Blood Ransom (25 page)

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 11:33 A.M.

UNITED STATES EMBASSY, BOGAMA

Chad slid into the seat beside Paul at the embassy’s large conference table and eyed his lunch. While he could have done without the head and its beady eyes staring up at him, the fish and fries still looked good after three days of eating little besides roadside fare.

He’d hoped for a decent night’s sleep, but his dreams had been anything but restful. Now that he was awake, nothing had changed. Natalie continued to hover at the forefront of his mind. He had to find her.

Mercy set the last plate of food they’d ordered in front of Frank Anderson, a thin man with a mop of curly hair currently staying in the RD to educate the voters as well as facilitate the actual election process. For the past two and a half months he’d trained clerks, monitored the nomination of political party candidates, and ensured that all important election information reached the public.

“Anything else?” Mercy asked.

Paul looked up. “While we’re meeting, I want you to keep me informed on anything newsworthy that happens outside these four walls.”

“Yes, sir.”

Frank stared at his plate for a few seconds, then cut off a piece of
his fish. “Up until your phone call an hour ago, I had a peaceful pre-election process underway. Obviously you know something I don’t.”

“You didn’t miss the riots yesterday and this morning, did you?” Paul asked. “Or the fact that my embassy was bombed?”

“I’ve been involved in the monitoring of a dozen other elections in third-world settings, and the last time I looked a few clashes and demonstrations are to be expected.”

“Maybe, but most election riots take place after the election, not before.”

“We both know that because of the continuing efforts of my staff—”

“And General Dumasi,” Paul prompted.

“I’ll admit he deserves some credit,” Frank said. “His actions these past two days have managed to help get things under control.”

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” Paul picked up a fry. “I understand that the general’s well-chosen words not only managed to placate both sides, but put an end to the worst of the riots as well. The people are heralding the man a hero.”

Frank took a sip of his water. “Considering the way he stepped in and pacified both sides, I suppose I have to agree.”

Chad chomped on a fry and listened to the banter. While he preferred working the familiar setting of the hospital over a terse political exchange, the discussion did intrigue him. Frank hesitated to give too much credit to someone not on his team, yet General Dumasi had managed a miracle. Only time would tell, but for the moment the voting appeared to be going smoothly without any further reports of violence.

Frank wiped his mouth with his napkin. “So if everything’s so hunky-dory now with the amazing intervention from the general, why am I here? I know you didn’t invite me to talk about the weather—or the general’s achievements in diplomacy, for that matter. And you know that with the election in full swing, I don’t have time for chitchat.”

Paul leaned forward. “While the people of this country are expecting a free and fair election, we have proof that something is going to happen to interfere with the results.”

Frank’s napkin dropped into his lap. “You’re not one to mince words, are you?”

“Like you said. You don’t have time for chitchat. Well, neither do I.”

“But you can’t be serious.” Frank’s face reddened. “I’ve had my hand on every stage of this election process and except for outbursts from a few constituents, it continues to move forward without a hitch.”

His lunch forgotten for the moment, Paul pulled Joseph’s photos from a folder beside him. He held up one. “Do you know this man?”

Frank scratched the back of his neck. “I believe his name is Daniel Biyoya. A senior military officer.”

“I’m impressed.”

“It’s my job to know.”

Paul slid the photo across the table in front of Frank. “His picture was taken five days ago on a suspected raid on a remote village. He was with this other man, Benjamin Ayres, who is currently tied to money laundering throughout Europe and Africa.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will. For starters, we recently found out that Mr. Biyoya is the cousin and close friend of none other than the opposition party’s leading candidate, Bernard Okella.”

“Which implies nothing.”

“Or perhaps everything. Especially when you stop to consider why he was meeting in secret while a group of soldiers wiped out an entire village. A fifteen-year-old boy from the village took these photos and overheard a conversation between these two men that there was nothing to worry about because the election was ‘set.’ Someone, it seems, has a lot of confidence that the votes are going to go their way.”

Frank blew out a sharp breath. “My staff has been all over this
country setting up places for the people to vote, and I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

“So the fact that someone might interfere with the election means nothing to you?”

Frank tapped his finger against the photo. “It’s not possible.”

“So you’re going to ignore everything that I’ve just told you and hope it goes away?”

Chad took another bite of his fish and caught the worried expression on Frank’s face.

“What do you want me to do?” Frank’s bottle clanked against the table. “I have secure voter boxes with dozens of volunteers in place right now to ensure everything goes off like clockwork. I don’t have time to chase a bunch of rumors right now.”

“You can ignore this, but it’s not going away. And somehow I don’t think you want to be remembered as the man who threw this country into another civil war because he didn’t pay attention to these ‘rumors,’ as you call them.”

“That’s not fair—”

“There’s nothing fair about this entire situation.” Paul glanced at Chad. “Tell Frank exactly what you’ve gone through this past week.”

Chad’s knife and fork hovered above the fish’s head. He glanced at the two men, not sure he wanted to get involved in the discussion. A verbal black belt he wasn’t.

A glance at the stack of photos reminded him of what was more important. He set the silverware against the sides of the plate and, as briefly as he could, explained what had happened. As he spoke, Frank looked through the photos Joseph had taken.

When Chad finished, Frank slapped the last picture against the edge of the table and shook his head. “And you’re basing all of this on the word of a fifteen-year-old?”

“What reason does he have to lie, Frank?” Paul was clearly getting irritated.

“I can think of a dozen off the top of my head. Bribery, extortion—”

“Joseph’s resting in the other room if you’d like to talk to him, but for now…” Paul held up his hand. “These photos are for real. You can’t deny that.”

“Maybe.”

“Then let’s assume that what Chad just told you is true, as I believe it to be. What might the opposition be planning?”

“I don’t know…” Frank shook his head. “Anything from stuffing ballot boxes to changing votes to intimidation.”

“What about an assassination?” Chad threw out.

“Or a coup?” Paul added.

“A coup…” Frank’s brow began to sweat.

“What kind of security does the president have at the moment?” Paul asked.

“That’s not my department.”

“Come on, Frank.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table. “You’re involved deeply enough in this election to know who’s guarding the president today, and we need to look at all the options.”

“Fine.” Frank wiped the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Here’s what I do know. His security team is headed up by Ernest Ademola, who’s worked for the president for over nine years.”

“Is the man trustworthy?”

“As trustworthy as any other employee of a corrupt government.”

“You’re very reassuring.”

Frank shrugged.

“What about the gala the president is hosting tonight?” Paul continued.

“Guests have been screened and will only be allowed inside the building with an invitation.”

“What about the guards, the kitchen staff, the servers—”

“Again, you’re talking to the wrong person. All I know is that security will be tight.”

“Just suppose, for a moment, that all I’ve just said is true.”

Frank paused. “If it is true, I wouldn’t know where to begin trying to stop it. Logistically, I’d say a would-be assassin would have a dozen opportunities to do his work. President Tau doesn’t believe in hiding behind the walls of his presidential palace. Despite our warnings, he has meetings set up all day, including a visit to a local orphanage and an afternoon press conference.”

“None of the options we’ve discussed so far will go over well for any of us.”

“So what are you proposing? That we work together on this one?”

“To put it bluntly,” Paul continued, “I don’t want to be stuck here in the middle of a civil war while my wife and daughters celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas with my parents back in the States. And you don’t want your reputation as an election official marred because of some crazy plot to take over the government.”

Chad felt his shoulders tense. The whole situation was sounding far too real, and Natalie was still out there somewhere in the middle of it.

“Okay, so I admit you have a point.” Frank rubbed his chin. “You’re really convinced that someone is trying to take over the presidency?”

“After what I’ve seen the past twenty-four hours?” Paul asked. “You bet.”

“So where do you propose we go from here?”

Paul took a sip of his soft drink. “I’ve been in contact with the president’s staff and have promised to keep them updated with any new findings we have. But like I said earlier, the president’s planning to keep to his schedule for now.”

“What about security?” Frank asked.

“We only have half a dozen marines here. We’re going to need all the reinforcements we can get. We’re in touch with Washington, but the additional troops they’re sending might end up being too late. At least to stop anything that’s attempted in the next few hours.”

Frank tapped his fork against the edge of his plate. “We’ve got
roughly four hundred United Nations troops scattered throughout the country. A hundred of those are in Bogama, but they are all stationed at the various voting locations.”

There was a soft rap on the door. It was Mercy.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.”

“That’s fine. What is it?”

Mercy’s gaze dropped to the floor. “I just received a call.”

From the somber expression on her face, Chad wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what she had to say.

She pressed her lips together. “Ernest Ademola, head of the president’s security detail, was found in his apartment less than an hour ago. The man’s dead.”

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 12:05 P.M.

LENBO, SUBURB OF BOGAMA

Natalie stood on the sidewalk in front of a narrow dress shop and looked up at the hand-painted sign hanging lopsided above the door.
Malik’s Number One Sewing Shop
. She’d assumed that the address Stephen had given her was for a residence, but a second glance at the number on the building confirmed that she was at the right place.

An older woman appeared in the doorway, her bosom as ample as her smile. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” Natalie shoved the address into her pocket. “I’m looking for a Mrs. Komaga.”

“I’m Mrs. Komaga, but please, call me Malik. Everyone does.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Malik.” Natalie hesitated. The long taxi ride had given her plenty of time to consider what she should do. In the end, she’d decided to trust Stephen. Considering the circumstances, she wasn’t sure she had a choice. “I was sent here by Stephen Moyo.”

“Stephen?” The broad smile on the woman’s face faded.

“You know him?”

“Of course I know him. He was like family once, but it’s been so many years now. I…” Malik pressed her hand against her heart and shook her head. “Please, come in.”

Natalie followed the woman into a small workroom where a half
dozen young women in tailored uniforms clattered away on old-fashioned pedal-style sewing machines. Finished dresses, in a rainbow of fabrics, hung from the ceiling on the sides of the room. In the front corner were sample photographs of outfits clients could choose from.

Natalie set her backpack on the edge of a table piled high with fabric, then ran her fingers across the sleeve of a colorful dress with an intricately embroidered collar. It was amazing how a tiny shop with no electricity in the middle of a rundown suburb could create something so beautiful. “This is stunning work, Mrs…Malik.”

Malik’s own loose-fitting blouse and skirt ensemble, made from traditional green-and-blue handwoven cloth, was just as beautiful, with its contrasting yellow embroidered stitches along the bottom of the skirt and sleeves.

Malik held up a photo. “All I need is a photograph and a few measurements, and I can create for you anything you want.” She dropped the photo back onto the table and frowned. “But if Stephen sent you, you didn’t come here in search of a new dress, did you?”

“No.”

“It’s been so many years since I’ve seen him.” She pressed her lips together. “Why did he send you?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure…” Natalie glanced around the room, still uncertain of what she was doing here. “I’m in trouble. I guess he thought you could help, and that it would be safe here. I need a way to contact the U.S. Embassy.”

“You need a phone?”

Natalie nodded.

Malik called in Dha to a young woman in the back of the room, then glanced at Natalie’s shoulder. “If you ask me, you need more than a telephone. You’ve been hurt.”

“It’s not too bad.”

“What happened?”

“I…” Natalie shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

Malik peeled off the edge of the bandage “Long story or not,
it’s infected.” Her frown deepened. “I have a room behind the shop where we can take care of this.”

“It’s fine for now. Really.” For the moment, all Natalie wanted was a shower, a clean set of clothes, and a decent night’s sleep. That and Chad. She needed to let him know she was all right.

“You’re as stubborn as my daughter, Camille, was.” Malik grasped Natalie’s hand. “Come. I’ve sent one of my girls to fetch my cell phone—my neighbor borrowed it this morning. For now, let me look at your wound.”

Natalie followed her into a sitting room that opened up to a small courtyard. The cheap red-leather furniture filling the space could have been bought from one of dozens of street vendors sprinkled across the city. Instead of family photos or art, the walls were covered with glossy pictures of dress designs cut from magazines.

Malik scooted aside some pillows and motioned for Natalie to sit. “I’m saving to buy a house outside the city where I can plant a garden and watch my sister’s grandchildren grow up.”

“Does your daughter live here?”

“Camille? No…She was murdered seventeen years ago.” Malik’s gaze dropped as she crossed the room. “Sometimes it seems like forever. Then there are days when I still expect her to walk into the room and eat supper with me.”

“I’m sorry.” Natalie sank into the couch.

Malik paused in the doorway leading outside. “I’m not the only one who suffered from her death. Stephen’s carried the guilt of Camille’s death all these years.”

A moment later she returned with a bowl of water, a clean rag, and a small jar. She laid them on the end table, then sat down beside Natalie on the couch.

“How was Stephen involved in your daughter’s death?” Natalie asked.

“He’s never talked to you about Camille?”

Natalie tried not to wince as the older woman pulled off the bandage. “No. He’s never spoken much about his private life.”

“I heard he has two daughters now?”

“They’re beautiful twin girls. Jahia and Nabilia turned seven this year.”

Malik dipped the rag into the water, squeezed it, and began washing the wound. “The cut is deep, but it should heal.”

Natalie debated on how many details she should divulge to the woman. If word got out that there was going to be an attempt on the president’s life, she was certain panic would ensue. Camille’s death might not have anything to do with what was going on today, but for the current crisis, she needed to know more about Stephen. Camille seemed to be the best place to start. “Tell me about your daughter.”

“I lost Camille during the coup.” Malik squeezed out the rag again. “She planned to marry Stephen, but she was always so stubborn.”

“What happened?”

“We were told to leave the city if at all possible. We had a place for her at my sister’s house, but Camille refused to leave. She worked for a local mission that had a home for street children. She loved those kids so much. I told her there had to be a way to get them out as well, but she didn’t think things would get as bad as they ultimately did. She was an optimist. Convinced that things would turn out okay.”

“But they didn’t turn out okay.”

“I wasn’t the only one who lost her. They killed Camille in front of Stephen, and there was nothing he could do to stop them. He ended up blaming himself.”

Malik slowly rubbed ointment onto the wound. Natalie eyed the scentless paste. “What is that?”

“A natural remedy my mother taught me how to make years ago from the African sausage tree.”

While the medicinal qualities of the unique tree with its dark, bell-shaped flowers intrigued her, Natalie focused her thoughts on
the situation at hand. “Why did he blame himself for her death? Because he couldn’t stop it?”

Malik nodded. “He’d tried over and over again to get her to leave. Begged her, even, but she wouldn’t. If Camille would have listened, she’d be here today, and I’d have my own grandbabies to take care of.”

“So she was your only child?”

“The only one who survived past infancy. I lost my husband two years after Camille’s death, and my sister six months after that. I took in her four children. I had an apartment, but eventually I started this place so I could have enough money to feed them.”

“You’ve been through a lot.”

Malik set the cream down and picked up the bandage Natalie had handed her from her backpack. “What I’ve been through is no more than every other person in this country. We’ve all experienced loss. Children, parents, husbands…Life is hard. It’s what we expect.”

Natalie rotated her shoulder slowly and thanked the older woman. The reality of what had happened to her made her all the more grateful she was alive. In eighteen months she’d witnessed more than her own share of heartache.

A young girl entered the room and handed Natalie a cell phone. Thanking her, Natalie took the phone and flipped it open. She drew in a deep breath. Miles from the embassy and without enough money to get there, she dialed Chad’s number and prayed that he’d answer.