Do-Gooder (21 page)

She reached out and took Chuck’s hand in hers. “You can’t protect her anymore.”

Using his free hand, Chuck rubbed at his eyes. “Delphine was part of an underground movement. A sort of grassroots political and humanitarian effort. She would provide a place to stay for certain high-profile refugees. The ones who needed political asylum or a place to lay low on their way to Yaoundé or Douala and on to Europe. Her group has a number of people stationed throughout the area—in Cameroon, the Central African Republic, the Congo—who use her as a point to drop off information.”

“What happened the night Henry and I stayed with her, do you know?” Shorty had said she’d drugged Henry and me. I think that, out of everything we’d experienced, hit Henry the hardest.

“She called me the morning after you two left. She didn’t find out about the chemical agents being smuggled with the supplies from the university until after Henry had left to pick you up. She knew the chemicals couldn’t make it to their final destination. She set it up so that someone from her group would retrieve them in the night, but she couldn’t chance that either you or Henry would wake up. She mixed some sleeping pills into the meal.” He leaned forward, staring at me earnestly. “She wasn’t trying to set you up. She was trying to protect you.”

I understood why she didn’t want us to wake up and catch someone going through the boxes. She wouldn’t have wanted a confrontation at her home. She also wouldn’t have wanted to answer any questions as to why somebody was going through the SUV. “What did she think would happen when the mercenaries discovered the chemicals weren’t where they were supposed to be?”

“She called me and I was on my way to meet up with you guys. We were going to get you off the highway, switch vehicles. Unfortunately, the SUV we took broke down about two hours in. By the time we were able to get someone out to repair it… well, it was too late by then.”

“What happened to the SUV?” Mom asked. I was wondering the same thing. Had it been a deliberate attempt to slow them down? Was someone in the refugee camp involved?

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t,” Dad said. “It wasn’t sabotage or anything. I was in such a hurry that I didn’t avoid a pothole. I hit it hard enough and fast enough that I blew the tire and busted the tie rod.”

“So everything I’ve been through the last week and a half resulted from bad timing and bad luck?” I stirred my soup, having lost my appetite. I changed the subject. “This group Mrs. Okono was part of,” I said casually, “do you know any of the other members?”

Chuck narrowed his eyes, and Mom sat straighter. “Don’t even think it,” Chuck said.

“Too late.”

I’D FIGURED
Chuck would be the one I had to convince. I’d underestimated Mom. My plan—or my conditions for cooperation, really—required that I go back to Cameroon. Mom refused. No argument, no negotiation. Straight-up refusal.

“You almost died,” she said. “You are still in the hospital, recovering. The minute they release you, we’re catching the first flight back to Milwaukee.” She paced the narrow space next to my bed, arms crossed in front of her.

Chuck frowned at the words.

“But, Mom—” I broke off. I wouldn’t whine.

White-knuckled, her hands clutched her elbows.

This was hard on her. Clearly. But I had to do something. I was tired of having stuff happen
to
me. I needed to
do
something. And, even though I knew the likelihood of me actually being able to participate in Henry’s rescue—he
would
be rescued, damn it, even if I had to stow away on the first plane to Africa to do it myself—was small, I had to try.

“It’s my fault,” I said, hating the way my voice cracked on the words. “None of this would have happened if not for me. I took the gun from Wendy thinking I was helping her. What I should have done was report to someone that I suspected something was wrong in her life and let professionals handle it.” Of course, her father
was
one of the professionals. But maybe someone would have believed me.

“It’s not your—” Chuck started to say.

“It is,” I insisted. “If I hadn’t been caught with the gun, if I hadn’t had to go to Cameroon as some kind of community service stint, none of this would have happened. Henry wouldn’t have picked me up at the airport. You wouldn’t have been picking up supplies. Henry told me that it wasn’t your normal delivery schedule. If not for me, we wouldn’t have been involved in this mess at all.”

The words kept coming, tumbling over each other in a rush. “If I hadn’t been sick, maybe Chuck would have been able to take the time to make a deal that included Henry. Then you wouldn’t have had to fly halfway around the world because I ended up in the hospital.”

Mom collapsed into her abandoned chair. Chuck rested his hand on her shoulder. “Isaiah,” he said, “I could make a few calls, but there’s nothing we can do that the agency can’t do more effectively.”

“But, Dad,” I said, a tear escaping from the corner of my eye, “they don’t care about Henry.” I tried not to notice I’d slipped and called him Dad.

I pushed the lunch tray away from me and drew my knees up so I could wrap my arms around them. “Let’s be honest. If I could figure out where the mercenaries are camped out using deductive reasoning and Google, your Nameless Agency friends probably already have the location figured out. But it will take them time to plan their strike, or whatever you call it. Right?”

At Chuck’s considering nod, I continued. “And I know things that might prove helpful. I know some of their schedules. I know which building the rat-faced scientist is working from. I know where they are storing most of their weapons.” I took a breath, steeling myself for the bluff. “I won’t tell them any of it unless they extract—that’s the word, right?—Henry first.”

“You’d do that? You’d risk the lives of hundreds, possibly thousands of innocent people to save Henry?” Mom asked. She knew me too well.

No. Ultimately I’d make sure whatever force they sent in after Shorty and his crew had all the information I could give them, but they didn’t need to know that yet. Not as long as there was a chance they’d buy my bluff. “Yes.”

Chuck tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair. “That’s the second time you called the scientist rat faced. Why?”

“Because the dude reminds me of a rat. Long nose. Fuzzy hair. Twitchy.”

“Is he German?” He leaned forward intently.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said slowly.

Chuck slapped the armrest of his chair and stood up. “I’ve got a couple of calls to make.”

“Wait. What?”

“Charlie?” Mom asked.

“Let me check a couple of things. There may be something….” His voice trailed off as he left the room.

No sooner had Chuck gone than a nurse strolled in. “Bonjour,” she said. “How are you this afternoon?” she asked in French. I was glad we were in Brussels. In any other part of Belgium, chances were just as good that the people would speak Flemish or German. My knowledge of German was limited, and I didn’t know squat about Flemish.

“Fine. I’m good.”

“Bien.”

“Has the doctor said when Isaiah will be released?” Mom asked the nurse.

The nurse looked up from her portable computer. “As long as his glucose and potassium levels stay even, the doctor says your son will be released in the morning. You will want to make your travel plans,
oui
? To go home?”

“Oui,” Mom agreed.

“Non,” I disagreed.

Mom pursed her lips. “Isaiah.”

“Mom.” I held her stare. For once I was going to be more stubborn than she. “I will empty out my college savings account and travel to Yaoundé on my own if you won’t help me. Either way, I’m going.”

Her phone chimed at her before she could answer. She sighed. “This conversation isn’t over,” she warned as she swiped a finger across the screen of her phone. “It’s an e-mail from… oh, no.” She closed her eyes.

My heart stuttered in my chest. “What? What’s the matter?”

She covered her mouth.

“Mom.”

“It’s Wendy,” she said.

“What?” I stilled, my body turning cold.

“She attempted suicide last week.”

I felt sick to my stomach. I lay back in the bed, trying to breathe through the pressure in my chest. “Attempted?”

Bright blue-green eyes—the same shade as my own—met mine. “She’s alive, but in the hospital. She got a hold of some pills. Overdosed. The lady her father hires to clean the house each week found her and called 9-1-1. She was rushed to the hospital where they pumped her stomach. She’s stable now, but they’re keeping her under observation.”

“Does it say anything about her father?”

“Nothing specifically.”

I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “I should have told someone. Why didn’t I tell someone?”

“She’ll get the help she needs now.”

“But… will she tell them about him, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I hope so. You’ll be able to check on her when we get back home.” She reached for her tablet, which still sat on the rolling table next to my half-finished lunch. “I need to make our flight reservations.”

“Mom….”

She sighed and set the tablet on her lap. “There’s no use putting it off.”

“Please, Mom.” I put every bit of pleading and need into my voice as I could. This mattered. Henry mattered. I needed her to see that. “Can we at least wait to see what Chuck comes up with before we make any decisions?”

Her hands clutched convulsively on her thighs. Was she wavering?

“Please, Mom.”

She sucked in a deep breath. “Fine. We’ll wait until your father gets back. But I still think we should go home and get back to our normal lives. And stop calling him Chuck. He’s your father, not some stranger.”

“Mom, Henry saved my life. At least once, maybe twice. I can’t just abandon him. I can’t let him die thinking everyone in his life betrayed him.”

“It’s more than that, isn’t it? You have feelings for him.”

Feelings? I didn’t know what I felt for him. I was attracted, sure. He was hot. Was it more than that? Maybe if we’d met somewhere else under any other circumstances I’d have made a play for him. Even though so much had happened, it had been a total of what, ten days? Ten days of stress, adrenaline, and fear. And illness and delirium. No, it wasn’t the little crush I had that pushed me to take action. I didn’t know him quite well enough. But I really, really wanted to know him. And that couldn’t happen if he wasn’t alive.

More importantly, I owed him. A lot.

“I care about him,” I told Mom. “I’m not ready to pick out wedding decorations or anything, but I like him. He deserves this chance. Assuming, of course, he’s not already dead. And,” I added, “I can’t do anything to help Wendy, but I can, maybe, do something good for Henry.”

Mom stood up and bent over me until she could kiss my forehead. “You’re turning into such a good man, Isaiah. We’ll wait. For now. But if there’s nothing your father can do by the time you’re released from the hospital, we’re going home. If he can’t figure something out, it can’t be done.”

I thought about that for a while. She’d called me a good man. I’d hated it whenever someone told me Chuck—I really should probably start calling him Dad—was a
good man
. Doing so many
good things
. The anger and resentment that always flooded me when I thought about all the years that he had ignored me had settled down to a trickle. It was still there—I hadn’t completely forgiven him—but seeing the refugees and negative impact the conflict in the region had on the people put some things into perspective.

Maybe being a bit like Chuck—Dad—wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

DAD RETURNED
two hours later. In the time he was gone I’d managed to drive myself batty. I tried watching television, but most of what came on was in Flemish. A daytime drama may not have required a lot of translation, but it certainly didn’t hold my interest. Finally I asked Mom if I could download a book on her tablet. She’d been surprised when I told her I wanted to read
The Perks of Being a Wallflower
. She probably expected me to mention one of the science fiction/fantasy novels I generally preferred.

I’d gotten halfway through the novel when Dad arrived. And he brought company. Suit #1 and Suit #2 from the day before walked in behind Dad. Rather than crowding around the bed for our little conversation, The Suits had commandeered a small conference room in the hospital. I held my tongue as we were escorted into the meeting room. I even managed not to ask any of the hundreds of questions exploding in my brain while we all got situated. Me with my IV stand, and The Suits with a couple of briefcases they hadn’t had yesterday.

Mom sat next to me, in full lawyer mode. Dad sat on the other side of me, wrapped in the man-in-charge attitude he’d used when getting me the necessary medical treatments. The Suits sat on the other side of the table facing us. The whole thing had a real us-versus-them vibe.

When everyone was settled, I finally asked, “What’s going on?”

“We’d like you to look at some photos, see if you can identify any of the known associates of Averyanov. We’d like to get a feel for who’s on-site.”

“Are you going to save Henry?”

The Suits looked at each other and then at Dad.

“They are willing to make an attempt, provided certain things are in place first. In order to verify that, they need you to look at the photos.”

“Okay,” I said slowly.

Suit #1 pulled a manila envelope out of his briefcase and handed me the first photo. It had been taken at a distance, probably with some kind of long-range lens. The image was fuzzy, but it clearly showed Shorty standing next to a dark vehicle talking on a cell phone. “This is Shorty,” I said. “Avery-what’s-his-face.”

Suit #1 nodded, set the photo aside, and pulled out the next. This guy I didn’t recognize. Maybe because the picture showed him in a suit instead of the camo uniform, but if I’d seen him at the camp, I didn’t remember. The third photo they showed me was Snake Eyes. This one had been taken up close and personal. No fuzzy edges, no blurry images. Because the photo was in black-and-white I couldn’t see the evil green eyes, but the thin mouth and cold expression were him to a
T
. The glossy paper crinkled a bit in my grip.