Fever (33 page)

“Get up.” The vehicle had stopped and a soldier jabbed the bottoms of Zak’s shoes with his assault rifle, motioning her toward the door. Another officer waited with a black hood in his hand. When she moved, her body ached and sharp pains ripped through her sides. She scooted slowly toward the two men, hoping to mitigate some of her discomfort and glimpse her surroundings. But before her feet touched the ground, her head was covered with the dark fabric and any chance of visual observation extinguished.

Two men flanked her, leading her across a dusty expanse of ground and into a building. It smelled of stale food, soiled linens, and unhygienic bodies. She surmised they were in one of the austere block structures that the military used to temporarily house prisoners. The men talked in Swahili, unaware that she understood the language. One was irritated that she’d bled in the back of the van and they would have to clean it. The other spoke of having a girlfriend in Mwingi that he hoped to visit during the layover. They also exchanged guesses about how long she’d last once they dropped her in Liboi in three days’ time. Mwingi was hours from the Narok District where she’d been arrested. The police, with assistance from the military, were obviously putting distance between Zak and any support or efforts to intervene. Liboi was in the northeastern province of Kenya closest to the Somali border. The area contained a high refugee population and the prisons were the worst in the country. If they were taking her to a Liboi detention facility, she would be buried in a sea of forgotten humanity.

“She is bleeding,” a gruff male voice announced in broken English. “Take off the hood.”

The soldiers complied and Zak’s head cover was removed. She had no difficulty adjusting to the light because the room was almost dark. A short, pudgy man wearing baggy jeans and a worn flannel shirt stood beside her.

“Leave us,” he ordered as he unbuttoned Zak’s shirt and slid it as far down her arms as the handcuffs would allow. The soldiers stared at Zak’s breasts and commented in Swahili about what they’d like to do with them. “I said leave.”

“She is a prisoner, Doctor. She killed Wachira. We must remain.”

“Outside the door. She can go nowhere.”

When the guards left, the doctor mumbled under his breath, “Wachira was a pig.” He turned to Zak. “Now, your wounds.” He gingerly removed the gauze wrapping and bandages that Imani had applied and examined her sides. “Lion?”

Zak nodded.

“You are a very brave or very crazy woman.”

“Probably both.”

“I have to staple this. It will hurt. No pain medicine.” He handed her a wooden tongue depressor and she clenched it between her teeth. She thought of Sara for distraction as he worked his way up her sides clamping the open skin back together.

“There.” The stapler’s metal teeth dug into her flesh one final time and she flinched. “I will give you strong antibiotics. You see me only this time.”

“Thank you, Doctor. Do I get a phone call?”

“I do not make rules. The guards must decide.”

“Can you make a call for me? Just one.” She was desperate to get word to Sara that she was okay. This was probably the most compassion she’d receive until she was released, if she was ever released. It was her only chance.

“I am sorry. I cannot.” He dressed her wounds, poured some water on her shirt to dilute the thick bloody residue, and pulled it back onto her body. “Good luck, madam. Guards.”

The soldiers reentered the room and roughly led Zak through a small doorway to the back of the building. Two cells lined either side of the narrow space, three occupied by men who had obviously been confined for a long time. Their bodies were gaunt and sickly, their facial hair long and unkempt, and the odor of soured and soiled bodily excretions emanated from them. Zak almost gagged when she passed their cells on the way to her cage.

As the officers unlocked her shackles and cuffs, they teased the men, telling them that she was their new playmate and they should treat her with respect. The prisoners hooted and reached for her while simultaneously pawing their crotches. One of the guards threw a prickly woolen blanket at her as he closed and locked her cell door.

She looked around the tiny space and found only a long drop for a toilet, no bed, no sink, and no water. Human excrement and rat droppings littered the floor of the cell. A small window at the top of the enclosure let in the final rays of daylight. The only good thing about her unit was that she was separated from the men.

Zak began work immediately, using the bottoms of her shoes to clear a spot large enough to lie down. Scraping the debris from the ground, she dug deep enough to find clean dirt and pushed the topsoil into the drop hole. She calculated how much time had passed since they left camp and realized that she’d been unconscious most of an entire day before arriving here. The time coincided with the distance to Mwingi. The trip to Liboi would undoubtedly start as soon as fresh soldiers arrived for the morning shift. She needed to rest, to be strong for the journey and whatever lay ahead. The possibilities were not comforting.

“God, I can’t do this anymore.” Sara heaved the cement block she held over her head and threw it as far as she could. “I can’t just keep working and pretend everything is normal.” She turned to Ben and spread her arms in a hopeless gesture. “Where is she? It’s been a week.”

“We are trying everything, miss. We will find her.”

As tears started falling, she walked away from the work site, unwilling to let the men see her lose control again. Every day since Zak was taken she spent hours stacking blocks for the school and crying, often at the same time. The once-jovial workplace had become a solemn gathering for the dedicated group of men as construction had taken a backseat to finding Zak. They often arrived in the morning with tidbits of news they’d heard in the pubs or on the streets. Every shred of potential intelligence or mere gossip demanded further review. Sara saw to it personally, having hired two full-time private investigators who reported in daily. But still there had been no sighting of Zak, nor had she been located in any police or military facility in Kenya. Fear and uncertainty had taken its toll. Sara’s nerves were raw and her emotions fragile.

“You still have the evidence against Wachira, Ben. Why can’t you get it to Kibaki?”

“I have sent word whereby I can meet with him. Seeing the president is not so easy.”

“She could be anywhere on the entire African continent by now. How can a person as physically distinctive as Zak disappear? Surely she’s been noticed. People talk. Why can’t we find her?” When Sara became this desperate, the same dire response emerged:
Because she’s already dead.

“Do not think those things. You must keep hope.” Imani wrapped her arms around her. She had remained at the camp to help with the school, she’d said. But Sara knew it was to comfort her through Zak’s loss. No one ever spoke the words, but the somber mood that surrounded the site was like a wake.

“You’re right. I have to do more. I can’t give up, ever.” She returned to the mess tent and sifted through the thick file she’d accumulated over the past week. For the next hour she reread every piece of information and formulated a new plan. “Imani, come here.”

When Imani joined her, Sara said, “What about a newspaper, television, and radio campaign? I’ll post a small reward for any credible tips and a huge one for news that leads us to Zak. African people are very diligent. They’ll work hard to get good information for the money.”

“It could help. But if you say things against the police or the jeshi, the media will not run it. This type of statement will get attention from the government.”

“Good, maybe then we can get a meeting with Kibaki. I’m willing to try anything. The longer we wait, the slimmer our chances.” Zak couldn’t tolerate confinement for very long, even in a weakened state. Her existence was all about freedom, space, and flexibility. Forced containment would be a sadistic form of torture to her soul and spirit. Imani hesitated, her high forehead crinkled with worry lines.

“What are you thinking?” Sara asked.

“You know of Ebony’s work. What will happen if we broadcast her name and face across the continent? What of the people who seek to do her harm?”

“I’ve thought about that. We talked the night she was taken, and I’m not sure she wants to work for that organization anymore. And even if she does, it won’t happen if she’s—” Sara couldn’t bring herself to say the word
dead
out loud. It gave the idea far too much power.

“Then we do this thing.”

“And what about Estelle? Should we contact her? I didn’t want to alarm her until we had some news. But maybe it’s time.”

“Ebony’s mother, of course. I think Ben has her number.”

They sat at the table and sketched out the plan. Sara gave Imani the reward parameters, a missing-person press release, her contact number, and a hefty wad of bonus money for the establishments that agreed to run the story. Imani left to make calls and contacts. After getting Estelle’s number from Ben, Sara steeled herself for the phone call she had hoped it would never be necessary to make.

“Estelle?”

“Yes.”

“This is—”

“I know who you are, cheri. And if you’re calling, someone we love needs help.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Don’t say anything else. I’ll meet you where we last dined in twenty-four hours. And if you have the sat phone, we’ll need it.”

The line went dead and Sara stared at the phone, thinking how James Bond all this felt. Estelle had obviously been primed on Zak’s secret spy protocol. She hadn’t mentioned any names, locations, or plans, probably fearing her communications were monitored. Was this the kind of life she would have lived with Zak? No, she stopped herself, this
was
her life with Zak, and she’d take it with all its imperfections and adjustments.

The next twenty-four hours passed with the speed of decades. Sara made arrangements for a charter flight to Nairobi, cutting her travel time from hours to forty-five minutes, packed her bag, then engaged the men in a search for Zak’s phone. She had always worn it clipped on her waistband, and so far they’d been unable to locate it in the tents or the area immediately surrounding the campsite. She felt sure the soldiers would not have allowed her to keep it when she was arrested. Ben arranged the group in a tight line from the spot where the paddy wagon was parked. They moved in a slow circle checking the ground and bushes until they’d almost cleared 360 degrees.

Sara was about to give up when Joey called out. “I found it, miss.” He waved the phone triumphantly over his head. It seemed to be working properly, and she could charge it on the plane to Nairobi the next day.

The next morning just as Ben was preparing to take Sara to the small Keekorok airstrip, Imani returned. “Many companies are willing to tell the story of a missing American tourist. It was a good idea, Sara.”

“Any problems from the government?”

“No, but it is early.”

“Estelle is meeting me in Nairobi. I’m not sure what we’ll do, but I can’t just wait. Keep in touch. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone. The PIs have my cell number, so I’ll call if I hear anything.” She hugged Ben and Imani. “And thank you both.”

Two hours later when Sara walked into the Stanley Hotel, Estelle was drinking coffee in the Thorn Tree Café. They greeted each other and returned to the private table near the exit.

“Tell me, Sara. From the look of you, it must be bad. It appears as though you haven’t eaten or slept in weeks.”

“She’s hurt, Estelle.” The tears started again. She felt comfortable letting her emotions show with Zak’s mother, but guilty for not being stronger.

Estelle grabbed at the collar of her blouse and the question squeaked out, “How badly?”

“Very. Claw marks on both sides. It was a lion attack.”

“Dear Lord.” Estelle’s complexion paled.

“She was leading it away from camp, away from me.”

Estelle covered Sara’s hand with hers. “Don’t blame yourself. Zakaria is strong willed, and when it comes to the people she loves, she protects them fiercely.”

Sara remembered the many times since they’d met that Zak stood between her and danger. At first it had annoyed Sara and made her think that Zak didn’t respect her abilities, but the more she learned about Zak, the more she loved her for expressing her concern in this way.

“Imani took care of her, but she was arrested two days later for the murder of Titus Wachira.”

“For three years this man has been her undoing. Now it comes to this.” The words were barely audible, Estelle’s gaze focused on something far beyond the walls of the tiny restaurant.

“I have no idea where she’s being held or even if she’s—”

Estelle shook her head and scooted her chair closer to Sara. “There, there, cheri. We’re not going to imagine the worst. You and I both know Zakaria is a fighter. If she can’t get out of whatever hellhole they’ve stuck her in, she’ll at least find a way to survive it. Trust me on that.”

“I know.” Sara dried her eyes and took a couple of deep, calming breaths. “I’m glad you’re here. You look so much alike. It’s comforting…and heartbreaking.” She told Estelle about Ben’s unsuccessful attempts to obtain an audience with President Kibaki to turn over Zak’s evidence on Wachira. She also filled her in on their other efforts—the calls to police and military holding facilities, hospital and morgue checks, the PI reports, and the latest publicity campaign.