Cross Country (25 page)

"F
INALLY, YOU LISTEN. Only it's too late, fool," the killer spoke in a loud, cocky voice as he moved toward me. Two young thugs were at his sides — Houston Rockets, and a blunt-faced boy who aimed a flashlight at my eyes.

"What difference does it make — one family? You make me laugh. All you pitiful Americans. Everyone laughs at you, all over the world."

He pulled out a hunting knife and showed the long, thick blade to me. He didn't say anything about the knife; he didn't have to. I had seen what it could do at Ellie's house.

"Where are they?" I asked again.

"You think you get to ask the questions? I can make you scream. Beg for death. Your life is nothing to us. We say 'ye ye' — 'useless, worthless.' Your family — nothing. Ye ye. It means useless."

The Tiger came up close and I could smell his sweat and the tobacco on his breath. He held the knife close to my throat.

"Say it — 'I am nothing.' Say it! You want to know about your family?" he screamed in my face. "Say—'I am nothing!' "

"I am nothing."

He cut me, across the biceps. I didn't look at my arm but I knew I was bleeding. I wouldn't show him weakness. No matter what happened to me now.

"Flesh wound!" he said and laughed. His killer boys found it funny too, sick little bastards. I wanted to take all of them down.

He motioned with the knife. "You want to see your family so bad, come on. You can see what's left. Ye ye!"

I
STUMBLED FORWARD toward the deserted-looking farmhouse standing in shadowy darkness, and I wondered if Nana, Ali, and Jannie really were in there.

Suddenly I found it hard to walk, to stand, even, but I made myself go on, step by step, toward the dark farm that held secrets I maybe didn't want to know.

There was a narrow dirt path winding up to the house and I trudged along a few paces in front of the Tiger and his killers. Were these the same bloodthirsty devils who had murdered Ellie's family?

Was the one in the Houston Rockets shirt the bad lieutenant? Had he traveled back and forth from Africa with the Tiger? What was their connection with what was happening in Lagos and down in the Delta? Could a civil war become a world war? Was it starting in Africa this time?

Suddenly I was struck hard in the small of my back. I lurched forward, and almost went down, but somehow I kept my balance.

Then I whirled around and saw Houston Rockets holding the butt end of his rifle. He was going to hit me with it again.

"Stop right there!" I yelled. "You punk, you little coward." I wanted to go after him so badly, to wring his neck and break it.

The Tiger laughed, either at me or at his vicious killer.

"No, no, Akeem! I want him conscious. Open the front door, Cross. You are the detective. You made it all the way here. Now you will see. Open the door! Solve the great mystery."

I
TURNED THE rusty knob, then pushed hard on the sticking wood-frame door. It opened with a loud whine.

"Where are they?" I asked.

"Go in an' see," said the Tiger. "You wanted this — proof of death."

I walked into the house and still couldn't see anyone in there. My heart was racing. Everything in the first room smelled of mildew, of dirt and age, maybe of death.

"I can't see anything. It's too dark."

Suddenly a light went on. A living area was illuminated — two small sofas, easy chairs, standing lamps — but I still didn't see anyone else in the room.

I whirled to look at the Tiger, who loomed behind me.

"Where are they?" I yelled. "There's no one in here!"

"Tell me what you know," he said, seeming serious and businesslike. "What did the she-bitch Adanne tell you? What do you know about the Delta? Tell me!"

I stared back at him. "Do you work for the CIA too? They wanted to know what Adanne told me."

He laughed out loud. "I work for anybody who pays me. Tell me what you know!"

"I don't know anything. I found out nothing in Africa. If I had, don't you think I'd tell you? I saw you kill Adanne Tansi. That's what I know, only what I saw with my own eyes."

Someone stepped out of an adjoining hallway. I turned to see Ian Flaherty there in the farmhouse.

"I don't think he knows anything. You can kill him," he said to the Tiger. "Then he can be with his family. Go ahead. Get it over with."

A terrible look crossed my face. "So the CIA was in on this from the beginning?"

Flaherty shrugged. "Not the agency, no. Just me. Kill him now. Get it over with."

Then another voice was in the living room. "You get to die first, asshole."

Sampson stepped into view. The car I drove had a tracker on it. John had followed the signal all the way down into Maryland. And he wasn't alone.

"It will be a dead tie," said Bree. She came up alongside Sampson. "You and the Tiger both die. Unless you start talking to us. Where are Nana and the kids?"

The punk in the Houston Rockets shirt pumped his gun. Bree shot him in the left cheek under his eye. He screamed, then dropped.

The Tiger dove back out the front door.

"I'm not armed," said Ian Flaherty and raised both hands in the air. "Don't shoot me. I don't know what happened to your family. That wasn't my doing, none of it. Don't shoot me!"

I drove my shoulder hard into Flaherty's chest and then ran past him after the Tiger. Sampson threw me a gun on the way out.

"Use it!" he yelled.

I
T WAS DARK outside, scarily black, and cold as the middle of winter. Just a sliver of moon was visible, with low clouds sliding fast across the night sky. I didn't see the Tiger anywhere.

"Alex!" I heard Bree call behind me. I didn't call back to her. I ran ahead and hoped she wouldn't follow, that she couldn't see me in the darkness. I wanted to get to the Tiger first, just me and him.

"Alex!" Bree shouted again. "Don't do it this way. Alex! Alex!"

I continued to track movement, the faint outline of a man running up ahead. Or just noise sometimes, the rustle of branches. I was concentrating on that — when a shadow flew at me out of the brush.

I spun sideways and fired a shot into the chest of a killer in a white tee and white baseball cap. One of the boys! He grunted and fell over in a heap. I kept on running after the Tiger.

He was moving fast, but so was I. Two downhill skiers on a dark slope. I was gaining on him a little but not enough. I didn't call out. I just ran with everything I had in me. There was nothing in my mind except catching him. No caution, not anymore. No fear for myself.

I could hear his heavy footfall, and his breathing, which sounded ragged. Still, I didn't call to him. I held my gun out — and I fired twice. I fired low so I wouldn't kill him by mistake. I needed to keep him alive so I could find out where my family was.

I didn't think I hit him, but he turned his body, and that caused him to stumble. I put on an extra burst of speed. I was gaining on him now. I could make out more details, see him clearly.

Then I dove for his legs!

I nearly missed, but I caught him around the ankles and he crashed down on his chest and face and hit his head hard on a rock.

I crawled over him on my hands and knees. Then I went up on my haunches and punched down with all my strength.

My fist connected with his jaw. Sweat and blood flew out to the sides.

"Fucker! Traitor!" he yelled at me, growling like a jungle cat under attack.

"My family — where are they? What happened to them?" I shouted.

Then I punched him again, with everything I had, all the anger and rage living inside. This time he lost a tooth, but he was strong, even hurt like this, and he finally threw me off.

Then he was on me! I shielded my head with my arms and he struck my wrist, perhaps breaking it, I thought. But I didn't make a sound. I arched my body several inches. I managed to grab him around the neck and hold on. I didn't know where the strength was coming from, or how long it would last.

I tried to head-butt him, and because of the odd angle I was at, I connected with his Adam's apple. He gagged, then spit phlegm and blood.

"My family!" I yelled again.

"Fuck your family!" he cursed. "Fuck your kids! Fuck you!"

Then he got to the hunting knife. I was still thinking that I had to keep him alive — not that I had to survive this, but that he did. I held his knife hand at the wrist, but I was losing my grip. The fight was turning his way. This was it; this was how I died. I would never know about Nana, Ali, Jannie. That was the worst part, not knowing.

A shot rang in the night.

The Tiger straightened up, but then he came back down at me with the knife. "Die!" he yelled. "Like your family died!"

A second shot struck where his right eye had been glaring at me a second before.

"Where are they?" I yelled again. "Where is my family?"

He didn't say another word. His good eye was all hatred. The rest of his face was a bloody mess. The Tiger couldn't answer. He collapsed on me, dead.

"Where are they?" I whispered.

B
REE CAME RUNNING up as I pushed the massive corpse away from me. Even now that he was dead, I still hated the bastard with all my heart and soul. Bree knelt on the ground and hugged me. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. All I saw was the knife. I had to shoot him."

We left the body and trudged back to the farmhouse. Police cars from the neighboring towns were arriving, and the trees were lit with a crimson-and-blue glare from their domes.

Sampson came out of the farmhouse as we approached. "I've gone through every room. There's no one here. I don't see any sign of them either, Alex. No blood anywhere, nothing obvious anyway. I don't think they were ever here."

I nodded, trying to register crime scene facts and to comprehend their meaning. "I want to look again anyway. I need to look for myself. What about Flaherty?" I suddenly thought to ask.

"The state police have him for now. He showed them he was CIA. I don't know what happens next. I don't think they can hold him."

W
E SEARCHED THE house and a nearby work shed, and a barn — until first light of day.

Everything was feeling even more unreal now. I was here, but I wasn't. I had no idea about the passage of time either; it seemed as if I could have been at the farm for a couple of days or for just a few minutes.

Proof of life, I thought. That's what I want, isn't it? And if not that, then proof of death.

We found a Nissan minivan that had to be the vehicle the Tiger and his killer thugs had come to the farm in. The van held small arms, clothing, and video games in cardboard boxes.

But there was no sign of blood inside, no rope to tie anyone up with. Nothing to make us believe Nana or the kids had been inside the vehicle.

There were more tire tracks up near the house, but nothing seemed unusual. Judging from the look of the place, I figured it hadn't been a working farm for at least a couple of years. Town records showed that it belonged to a Leopoldo Gout, but we hadn't been able to contact the owner yet. Who was Leopoldo Gout? What did he know about what had happened here?

Finally, at around four that afternoon, Bree walked me to my car. Then she drove me home to Fifth Street. I was in no shape to continue looking, she said, and she was right.

I hoped against hope for a good ending, but there was no one there at the house. The mess in the kitchen remained as I had found it, and I left it just that way.

For memories' sake.

Nana's kitchen. Her favorite place to be.

I
T WAS ALL so baffling, so incomprehensible, wrong in so many ways.

"I'm going to go for a run," I finally told Bree. "Clear my head. There has to be something I'm missing."

"Okay, Alex. I'll be here. Have a good run."

She didn't offer to come, understanding that I wanted to be alone now. I did need to be by myself, to plan, to do something that would make some sense of what had happened.

I ran, at first along familiar streets close to my house, but then on the streets winding off Fifth, where I didn't remember ever coming on foot before.

Finally I was able to concentrate a little better, and I began to think about what Adanne had told me in Lagos. Had her secrets caused any of this — the death of her family, her own murder, whatever had happened to Nana, Ali, and Jannie?

"Alex, I know terrible things," she'd told me. "I'm writing a story about it. I have to tell somebody what I found out." She was afraid that something would happen to her.

Well, something had happened to Adanne.

I continued to run and I found that I was getting stronger physically, or moving faster, anyway. What a cruel world this could be sometimes. Jesus. That wasn't how I looked at things usually. That wasn't me. Only now it was.

I didn't notice anything, until a gray van stopped suddenly at the curb and the sliding door flew open. Three men jumped out. Suddenly they were all over me, knocking me down, pushing my face into the grass and dirt on somebody's lawn.

Then I felt a sting in my thigh.

A needle?

Three men, not boys. Not the Tiger's team.

Who then?

Who was holding me now?

What did they want?