Lords of Corruption (12 page)

"I never said he quit, Josh."

"No, but you seemed to have skipped the dismembered part, too."

"Honestly, I didn't think it was relevant." "Not relevant? He was cut into little pieces, Stephen!"

"I think we've established that. Thank you. Look, he'd driven out of the compound alone and gone more than a hundred miles into politically unstable territory. We've stepped up security for our people everywhere, but honestly, it really isn't necessary unless you decide to go driving off into the countryside in the middle of the night. And you're not going to, right?"

Josh didn't respond. The idea that Trent hadn't thought this was pertinent was bullshit. And so was his story about picking only the best people. He picked the mos
t d
esperate people because no one else would touch this job with a ten-foot pole.

"Josh? Are you still there?"

"Yeah," he said, trying to calm down. As bad as this gig was shaping up to be, he couldn't afford to lose it. Not yet, anyway.

"Look, I'm sorry. I should have mentioned it. But I promise you this isn't because somebody has something against us."

"Then what?"

"Look, I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but we have reason to believe that Dan had gotten involved in some things that he shouldn't have. That's one of the reasons we were so careful with our hiring process this time. We needed someone we could fully trust."

"Yeah . . ."

"Josh, if you ever feel you're not safe or there's something else we should be doing to make sure you don't have any problems, pick up the phone and tell me. That's all you ever have to do."

A group of children spotted him and began running toward him with their hands out. He turned and started walking in the other direction.

What choice did he have? He was banking over thirty grand a year while NewAfrica covered basically every expense he and
Laura had.

"Fine."

"Great," Trent said, the relief audible in his voice. "How's it going otherwise? Is there anything we can do to help you?"

"Get me someone who knows something about farming. And you might as well burn the books they've been keeping."

"It's not that complicated, Josh. They're digging. You just need to keep it on track. You're a smart, resourceful guy. Those are the qualities that got you the job."

The group of children had almost overtaken him, so he dropped a handful of change on the ground and increased his speed as they wrestled over it.

"Send me some books on agriculture and terracing."

"Absolutely," Trent said. "I'll do it today." "Fine."

"And Josh, keep in mind that you just got there. You'll get it."

"Like Dan did?"

Trent either didn't hear or chose to ignore the comment. "Look, I don't want to pile things on you, but in a few days we've got some photographers coming in to take shots of the finished parts of that project."

"They look great," Josh said. "And that's something else I'd like to talk to you about."

"And we will

I'm coming for th
e s
hoot. . . ." The way his voice trailed off suggested there was more. "And so is President Mtiti."

"Please tell me that's a joke."

"Take it easy, Josh. There's nothing you need to do. Like you said, that part of the project looks great. Just try to keep the rest of it moving forward, okay?"

Chapter
13.

It was after nine A
. M
. before Josh finally walked out of his cabin. He'd been awake for hours, tossing and turning in a futile attempt to retreat back into unconsciousness. A hangover, combined with the memories of the two dead men in the alley, made sleep come hard.

He shaded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun as he made his way to breakfast but stopped when he noticed that the door to the Land Cruiser NewAfrica had provided him was open. Through the windows, he could make out the shape of a man digging around in the driver's seat.

Out of instinct, Josh began to run toward the vehicle, but a moment later he had slowed to a jog, and shortly after that he was walking toward breakfast again. Screw it. If the guy wanted it, he could have it. Josh would call Stephen Trent after he finished his oatmeal and get a new one.

"Josh! Where the hell are you going?"

He turned and saw Flannary waving to him over the roof of the Land Cruiser. "We're all packed up and ready to go!"

"Cut me some slack, JB. I'm hungover, I'm hungry, and I'm not in a very good mood, you know?"

"Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Josh waved a hand dismissively and was about to leave when Flannary held up something wrapped in foil. "You know what this is? A breakfast burrito made with my personal stash of authentic tortillas and salsa. We'll throw it on the engine and in about fifteen minutes, the genuine imported cheddar cheese will be all melty. . . ."

"No, JB. I've got about a thousand years of work to do --"

"But only about another fifty before you're dead. So since you're clearly doomed to failure, why not come out with me and learn something?" He dropped the burrito and held up a cocktail shaker. "I've got Bloody Marys."

Josh took one last look at the path to the breakfast area and then walked over to the Land Cruiser and climbed in. What the hell. Africa would still be here tomorrow, and it would still be a disaster.

Flannary gave him an approving slap on the leg and began backing up, almost clipping Luganda, who had burst from the trees behind them.

"Where you going?" he said, poking his impossibly round face in Josh's window and gripping the sill as he jogged alongside the vehicle.

"Just a little field trip," Flannary said, slowing but not stopping. "Nothing to be concerned about."

"Where? Let me send people with you. It's not safe."

"We'll be fine -- back in time for happy hour."

He accelerated again, and Luganda was forced to release the sill. He stared at them through the billowing dust as Flannary sped toward the gate.

"Maybe we should take him up on his offer, JB. You never know what we could run into. On the way here I saw --"

"Quit being such an old lady and fix me a drink."

"Pothole!"

Josh held his cup out the window, letting the tomato juice and vodka slosh over his hand and drip into the road.

"Sorry," Flannary shouted over the soun
d o
f the wind and the clanking of the empty beer bottles rolling around on the floorboard.

The countryside they were bouncing across seemed lost in time. The dirt road clung to precipices that descended into distant emerald valleys, and villages were few and far between, consisting of small, round houses with conical roofs perched neatly on what little flat terrain could be found. Cattle wandered about looking for choice grass, and women in colorful garb sauntered along the sides of the road carrying impossibly large loads on their heads. In some ways it could almost be mistaken for idyllic.

"Watch the kid!" Josh yelled, grabbing the dashboard as Flannary eased to within inches of the cliff they were skirting to avoid a small boy holding up a dead rat that must have weighed almost as much as he did.

"Cricetomys gambianus," Flannary said. "The giant pouch rat."

"Jesus, JB," Josh said, his heart still pounding desperately in his chest. "You shouldn't be driving."

"Why?5
,
It was obviously meant as an honest question. Driving drunk, one of America's great sins and an act that had contributed in n
o s
mall way to the destruction of Josh's life, was such a trivial infraction here that it was beneath notice. Like worrying about a hall pass during a school shooting.

"Never mind."

"He'll still be there on the way back," Flannary said, pulling a long black cigarette holder from a duffel stuffed between the seats. "We'll see if we can get a deal. Those things are pretty good with the right marinade. More tender than you'd think."

"What are you doing?"

Flannary put a cigarette in the holder and struggled to light it in the damp wind coming through his open window. "I'm considering going through a Hunter S. Thompson phase." Smoke billowed from his mouth as he spoke. "It was between that and a Jim Morrison phase."

"The leather pants would be hot."

He slammed his hand emphatically against the steering wheel. "My thought exactly."

Flannary swung the wheel hard to the left, and they climbed a hill steep enough that Josh had to put a hand over his drink to keep it from spilling down the front of his shirt. The engine protested loudly, but they finally crested a low plateau and entered a village similar to all the others except for
a w
hitewashed church that looked as if it had been stolen from the set of Little House on the Prairie.

Flannary skidded to a stop and jumped out, stumbling and nearly falling as his alcohol-soaked brain relearned standing after three hours in the car. "We're here."

Josh was more cautious, holding on to the door for support as he exited. The foliage had turned dense over the past hour and seemed to be looking for spots where the village's defenses were weak enough for it to take over. The one exception was to the east where meticulously cleared farmland was filled with women fawning over a crop he couldn't identify. Children in different states of nakedness played with whatever was at hand but, unlike the city kids, didn't seem all that interested in their arrival.

"Where are we?" Josh said, unaware that their trip had a destination. He'd assumed it was more of a moving bar.

Flannary didn't respond but motioned for him to follow. When they cleared the line of huts to their right, Flannary stopped and pointed with a dramatic flourish to a tall, blond woman working a hand-operated water pump.

"Who the hell is that?" Josh said, immediately struck by the way she threw he
r e
ntire body into working the rusted handle.

"Annika Gritdal. Kind of a hard--ass, and I think she may hear voices, but a fairly good egg."

She was too intent on her battle with the pump to notice them, which gave Josh an opportunity to stare. She was thin in a way that suggested endless physical labor, with deeply tanned skin that set off the gleaming hair stuck to her sweat-soaked shoulders.

"She's done amazing things here," Flan-nary said. "Two years ago this piece of land couldn't have supported a cockroach."

"You sound almost like you admire her. I thought you said all this was bullshit."

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I think she's wasting time, but at least she's doing it with style and a refreshing lack of hypocrisy."

She glanced up and spotted them, abandoning the pump to wave.

"Annika! Good to see you, my sweet," Flannary said, staggering slightly as he approached and gave her a hug that left the front of his shirt even wetter than it had been before. "Let me introduce Josh Hagarty. He's Dan's replacement."

She gave him a sad smile and shook his hand, saying something about how sorry she was about the fate of his predecessor, but he wasn't really paying attention. He'
d m
et a few Scandinavian girls in school, but they hadn't been all that remarkable. Annika looked like a descendant of the Vikings should -- a powerful figure, standing unfazed by her hostile surroundings. Was he romanticizing? Sure. But it was hard not to.

She pointed to the pump and yelled something at a group of men drinking on the porch of a particularly dilapidated hut. One of them gave a brief response and then went back to his jug. An argument ensued that was fascinating to watch. The native language, which sounded surreal in any setting, was almost otherworldly when flowing from a European mouth. No one he'd met yet could do much more than approximate "Another beer, please."

She finally got frustrated and said something that clearly meant "Just flicking forget it" and turned back to them.

"That was amazing," Josh said.

"Being ignored?"

"Not so much that as the fact that they seem to understand you."

She shrugged. "It's the curse of being from Norway. No one's going to speak your language, so you have to get used to speaking theirs."

"What's with the pump?" Flannary said. "New fitness craze?"

She let out a frustrated breath and pointed to a mechanical pump sitting idle in the dirt. "That one cracked about a month ago, but I haven't had any luck getting it fixed."

Josh looked at the damage. "Doesn't look all that serious."

"Are you a water-pump expert?"

"Not specifically, but I do have a degree in mechanical engineering."

She rolled her eyes. "You all have such impressive-sounding degrees, but I've never seen any of you do anything useful with all that expensive education."

There was a playfulness to her tone, but Josh still felt like he'd been chopped down to about half his normal size.

Flannary laughed. "I told you she's kind of a hard-ass. All nuns are that way as near as I can tell."