by DiAnn Mills
“I’ll be here.”
Once Vo disappeared, Paul took off in the opposite direction from the house. The stench of rotting garbage and sewage tore at his stomach. To think he’d lived in a palace while the citizens of Khartoum existed in this rat-infested hole. The conditions brewed both anger and compassion. The rain continued. Too bad it couldn’t wash away the filth.
Ben said nothing until they were nearly a kilometer away. “Just where are we going?” Rancor bubbled beneath his words.
One of Hank’s sayings reminded Paul of Ben’s predicament: Like a fish out of water. “A safe place, like I said before.”
“I want to know where.”
“A house about ten minutes from where we stand.”
“Is that the final stop?”
Paul swung his gaze at the demanding colonel. “Maybe.”
“Do you trust anyone in this city?”
Paul laughed. “A few, a choice few. I have learned a lot from you, sir.”
A labored sigh broke an awkward silence. “I despise you, Farid, but you have shown cunning today. For your sake, it had better be for the good of southern Sudan.”
Paul stopped in the middle of the mud-coated street. “My number one priority is the Lord. He has called me to do specific things for the good of southern Sudan. That commitment is not up for discussion.”
CHAPTER 23
Ben followed Farid inside an iron gate that had once been painted black. The aged Arab who met them did not appear surprised. He had the mannerisms of a Muslim and greeted Farid like an old friend. Ben calculated how quickly he could retrieve his pistol.
“This is my friend, Mohammad,” Farid said in Arabic.
“It’s an honor to meet you.” The Arab gestured low. “Come in, please. We’ve been expecting you.”
The man led them up a stone entranceway to a small concrete house. The secrecy and the switching from place to place without an understanding of who or where left Ben outside his normal realm of control, and he didn’t like it. He was the one who issued commands. Besides not having the power he normally possessed, he detested Farid’s calling the shots. As soon as they were alone, Ben intended to find out everything about the next three days—in detail. In particular, why were they in the home of a Muslim, and why did they have to continue speaking Arabic?
Up to this point, Farid had demonstrated cunning and shrewdness with his plan. That was another source of contention, but Ben wasn’t stupid. He refused to trust him for an instant.
Inside the house, the Arab ushered them to a table where bread, vegetables, fruit, and a meat that looked and smelled like chicken sat ready for them to eat. He left the room once an old woman dressed in black shuffled in and greeted Paul. She asked for God to grant him success—and it wasn’t the God a Christian served. She disappeared while the two men ate.
“What’s going on here?” Ben took a quick glimpse at the food, and his stomach growled. He ignored the inconvenience and swung his attention toward his partner—of sorts. “Who are these people, and why are we here?”
Farid rested his fork beside his plate. “We’re with friends where no one would suspect us.”
“Arab Muslims?” Ben cursed. “I need an explanation fast.”
“I want to eat first; then I’ll tell you about it.” He sat on the floor, as was their custom.
Ben touched the 9mm pistol. His fingers ached to unload it on Farid and anyone else who got in his way. “I want to know now.” He pulled out the weapon.
Farid filled his plate, piling high the meat and vegetables. “Shoot me, and you won’t know a thing. Besides, my friends will slit your throat.” He proceeded to eat. “Try some. It’s good.”
“Do you have a death wish?” Ben tightened and released his fist.
Farid chuckled. “I’ve been asked that before.” He waved his fork in the air. “Maybe I do, but until I decide for sure, you may as well eat because I’m not telling you anything until I’m finished.”
Never had anyone angered Ben on a regular basis like this man. Never had Ben wanted to find a reason to kill anyone as much as he wanted to find a reason to kill Paul Farid. Time. Ben needed time and patience. He laid his gun on the table until the weasel finished eating.
Twenty minutes later, Farid pushed back his plate, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and turned to Ben. “I’m ready.”
“Are you sure you don’t want dessert first?”
Farid grinned. “No thanks.” He scooted back from the low table. “Gadwa is the old woman’s name. Nearly eleven years ago, just before I fled Sudan, I learned of two political prisoners—a father and son—who were being framed and used as scapegoats. At the time I was a new Christian, zealous for God and for defending oppressed people. I pulled a few strings and got the two men out of the country. Gadwa is married to the father. She chose to stay in Khartoum and help others persecuted by the GOS. They believe she is loyal to the current government.”
Ben expelled a heavy sigh. “The old woman owes you.”
“Exactly. Some refer to her as the Weathered Gazelle.”
Impossible. “Not here. I don’t believe it,” Ben said.
“Ask her yourself.” Farid called for Gadwa. She dragged her feet across the floor. She was tiny, frail, old . . .
Farid stood and thanked her for the fine meal. She stared at Ben. “He hasn’t eaten yet, but he will shortly. He feels a little ill. Would you be so kind to tell my friend how we met?”
Gadwa nodded and smiled a toothless grin. Word for word, she told the story of how Farid helped her husband and son escape death and find asylum in Egypt.
“What else do you do to help those who oppose the GOS?”
She hesitated. Her stare hardened. “I help the SPLA. I am known as the Weathered Gazelle.”
“Prove it.” Ben’s pulse raced.
“I don’t have to prove anything to you, Colonel Alier.” Gadwa stared at Ben openly. “But think of me the next time your men pick up a shipment of Kalashnikov rifles or you need to get a message through to your contact within the president’s advisers. You don’t believe me or my friend? I don’t care. Your approval means nothing.” She moved toward the door, then turned back. “Solomon Thic has already tried to locate your sister through me. I have no information, but Farid has additional contacts. Listen to him.”
Ben stiffened. No one could have known about his conversation with Solomon except the Weathered Gazelle. “I understand.”
“Now, stop insulting me and eat the food I have prepared for you.”
Ben opened his mouth to protest but changed his mind. He lowered himself to the table and filled his plate with food. He hated Farid. He hated him because of his heritage. He hated him because of Rachel. He hated him because of the way Larson looked at him. And he hated him because he’d been right.
* * *
Larson packed the truck with medical supplies and necessities for her and Nyok. She’d closed the clinic for the next few days. Her patients were well enough to have others care for them. She needed Nyok to help her at a Red Cross center at a Khartoum-approved site a few hours north of Warkou. A woman she had not seen in almost a year planned to be there.
“I can stay at the clinic,” Nyok said for the third time. “You said I did a good job the last time.”
“The patients are okay for now.”
“You don’t want me here alone when Colonel Alier returns.” His accusing glare stoked a fire in her, but she refused to give in to an argument with a twelve-year-old.
“You’re right, I don’t. But more importantly, I need you to help me. There will be medical personnel there, but I’m the only doctor, and you know my ways.”
“You can’t stop my destiny.”
Larson slammed the door of the truck and wondered if this would be the time it fell off. She whirled around to face him. “I’ve had enough of your disrespect, Nyok, and I’m not an idiot. Your destiny can’t be stopped, but I will do everything within my power to guide your future.”
“You know nothing about what I think or the things I must do.”
Her breathing came in short spurts. “Try me.” When he said nothing, she returned to packing the truck. Nyok stomped back into the clinic for the last box of bandages and valuable medicine. These outbursts of his were becoming more and more frequent. Were all twelve-year-olds this difficult? A thought struck her: hormones. Could all this animosity stem from Nyok’s leaving his childhood behind and facing adolescence? His childhood had been a nightmare anyway, but this full-blown rebellion was a little more than she could handle. She would talk to Sarah. She would know how to handle a growing boy after raising five of her own. Relieved at the prospect, Larson waited for Nyok to return.
“Whether Rachel was here or not, I’d still need you to help me the next few days.”
“I don’t see why. She did everything I’m doing.” He positioned the box in a secure spot and leaned against the truck beside Larson.
For a moment she considered asking him not to lean too hard. The truck side was nearly rusted through. “Rachel is good with patients. You’re good with assisting me in medical procedures. There’s a big difference.”
He didn’t reply but stared ahead, obviously contemplating what she had said. “So you’re saying Rachel acts as your nurse, and I am more of an assistant?”
“Exactly.” She reached for the truck door and sounded as enthusiastic as she could muster. “Are you ready?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?”
Larson bit her tongue to keep from hurling words his way.
This would be a long day.
Unlike the road trip with Paul, the time with Nyok dragged by. He refused to talk, and she refused to prod him any further. Instead she bounced along and thought about seeing Marty at the Red Cross location. She was a friend to talk to and laugh with, not a patient or someone who didn’t understand all the idiosyncrasies of a Western woman. The last time Marty brought chocolate—mouthwatering, irreplaceable, intoxicating chocolate. And she had magazines, and they weren’t medical journals, but popular periodicals full of information about fashion and makeup—and fiction stories about interesting women. How Larson had enjoyed the escape the publications provided, and Marty had written that she had brought more.
Right now, this very minute, Larson believed she wanted a furlough home. She thought maybe her parents had pushed the memories to that part of their minds where forgiveness chose forgetfulness. Maybe the three of them could drive to the old farm and reminisce about days gone by. She hoped the new owners had taken care of the place. Perhaps she and her parents could visit Grandma’s and Granddaddy’s graves and take flowers. A picnic sounded nice, or a trip to the Amish country. Larson allowed her mind to linger on the pleasantries. She’d done quite a bit of it lately. The longing started with Paul.
She must establish heart boundaries with him. Just because the only man in the area who exhibited some remote interest was Ben, she didn’t have to act like a fool over the next one thrown in her path. If she admitted the truth, she was looking for a diversion until Rachel returned. Thinking about a man, no matter how mismatched the relationship, pushed her sweet daughter from her mind. How selfish of her.
She simply wanted Rachel back unharmed, and he filled the aching void of her beloved children. As for Nyok, she didn’t want to think about raging hormones and ridiculous plans. She wanted him safely out of the country and continuing his education. Larson glanced at the troubled boy. He stared out to his right, no doubt deep in thought about how many GOS soldiers he would kill when he was able to carry a rifle. The truth echoed around her. She stood powerless to stop him, no matter what she conceded to do with Ben.
The powerful colonel was another matter. Congeniality between the two of them must exist. Why must everything be so difficult and so complicated? She tilted her head back and stretched her aching neck muscles.
These problems were all her own fault. She’d decided a long time ago to live a solitary life. At the time, the decision meant survival of the astronomical pressures closing in around her. Yet, sometimes she longed to be a little girl again, to wrap her arms around Daddy’s or Granddaddy’s neck and hold on for dear life. She needed someone to tell about all the woes building inside of her until she thought she would explode—an aneurysm of the soul.
Up ahead she saw the outlines of the Red Cross plane and the roughly constructed center. For the next two days, she intended to enjoy herself and push all the junk out of her head. The closer the images came into focus, the more Larson studied the workers for signs of a dark-haired Western woman—young, vibrant, and always laughing. Pulling the truck to a halt, she scanned the crowd again. The sound of a female’s voice rose above the others.
“Larson. Over here. How are you?”
“Hot, tired, and thirsty, but what else is new?” Larson said.
Amid the boxes and people, Marty motioned for Larson to join her. In the next breath the two hugged and cried at the same time.
“You look dazzling.” Marty’s short-cropped hair lay plastered against her head, and perspiration dripped from her temples. “How do you manage out here in the wilds?”
“It’s a secret, but I’ll tell you,” Larson said. “It begins with sweat and ends in ducking bullets.”
“How horrible. Whatever, it’s working. Can we get together later? I know you have a ton of patients, but—”
“Nothing will stop us from catching up,” Larson said.
Marty motioned toward two other Red Cross workers handing out bags of rice. “I brought chocolate, like I promised, and six months of People.”
Larson nearly squealed but thought better of it considering the Sudanese and other relief workers were watching. Besides, people were waiting to see her—the sick and dying. Too many children with skeleton limbs and swollen stomachs needed her attention. Later she would relax with her friend.
“We’re going to be busy,” she said to Nyok.
They each grabbed a box of medical supplies and trudged toward the front of the line, where the Red Cross had set up a small tent for her. Almost an hour later, she heard helicopters approaching. Thinking the GOS was simply checking out the humanitarian efforts, Larson ignored the sound of whirling engines.
“Helicopter gunships,” Nyok said, lifting a child from the makeshift examining table to the ground.
“Don’t say that,” Larson said. “You’ll frighten these people.”
Nyok stepped out of the tent and glanced up. “Dr. Kerr. Those are gunships.”
His words were no sooner spoken than GOS soldiers leaned from their aircrafts and started pouring fire into the crowd. Screams mixed with the whiz of bullets and echoed around Larson. Nyok grabbed her and a child, then dove under a mass of boxes.
CHAPTER 24
By Wednesday evening Paul realized he’d stretched his limit with Ben. The confinement within Gadwa’s home had left both of them irritable. She’d fed them and made sure they were comfortable, then withdrawn to her own affairs or asked to speak to Paul privately. He didn’t blame her. Ben seemed to look for reasons to quarrel, and Paul was tired of dodging barbs.
He prayed and read the brown Gideon New Testament tucked in his backpack. He’d tossed around the idea of whether to bring it but decided if he was searched, he’d rather die for the Lord than save his skin. In the afternoon he phoned Babrak to see if the old man had learned anything about Rachel. So far nothing.
“Would you consider dissuading Nyok from joining the army?” Paul said to Ben once darkness had spread its cloak around the city. “He’s extremely bright and needs to be in school.”
Ben paced the floor of the small living room area, reminding Paul of a caged animal. “I’ve heard that before, many times.”
“And?”
“What do you care?” Ben stopped and planted his hands firmly on his hips. His gaze threw poisonous darts in Paul’s direction. “The SPLA needs him.”
“I agree Sudan needs him, but in a few years when he’
s ready to serve them in his best capacity.”
“You spend too much time with Larson.”
Paul knew he shouldn’t say another word, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Is the problem Nyok, or the fact Larson has spoken to me about her ambitions for him?”
Ben glared. “What are you saying?”
“The obvious. You’re in love with the woman.”
“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve said yet.”
“But it’s the truth.” Paul watched Ben’s features stiffen. The man already despises you. Don’t push him.
“You’re wrong, Arab. I have no feelings for the woman.”
Before he could respond to Ben, Paul’s phone rang and he answered it.
“Are you safe?” Babrak said.
Paul moved so he could peer around the blinds to see onto the street. In the night, the shadows all blended into one. “I believe so. What’s going on?”
“We have a problem, my friend,” Babrak said. “The three addresses I gave you have been searched by the GOS.”
“I chose not to stay at any of them.”
“No matter. That you are not in custody is an answer to prayer. Who else knows you are in the city?”
Paul trusted Gadwa with his life. The ones remaining were Ben and Vo the driver. “I have an idea. We’ll be careful.”
“Do you still plan to be here at ten in the morning?”
Paul hesitated. Babrak’s or Gadwa’s house could be tapped, or Vo could have betrayed them. “We’ll be there.”
“God be with you and the colonel.”
Paul set the phone on a small table and stared at Ben. “The three safe houses Babrak gave to us have been raided. Someone has betrayed us.”
“Who?”
“I suspect Vo. How well do you know him?” Paul rubbed the back of his neck.
Ben ceased his pacing and sank into a worn sofa. “If it’s him, then why wasn’t Babrak questioned? Unless he figured the old man is—”
“Our contact, and they’re watching his every move.”