learned.”
“Such complaints. Hey, I have a question for you.”
He lifted his gaze, and she felt sure he’d welcome anything to keep from filing.
“Why do you think it’s strange I’m a Christian? Nearly 25 percent of the South are believers as a result of the war.”
“I heard you weren’t when you first came here.”
“I certainly h
ad a lot of learning to do about who God is, but I’m a believer now. What about you? You told me one day you’d explain your beliefs.”
“My religion is similar to yours.”
“Is it tribal?”
“I guess you could say that. From what I can tell, our views of the afterlife are similar. The difference is the way we get there.”
Larson studied his face. “Why are you so reluctant to explain your faith to me?”
“Because you believe in telling the world about Christianity, and I want to understand it on my own without help.” He gave her a smile. “I do believe in God, and I’m pursuing my faith.”
“I guess I can’t ask for more.”
Santino pointed to the files spread before him. “But you can ask me to do the impossible.”
“Okay, I’ll help until Thomas wakes up or a patient arrives.” She took another drink of water. “You’ll wish you had my filing to do when a professor asks you to write a term paper.”
She opened the file cabinet. “I’ll begin with these.”
A shadow passed across the door, and a man entered carrying a young girl. A quick glance told Larson the child was teetering on the brink of death.
“Please, Doctor, my daughter is very sick.”
Larson lifted the girl from his arms and noted her fever and jaundice. “Do you live near a forest?”
“Yes. Others have been sick too. Most are getting better, but not my daughter. Can you give her medicine and make her better?” The man looked feverish.
“What did she complain of before she became so sick?”
“First she said her head hurt, then her back. She is very hot, and sometimes she seems to be cold.”
The man and his daughter had the symptoms of yellow fever, but Larson needed to be sure. They’d been fortunate to get through the rainy season with few outbreaks of the disease. Usually the children were the ones who suffered most because they played near the forests where the mosquitoes bred.
“Sir, how are you feeling?”
The tall man’s frame reminded her of a brittle limb. “Not so good. I’ve been walking here for three days.”
Larson threw a cautious glance at Santino. “Would you find food and water for this man? Then I’d like to have his vitals taken, and I’ll need to draw blood.” She reached for the man’s hand. “What is your name?”