 
ACID

By Darryl Matter

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2019 by Darryl Matter

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

ACID

This is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

* * * * *

# Chapter 1

"AAEE-E-E!" CRASH! The four little girls screamed in terror when the burly man brandishing a rifle yelled and kicked in the door to their classroom. "HANDS IN THE AIR!" "GET IN THE CORNER!" "ALL OF YOU!" "NOW!" At his shouted commands, they and their teacher quickly raised their hands in the air and huddled together in a corner, trembling like frightened animals under the gunman's fierce gaze.

He cursed aloud and kept them covered with his automatic rifle as he calmly uncapped a bottle of battery acid and then threw the acid in their faces. Directly into their eyes. Unbridled evil swirled throughout the room.

"Ha! Ha! Ha-a-a-a! Ha! Ha! Ha-a-a-a! Ha! Ha! Ha-a-a-a!" He roared with laughter, now mocking their fear and pain as his captives cried and clutched at their burning eyes. BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Shouting for them to die and go to hell, he raised the rifle, screamed obscenities, and then blazed away at them--full auto--as he backed out the door.

From outside the one-room hut that had served as a school came the sound of still more cursing and automatic rifle fire as the rebels massacred the entire village. Not one person would be left alive. Not even the animals would be spared.

Flames shot high into the air as the rebels torched the huts and fruit trees and gardens before retreating into the brush.

* * * * *

For the next several days, the men would celebrate their raid on Begwa with the whisky provided by the man known to them only as Dakarai, his name meaning "Happy" in the native language. As they would tell and retell of their alcohol-embellished exploits, none of them would laugh louder or longer than Dakarai himself as he recounted his attack on the school children and their young teacher. There would be no doubt in anyone's mind about Happy's love of killing, especially the killing of schoolgirls.

# Chapter 2

Ethan Decker saw the blaze in the distance. "What's burning?" he asked his driver.

Osei scowled. "Looks like the rebels have attacked and torched another village." He thought for a moment. "That would be Begwa. Yes, that is its name. Begwa. Doesn't consist of more than a few huts."

"Let's get on over there. See if there's anything we can do."

Osei shook his head. "No. Not safe."

"We'll be okay. By now the rebels will have retreated into the hills."

"Well, it's . . . your call, Mr. Decker." Osei shrugged his shoulders and reluctantly started the Jeep.

The huts burned rapidly, the flames dying down almost as quickly as they blazed up. As they approached the village, Decker saw only the burned remains of houses and gardens, and the ruins of what once was a church. Charred bodies lay in those ruins. None were moving. No one had survived.

One small hut on the outskirts of the village remained standing, however, and Decker motioned toward it. "What's that building?"

"School. Most likely."

"Drive on over there. Somebody might have taken refuge in the school."

Osei reluctantly obeyed.

Decker looked through the smashed door. Four little girls lay dead in one corner of the room, their faces hideously burned from the acid, their small bodies riddled with bullets, blood spattered everywhere.

Osei peered over Decker's shoulder, anxiously fingering the pistol tucked into his waistband, then glanced nervously over his shoulders. "Come on, man," he urged. "Let's get out of here."

Instead of responding to Osei's request, Decker retrieved his digital camera from the Jeep. From the doorway, he documented the murder scene with several photographs.

Slinging his camera over his shoulder, Decker then stepped inside and studied the bloodstained interior of the hut. Several spent cartridges were scattered about and he picked up three of them.

The back door was ajar. Drops of blood formed a trail across the floor from the corner where the girls died and to that door. Someone had crawled away, and might yet be alive. "We'll leave in a minute or so," Decker replied.

"Better let well enough alone," Osei hissed, knowing Decker wasn't going to pay attention.

That back door was likely to have been booby trapped. The rebels sometimes did that to thwart anyone who might come to help the victims. Instead of going through the classroom, therefore, Decker hurried around the hut, picked up the blood trail outside, and followed it a short distance into the brush. Moments later, he found the teacher. She appeared to be about 13 or 14 or 15 years old. Maybe younger.

Her face, like the children's, was badly burned by the acid. At least two bullets had struck her body. There was blood all over her blouse and her left leg.

Decker felt her wrist. There was a pulse. She was alive.

The girl whimpered as he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the Jeep. "It's okay now, little girl," he said to her, uncertain if she could understand what he was saying, or if that was really so, but certain he was going to do the best he could by her. At least he could try to slow the bleeding and keep her alive long enough to get her to a hospital.

Osei already had the Jeep in gear.

# Chapter 3

A nurse was seated by the girl's bed when Decker walked into her hospital room that following evening. He recognized her as Makena Nwoso, the nurse who'd taken the girl from him when he and Osei brought her to the hsopital the previous day.

Turning to face Decker while yet holding the girl's hand, the nurse murmured, "Good timing, Mr. Decker. She's awake."

"Good. I'd like to have a talk with her. Have you found out her name?"

"Yes. Her name is Ayo Traore." The nurse stood up and motioned to the chair. "Would you like to sit with her? Talk to her, perhaps? I think she'd like that."

"Yes. Thank you. Does she speak English?"

"Oh, yes. She speaks English. Some, anyway. Most of the people in Zaharra do, you know," the nurse explained, "because we were a British Protectorate at one time, and I believe Ayo understands it better than she speaks. We were able to talk a little before you came in. Right now, she needs a great deal of reassurance in addition to medical care. You can understand that."

"Yes, and I can try to provide that reassurance." He turned and studied the girl, her face swathed in bandages. "Does she know about the village?"

Makena shook her head sadly. "Yes. The authorities came as soon as they found out that you'd brought her here. They were absolutely brutal in their descriptions of how her father and mother and all the animals were killed. How their house was burned and their garden destroyed." She glanced over her shoulder, then turned back to Decker and whispered her thoughts about the authorities: "The bastards acted like the massacre was her fault, what with her having the school for little girls and all."

Decker wasn't surprised. From what he'd seen of the present government, it wasn't much better than the rebels who were trying to overthrow it. There were human rights violations on all sides of the conflict.

"And her students? The children? She remembers what became of them."

"She knows. The authorities made sure of that." Makena again hissed her displeasure.

"I'll do what I can to reassure her." Decker reached out for and took Makena's hand, sensing that she, too, needed reassurance and concern. Caring for Ayo hadn't been easy for her. "I want to talk to you, too. Can we do that later this evening?"

Makena nodded and smiled. "I'd like that." She turned to leave, then turned back. "I'll come back in a few minutes. Ayo will not be up to much talk. I'll bring some medicine that will help her sleep. Another nurse will be coming on duty soon. Perhaps we can talk when I go off-duty, Mr. Decker?"

"And you'll call me Ethan?" he asked. Smiled.

The nurse smiled shyly, pleased, but a little startled at his question. Few men spoke kindly to her these days. "Yes, if you'll call me Makena."

"Agreed."

As Makena left the room, Decker sat down and took the girl's hand. "Ayo?"

Her lips moved. "Yes."

"It's Ethan Decker. I'm the guy who brought you here."

"Thank you." Her voice was very weak and he leaned his ear close to her lips in order to hear her.

"I know this is a very hard time for you, and I'm sorry."

"My family all killed. House burned. Everything gone."

"Yes, I know, and I'm very sorry."

"What become of me? I have no one . . . ." Her faint voice trailed off into a whimper. Her hand was trembling.

"Ayo?"

"Yes?"

"I want you to know that I care about you, and that I'm going to take care of you. I will care for you as if you were my very own girl."

"You mean that?"

"Absolutely."

"I maybe not see anymore."

"I know, and I'm sorry, but I know something about caring for someone who can't see."

"You do?"

"Yes. I had a little girl once who couldn't see. She was born with a disease that made her go completely blind when she was five years old. Her mother died when she was born, and I cared for her. I'll do the same for you."

"Thank you. Makena say you adopt me."

"Yes. You'll be my little girl." What else could he--or any decent man--do? They'd put her in an orphanage if he didn't, and from what he'd seen of those institutions around third-world Africa, she'd be better off dead.

There was no way he would let them put Ayo in an orphanage. Besides, Decker really liked this little girl. She needed him, all right, but he also needed her.

Ayo squeezed his hand and he gently squeezed her hand in response. She seemed so frail. Decker wished he could hug her. Wished he could make things right.

"I so tired."

"I know. Makena will give you something to help you rest for the night. I'll be back tomorrow to talk to you. In the meantime, you don't worry because I will take care of you. You have my word."

Ayo squeezed his hand with all her strength. "Makena say you from America."

"Yes, that's true. I'm a geologist. I work for a petroleum company."

"Look for oil? Here in Zaharra?"

"Yes. Our research indicates that there might be petroleum deep underground in this area. Maybe natural gas, too."

Makena came into the room so quietly that Decker did not realize she was there until she was standing beside him. "Ayo?"

"Yes?"

"I have some medicine that will help you get some rest."

Decker held Ayo's hand as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

SLAM! BAM! The door slammed as another nurse strode noisily into the room. Her name tag read "Enu Diallo." "How is the girl?" she asked Makena, motioning toward Ayo.

"She's asleep."

"All right, then. I'll be back." The nurse turned and walked out of the room without another word, making no attempt to exchange pleasantries with either Makena or Decker.

Makena put her hand on Decker's arm. "Come with me," she whispered. They walked out into the hall and softly closed the door to Ayo's room.

"Are you off-duty now?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'd like to talk with you. Could we go get something to eat? My treat. We could talk then."

Decker sensed the hesitation as Makena looked at him. "I'd love to have dinner with you, but . . . ." Her voice trailed off and she hung her head.

"But what? Would I be taking you away from your family?"

"Oh, no. I'm not married. It's just, well, where would we . . . ?" The words hung there.

"Where would we go? Well, I don't know the restaurants here in Tadjoura very well, but the hotel where I stay has a nice dining room."

Makena hung her head. "I . . . I wouldn't be welcome there."

"You wouldn't be welcome there?" Decker was incredulous.

Makena shook her head. "You don't understand."

"I don't understand what?"

"I am an outcast."

"You're not an outcast in my book."

"Perhaps not, but you are not attuned to the political situation here."

He studied her face. "So tell me, how does one recognize you as an outcast?"

Makena raised her arm and pulled back her sleeve. "My skin color gives me away."

"Your skin color? It's beautiful. More olive than brown."

Makena smiled self consciously and averted her eyes. "You are very kind."

"I'm serious."

Makena smiled and touched his arm. "Thank you. In Zaharra, my skin color identifies me as being from the Karaboo tribe. We are descended from people who came here from the Mediterranean area hundreds of years ago. At one time, not long ago, actually, my people were favored; but now we are outcasts."

"I think--"

Before Decker could complete his thought, Makena broke in. "There are other things that give away my heritage." She pointed to her face. "See my high cheekbones?"

Decker nodded. She certainly was beautiful by his standards.

"And there's something else that sets me apart in this city." She fingered the small silver cross pinned on her uniform. "I am a Christian."

"That's bad?"

"Our government says religion is for fools and weaklings, that we are a strong people and don't need religion anymore. Some of our leaders think Christians should be driven out of the country--or simply killed."

"So, is there any place where we might go eat together? A place where you would feel accepted?"

"There is one place. One of the few remaining churches sponsors a coffee house and everyone is welcome there." She hesitated. "It is some distance away."

"Let's go. If you can direct us there, I'll drive."

"You have a car?"

"Yes, a rental."

* * * * *

"Tell me something, Makena," Decker began, once they were seated at a table in the coffee house.

Makena smiled. "Of course. What is that?"

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "If you're an outcast, how is it that you acquired such a good education?"

"My people have not always been outcasts," she replied, wistfully, casting a glance over her shoulder as she did so to be sure no one was listening. "Indeed, my people once ruled this entire nation."

Decker nodded. Governments in Africa changed quickly.

"My father was assigned to our embassy in England when I was growing up," Makena continued. "He was an aide to the ambassador. At any rate, I attended high school and college in England. That's where I got my training as a nurse."

"I would think they would consider themselves lucky to have you as a nurse at the hospital."

Makena laughed derisively. "Then you would think wrong."

"Really? How so?"

"They tolerate me because there is an extreme shortage of nurses in Zaharra, and I probably have the best training of any of them. But I remain an outcast. You noticed, did you not, that the nurse who came on duty in my place did not speak much to me?"

"I noticed."

"She considers herself greatly superior to me."

Decker frowned. "I hope you don't believe that."

"There are two of us outcasts working as nurses at the hospital," Makena continued. "The hospital converted two rooms for us to live in, knowing it would be difficult if not impossible for us to find suitable housing in the nearby community. So, we each have a room in the hospital to call home."

Decker shook his head. "I did not realize that there was so much discrimination here."

Makena nodded. "Now that you know the truth, I can only hope you will not reject me."

He shook his head. Smiled. Touched her hand. "Not a chance."

* * * * *

It was as they were driving back to the hospital and Makena's "home" that she turned to him, touched his arm, and spoke softly. "Ethan?"

He was pleased that she called him by his first name. "Yes?"

"I hope you won't think I'm too forward, but I want you to know that I really enjoyed your company this evening."

Decker smiled at her. "I enjoyed the evening, too. Would you like to do this again, perhaps tomorrow evening?"

Makena smiled. "Would I ever!"

"Okay. Let's plan to eat together tomorrow evening. I'll come by to see Ayo when I get off work, and then after she's asleep we'll go."

It was as they were about to part company for the night that Decker asked the hard question that had been haunting him for the past two days: "Will anyone hunt down the man who killed those little girls and injured Ayo? Will anyone in authority bring him to justice?"

Makena glanced at Decker. His eyes were now hard, his voice deadly serious. This was not the mild mannered man she'd been with earlier that evening.

"No." She shook her head. "Ayo is not an important person. None of the authorities will do anything." Her eyes held his for a moment before she continued. "And if they did arrest the killer of those little girls, they wouldn't do much to him."

"They wouldn't?"

"No. First of all, it would be difficult to prove that he was the actual killer, but even if they did, he'd be sentenced at most to a few months in prison, maybe less if he was useful to the government. So, in answer to your question, the authorities will do absolutely nothing."

"In that case," Decker replied, "I'm going to find him, and I can do something about him."

# Chapter 4

"Ayo?"

For only the second time since he'd brought her to the hospital, the girl's lips curled into a warm, responsive smile when she heard his voice. Decker took it as a sign that she was improving, that she was feeling better about her situation. "Hi," she whispered.

"I want you to help me with something that will be very painful for you. Can you do that today?"

She knew what he wanted and she would do her best. "Yes," she whispered. It was going to hurt, but she would try to be strong. For the children.

"Okay, Ayo. I've got a recorder, and I want you to describe the man who hurt you."

"Oh!" Even though she'd promised him earlier that she would be brave, Ayo found herself shuddering with the thoughts of that terrible day. Help me God, she prayed silently. Please help me.

"I'm sorry to make you go through all that again, but I want you to describe him while he is still fresh in your memory."

"I know. How . . . How to start?"

"Think about the other men you knew, the men in your village. How tall was this man by comparison?"

"Shorter than most men in village. Stocky. Broad shoulders. Muscular. Very strong man. Kicked in door. Smashed desk with fist."

"How would you describe his face?"

"Long. Narrow. You know what I mean?"

"His face was long and narrow? Not round or oval?"

"No. Long and narrow. And he had high cheekbones. Dark eyes. Dark, evil eyes. Like . . . Like a madman."

"What was he wearing?"

"Camouflage clothes. Like soldiers wear."

"Tee-shirt and pants?"

"Yes. Short sleeve tee-shirt."

"Cap?"

"Yes. Not see hair."

"Beard?"

"No."

"Skin color?"

"Fairly light skin. Color of bamboo."

"Were there any scars that you could see?"

"Scar on right cheek. Under eye."

"He had a scar on his right cheek, under his eye, right?"

"Yes."

"What kind of scar?"

"Wide as his eye. Knife cut, maybe?"

"Other scars?"

"None I notice."

"Okay. What about tattoos?"

Ayo thought for a moment. "Oh, yes!" she exclaimed. "Big tattoo on right arm. I almost forgot. Wait. Me think."

Decker waited.

"Naked woman with lot of hair around face!" Ayo exclaimed. "Big tattoo. From upper arm almost to elbow."

"Was the tattoo in color?"

"No. It was black against his skin."

"Good. You're doing a great job of remembering. Was there anything else distinctive about him?"

Ayo thought. "Yes."

"What?"

"Teeth. They very bad."

"How so?"

"Several missing. Like, how you say, jack-o . . . ?"

"Jack-o-lantern?"

"Yes."

"Several of his teeth were actually missing?"

"Yes."

"Front teeth?"

"Yes. He open his mouth when he laugh at us. Awful teeth. Ugly yellow color. Maybe stain from smokes. Some teeth gone."

"Anything else that might help identify him?"

"Didn't walk right."

"Okay. How did he walk?"

"Favored right leg."

"Limp?"

"Not so much. More like dragged his leg."

"His voice? What was it like?"

Ayo described what the man had said and how he'd laughed and cursed at them, then fell silent and turned her face away. "He so evil. Don't want to think about him anymore," she whimpered. "Please?"

Decker squeezed her hand. "You did a good job," he told her.

"Can you find him?" Makena asked. She'd listened to what Ayo had to say.

"Yes."

* * * * *

Later that night Decker took his digital camera to a do-it-yourself photo print service. There he made prints of the images he'd taken showing the four little girls dead in their classroom. He'd get that sonofabitch, all right! Or die trying.

# Chapter 5

"Who are you, Ethan?" Makena asked, a little uncertain if she should ask, but knowing she had to do so in order to satisfy her own curiosity. They'd driven to the coffee house and were seated at one of the tables there.

"I'm a geologist. I work for an oil company."

Makena smiled. "I know. Beyond that?"

He knew why she was asking. What she wanted to know. "Okay. I can't tell you exactly who I was or what I've done beyond saying that I was a government investigator of sorts for eight years."

"United States government?"

"Yes."

"You said you could find the man who killed those little girls, so I assume you've tracked down men like that before. Am I right?"

"Yep. Gathered evidence, tracked 'em down, tried 'em. The whole works." It was more than he'd admitted to anyone for a long time.

Makena gulped. "Tried 'em?"

"Yep."

"You mean you brought them to trial?" She knew the answer.

"No. The law doesn't always work as it should. It favors the rich and powerful. The well connected. You know that."

"You . . . ," she began. Hesitated.

"Killed them?" Decker finished her question. "That's what you were asking, wasn't it. The answer is yes. Those who deserved to--died."

She didn't say anything.

His eyes hardened. "I'm sorry if I offend you, Makena, but you asked, and I'll tell you the truth as far as I can. If you hate me for what I did and wish me to get out of your life, I will. As soon as Ayo is able to leave the hospital, I'll take her with me, and I guarantee I'll never bother you again."

Makena put her hand on his arm. "Ethan?"

"Yeah?"

"Calm down. Yes, I asked," she began, "because I had to know who I was dealing with. You can understand that. A man says he can track down a thug who kills little girls, well, I want to know if he can, and that he's not just talking--and I do believe you can. I feel just as strongly as you that this killer needs to be brought to justice." Makena hesitated, then continued. "Now, for the rest of what you said, I don't want you to get out of my life. In fact, I want you in my life, maybe forever. That's how much I enjoy being with you."

Decker's face softened. "Thank you," he whispered as he met her eyes. "I'd sure hate to be kicked out of your life."

Makena smiled. "That's not going to happen." She hesitated a moment. "Now, there's something else I must ask. Something very important to me."

"Okay?"

"I've got a lot of leave time built up, and the hospital won't miss me. Would you like a partner in this search? I know this country, and I'll help you as much as I can?" She was smiling, but he saw that the smile didn't reach her eyes. She knew what it would mean to be Decker's partner, yet she was willing to accept that risk.

* * * * *

From across the street the man photographed Decker and Makena as they left the coffee house. He followed them back to the hospital and watched them walk to the door together. He made a note of the time and the fact that they were holding hands and seemed to be enjoying each other's company. When Decker came out by himself a few minutes later, the man followed him until he reached his hotel. Another man was waiting for him across the street from his hotel. He would watch Decker until he was sure he was asleep. Someone else would monitor his movements the following morning.

# Chapter 6

Makena and Decker were seated in Decker's rental car outside the hospital the following evening when he opened a small notebook and handed it to Makena. By the map light, she scanned the written summary description of the killer Ayo had described.

"What do you make of all this?" he asked.

"He's a mercenary, perhaps? Western. Most likely British or American?"

"How do you figure that?"

"Several things. First of all, Ayo said he had light skin. Like bamboo, she said. Most of the rebels are from the northern part of the country, and there are very few light-skinned men there. Furthermore, she described a tattoo, a naked woman, on his arm. That sounds Western to me."

"Military men here don't have tattoos?"

"Sure they do, but not many of them will have a gaudy naked woman tattooed on his arm."

"A mercenary? I was thinking along the same lines. Let's assume he's a mercenary. What else do you see in this description?"

"What he said to them, he said in English. Again, that makes me think mercenary. American or British, maybe Australian." She shrugged her shoulders. "The rebels favor a return to the use of our native language. Still, many people here speak English, so that may not mean anything."

"Why pick on that little village? And why pick on a school of little girls?"

Makena sighed. "People in Begwa, like those in many of the smaller villages, were loyal to the government. Destroying the entire village lets people everywhere know that the government cannot protect them, that for protection they should side with the rebels. As to the school, there are many people here who do not think girls should be educated. The killer, or whoever he works for, may have wanted to send a message to people not to send their girls to school."

"My thinking exactly."

"And you've got to remember something else, something very evil." She shuddered. "There are rumors of people within the rebel army who especially like to kill children. Babies, even."

Decker nodded his understanding. "Yeah. I've heard that."

"And there is something else to think about. Ayo is a Christian, as were many people in her village. As I mentioned, many people in the government here do not like Christians, and the rebels absolutely hate them. You said that they destroyed the church in Begwa."

"Yes, I saw the ruins of the church. It had been burned, the pastor murdered. He was in the church when they came." Decker paused for a moment, then asked, "Do you trust Ayo's description of the killer?"

"Yes."

"Children sometimes--"

"She may be young in years, Ethan," Makena interrupted, "but she is old in wisdom. She has seen brutality before. It has hardened her."

"She has seen brutality before this incident in Begwa?"

"Yes. She told me that her brother was taken away from the family at gunpoint a few years ago and made to serve in the army. They said they'd fund his education in return. Send him to high school, maybe even to college if he became an officer. Later, though, the family was told that he was killed in some sort of training accident. Others that I know of, especially those of Karaboo descent, have suffered the same fate. Believe me, I know."

"Has Ayo told you anything else that might point to the man who killed those children and blinded her?"

Makena thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No. Sorry."

"There's something else I've been meaning to ask you. Do you know who is arming the rebels?"

"Who is arming them?"

"Yes. Who is supplying them with weapons?"

Makena shook her head. "I do not know."

* * * * *

Later that night, Decker reviewed the description he'd compiled of the man who'd killed those four little girls. The thought of repaying that man in kind energized him. Even though it was late in the evening, he placed a phone call and requested an appointment on the following day.

* * * * *

The man seated in the car across the street listened carefully to Decker's conversation on the cellphone monitoring unit in the seat beside him. He then placed a call of his own.

# Chapter 7

Decker and Osei were thirty miles out of town the following afternoon when Ethan's phone rang. It was a call from the CIA agent assigned to the United States Embassy in Tadjoura, the agent he'd called and talked with the previous evening. He had not really expected to hear from him so soon. "Ethan Decker here?"

"Mr. Decker. James Bolington at the United States Embassy." His message was abrupt. "As you requested, I will see you in my office this afternoon when you return to Tadjoura. Meet me at five o'clock."

Decker ignored the brusqueness. "Okay. Thank you. I'll be there."

* * * * *

Bolington did not offer to shake hands or exhibit any signs of friendliness. Nor did he close the door to his office. This did not bode well.

Decker sat down without an invitation to do so. Bolington remained standing behind his ornate desk. Aloof.

"Mr. Decker, I have a message for you," the agent began condescendingly with no exchange of pleasantries, his eyes hard.

"Yes?"

"You gave me the description of a man and asked if we could provide his name and other information about him, including where you might find him."

"Yes, I did."

The agent looked at Decker. "You gave us an excellent description, Mr. Decker. We do know who the man is, and we also have a good idea of why you are interested in learning his name and whereabouts."

Decker didn't say anything. This wasn't going anywhere.

"I know who you are," Bolington continued, "and I checked out what you've done as an investigator in the past. Furthermore, we have a good iea of what you will do if you can locate that particular man you inquired about." Again, he paused, his eyes focused on Decker's face.

Decker didn't say anything.

"We are not going to provide you with the man's name."

Decker didn't say anything. He wasn't surprised.

"Furthermore," the agent continued, "we are going to ask that you forget about this man. Forget that he ever existed."

Decker returned the agent's stare, his eyes now hard. Nobody intimidated Decker. Better men than Bolington had tried.

"You may be wondering why we are responding to your request in this way," Bolington continued, looking a little uncomfortable. "The only explanation I will give you is that this man now is working for us and is of great help to us. Therefore, I repeat, you should forget about him and what he has done. Get on with your work of finding oil. That is why you are here. Do I make myself clear?"

Decker was smiling now, but only with his lips. His eyes were cold with suppressed anger. "You brought me in here just to tell me this crap?"

"Yes. It was important for me to deliver the message to you in person."

Decker was aware that someone was standing in the open doorway behind him, but he did not turn. Instead of responding to Bolington, he motioned to two framed photographs on the agent's desk. "Are those your children?"

The agent backed away, annoyed, and turning toward the door, obviously dismissing Decker. Turning back, he murmured. "Um . . . yes, they are."

"They're beautiful children," Decker retorted. "If you ever want them tortured and murdered, ask the sonofabitch you're protecting. He took out four little girls in a school up north of here. Blinded them with battery acid and then shot them. They were about the age of your kids." He tossed a photograph of the dead children on the agent's desk. "Anybody who kills a child like that ain't worth shit in my book."

To his right, Decker heard someone, a woman most likely, gasp. She'd seen and reacted to the photo. Decker's eyes bored directly into the agent's.

The agent seemed mildly uncomfortable, but he didn't respond immediately. When he did, he said, "I believe we've finished, Mr. Decker. Remember what I told you."

Without saying another word, Decker stood up, turned on his heel, and walked out of the room, leaving the photo on Bolington's desk. The woman standing just inside the doorway moved aside so he could pass by. "If you've got any little children," Decker told her, "I'm sure Bolington's friend will be happy to kill them, too."

* * * * *

Once Decker was gone, Bolington dialed a number on his secure phone. "I delivered the message, but I don't think this guy will take no for an answer," he said.

"I didn't think he would," came the reply. "What do you want me to do?"

"Keep an eye on him. If he keeps looking into that affair in Begwa, we'll both be prepared to interfere."

"Yes, sir. I await your instructions."

Bolington chuckled as he hung up the phone. The man he had spoken to would never wait for his instructions before killing someone. Killing was a decided thrill for him, and he seemingly suffered absolutely no remorse.

# Chapter 8

Decker was seething when he left the United States Embassy. His anger wasn't going to help, however, and he'd learned to control it. Would control it. Furthermore, his old survival skills were beginning to kick in. After making sure he wasn't being followed, he located a public telephone and placed two calls. The first was to Lawrence Tredor, the military attache at the British Consulate. The second was to Makena, letting her know that he'd been delayed and would meet her at the hospital later that night.

* * * * *

Tredor greeted Decker cordially and led him directly to a room bristling with electronic devices designed to keep conversations private. Once they were seated, Tredor smiled. "Somehow I'm not surprised to see you, Mr. Decker," he began, almost chuckling, "because your name has come across my desk several times recently."

"Really? How so?"

Tredor leaned back in his chair. "The first I heard of you was when you brought that girl from Begwa to the hospital."

"Ayo Traore? You know about her?"

"Oh, yes. You startled the hospital administration as well as the local military establishment, which means the government itself. You see, very few people are ever found alive after the rebels attack a village they think is loyal to the government. Ayo is probably the first survivor of such a raid."

"I'm puzzled," Decker admitted. "Makena, that's Ayo's primary nurse, said that government officials came to the hospital and talked to Ayo. They apparently let her know in no uncertain terms that her village was totally destroyed and her parents were dead, and that the attack was at least partially her fault. How they came up with that, I don't know."

"Bastards!" Tredor exclaimed. "That sounds like an approach the government would take. You see, they were, as I implied, quite embarrassed because the people of Begwa were loyal to the government, yet the government couldn't--or wouldn't--defend them against the rebels. In fact, the government probably would have preferred that there were no survivors."

Decker nodded. He understood.

"I understand you're going to adopt the girl?" Tredor continued.

News indeed traveled fast. "Yes. As a matter of fact, the paperwork is underway right now."

"So quickly," Tredor mused. "Often it takes years for a foreigner to adopt a child here in Zaharra, even though there are many orphans of all ages who would be better off if they were adopted, and there are many people interested in adopting them."

Decker laughed. "It's not taking much time. Not in this case. In fact, the hospital administrator is encouraging and facilitating the process. You see, when I told him I'd pay Ayo's medical expenses if he'd help me adopt her, he was happy to get her off his hands."

Tredor wrinkled his forehead. "You're taking on quite a responsibility, adopting a blind girl, aren't you?"

Decker shook his head. "Not really. Besides, you know what would happen to Ayo if I didn't take care of her. They'd put her in an orphanage, a living hell from what I've seen of them, maybe for the rest of her life."

"That's true, but it still seems like a tremendous responsibility for you to adopt her."

"No. It's a responsibility, all right, but I can handle it."

"Sure?"

"Yep. About 15 years ago," Decker responded, "my own daughter was born with a disease that caused her to go totally blind when she was five years old. I cared for her."

"By yourself?"

"Yep. My wife died when Megan, that was her name, was born. I raised her by myself. I know what I'm getting into with Ayo."

"I'm sorry. I should have been more--"

"It's okay," Decker interrupted. "I had to deal with my wife's death--and I did."

"And what is your daughter doing now?"

"A drunk ran a stop sign going about a hundred miles an hour and smashed into Megan's school bus when she was nine. Killed her, the driver, and one of the other children. Put three others in the hospital with serious injuries."

Tredor winced and shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Want to know the rest of the story?"

"Sure."

"The drunk that hit them was the son of a wealthy banker, and I'm talking real wealth. Daddy spent over two million dollars for hotshot lawyers to defend his son, and maybe a million more to buy the judge--who let the kid off with a slap on the butt. You should have seen the smirk on the punk's face when he left that courtroom.

"Then, to celebrate the court victory," Decker continued, "the old man sent his son on a lengthy around-the-world vacation. Had to have cost him a fortune." Decker's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Funny thing; the kid never came back."

Tredor nodded. He understood. He'd looked into this man's background. "To get back to your reason for being here, is there something I can help you with?"

Decker withdrew from his briefcase a copy of the photo he'd taken at the school and handed it to Tredor along with the description Ayo had given of the man responsible for the murders. "I'd like to know the name and whereabouts of this man," he said.

Tredor studied the documents.

"Before we continue," Decker added, "you need to know that I took these to the American Embassy, to a man named James Bolington. I believe him to be a CIA agent."

Tredor looked up. Nodded. "I know him."

"He said he knew the man who did this but he wouldn't tell me who he was because he now was cooperating with the United States. At least he led me to assume he meant the man was cooperating with the United States. 'Us' was the term he used. He also let me know that I should stop my inquiry. The fact is, he got rather nasty about it."

Tredor nodded. "He called me shortly after you left his office. Said you might be around to see me."

Might as well be direct about it. "So are you going to turn me down, too?"

"I don't know who this man is, or what he's doing for the Americans, but I'll inquire," Tredor replied, then added, "I'll help you all I can."

"I appreciate that." Decker reached into his briefcase again, brought out one of the cartridges he'd picked up at the school, and handed it to Tredor. "Here's something else I'd like you to have."

"This from the shooting at the school?"

"Yes. There were a bunch of them on the floor, like somebody really opened up full-auto with a rifle, so I picked up a few cartridges. It looks American-made to me. What do you think?"

Tredor studied the cartridge. "I'd say so."

Decker stood up. "Well, thanks for whatever you can do for me."

"Good luck with your search. I hope you'll keep in touch with me."

Decker nodded. "I will."

Tredor got to his feet as well and extended his hand. "Mr. Decker?"

"Yes?"

"There's one more thing I should say to you."

"Okay?"'

"Don't ask me how I know this, but you've somehow caught the eye of the secret police. It's probably because of your bringing Ayo to the hospital, but maybe there's more. I don't know yet. At any rate," he hesitated a moment, "watch your back."

# Chapter 9

"So what do we do now?" Makena asked as Decker drove her to the coffee house, a drive that had become the nightly occurrence that both of them looked forward to. He'd told her about his confrontation with James Bolington and his more genial discussion with Lawrence Tredor.

"We'll see what Tredor comes up with before we proceed any further," he replied, then changed the subject. "When do you think Ayo will be ready to spend some time out of the hospital?"

"Within a few days, I'd think. What did you have in mind?"

"My work for the oil company is almost finished. I'll turn in my recommendations soon. In a few days, the company will bring in people who will build on my work. They'll do seismic testing, and then some preliminary test-well drilling. Then they''ll decide on whether to continue work here.

"Once I'm finished with that," Decker continued, "I want to spend time with Ayo, get her out of the hospital as soon as she's ready. We'll start with short drives around the area, just to get her outside in the sunshine, and then we'll start teaching her how to get along in her new world."

"You said 'we.' I hope you'll let me help you with Ayo."

"Of course."

Makena smiled, her eyes reflecting her pleasure. How she enjoyed being with Ethan! What a difference he'd made in her life in the short time she'd known him. "You know a lot about teaching a blind child, don't you." It wasn't a question. He'd told her about Megan.

"Yes, and it's not as hard as people might think. We'll work with her, and it won't be long before her other senses will become much more acute. They'll help compensate for her lack of sight. If you'll help me--"

"Of course, I'll help you," Makena interrutped. She placed her hand on his arm. "We're partners, remember? Now, back to your question of when Ayo will be ready to leave the hospital for short outings."

"Yes?"

"She's sitting up a little now. We'll have her sitting up for longer periods of time within a day or so. And we'll get her walking around the hospital. I'd say that she'll be able to go for a drive within two or three days."

"That's good, because we might have to take her to a more secure place."

"Do you think she's in danger?"

"I didn't think so until I got rebuffed by the CIA. She's the one who provided the description of the man we're looking for, and Bolington said it's a good description. He knew who it was, anyway, recognized the man from Ayo's description. Somebody may decide they'd rather have her dead."

"Even though she's blind and couldn't identify him? By sight, anyway?"

"Yeah. She wouldn't be the first witness to be killed in a hospital bed. You know that as well as I do."

Makena shuddered. "That's true, but where could we take her? Where would she be secure?"

Decker pulled the car into a parking space and put his arm around her shoulder. "Take it easy." He'd try to be reassuring. "The British Consulate, maybe, with Tredor's permission, of course. She'd be safe there. It's something we'll have to think . . . Makena!" Decker's voice was low but sharp. Abrupt.

She drew back from him. "What . . . What is it, Ethan?"

"I'm sorry I was abrupt, but we've been followed again tonight, and I just now saw the car park." He glanced around, but didn't see another vehicle involved in shadowing them. "Danged sloppy surveillance," he added, a little scornfully.

"Oh, my gosh! We've . . . We've been followed?"

"Yes. I thought we were followed from the hospital to here and back to the hospital the first time we came to the coffee shop, but I wasn't sure. Then I didn't see anyone follow us for several nights, but, of course, they might have assumed we'd come here and someone simply waited for us. I'm going to have a look at the car. We'll see what we're up against."

"Ethan? Are you sure that's wise?"

He didn't answer Makena's concern. "Let's get out and go inside the coffee shop, just like we usually do. Be calm. Follow our usual pattern. Once you're seated, I'll slip out a side door and see who this is keeping tabs on us. Get a tag number if I can."

"You'll be careful?"

"Yes." He grinned down at her, his eyes cold. "We'll find out who this rascal is," he whispered.

* * * * *

Always assume you're being tailed, even when you're sure you're not. Decker could hear his instructor say those words yet today. Always run a counter-surveillance route when you're getting into trouble.

Decker hadn't used those skills, hadn't held that mindset, hadn't had to, not for a long time. Exactly why he was in trouble now, he didn't know, but he knew he'd better start using those skills if he wanted to survive. And if he wanted Makena and Ayo to survive.

* * * * *

Back in his home in Itsanii, a seaport city located in western Zaharra, "Happy" Dakarai celebrated his recent contribution to the revolution by placing an order for 20 armored vehicles and a large quantity of rifles and ammunition to be delivered to the rebels. The cash and diamonds that came to him from this sale to the rebels would be quickly stashed in one of his secure warehouses, probably the same building that housed one of his nightclubs. He'd move the stash to an even more secure warehouse later. His partner's share of the cash would be secured there, as well, until it was laundered, a service for which Dakarai charged a handsome fee.

Yes! He'd trade expensive weapons for cash and diamonds--and the ever-increasing opportunities to kill--any day. The thrill of killing made life exceedingly good for Dakarai. Life was good!

So the teacher from Begwa was still alive, but so what? That fact worried his partner. Dakarai knew that. But who the hell cared? She was blind, wasn't she? He'd seen to that. No way could she identify him now, certainly not by sight or by name, and who would care if she did? The authorities were deeply in his debt. He could sink the whole lot of them, and they knew it. Besides, they needed him more than he needed them.

Of course, that damned nurse and the guy who'd brought the girl to the hospital must be carefully monitored--and perhaps eliminated. Dakarai had too good a thing going to let them mess it up. He'd kill that couple if they kept nosing around. Maybe torture them first. Especially the nurse. Yes!

"Ye-e-s-s-s!" The demon within him screamed with anticipated pleasure!

# Chapter 10

Decker let himself out a side exit of the coffee shop and slipped across the parking lot, keeping to the shadows. Minutes later, he approached the car, a black BMW, from the rear, crawling the last distance on hands and knees behind other vehicles in order to keep out of sight.

A faint red glow in the car indicated that the driver was smoking a cigar. He seemed to be keeping an eye on Decker's car and on the coffee shop entrance, but he wasn't looking around. In fact, Decker didn't see him move his head to make little more than an occasional glance in the rearview mirrors. That inattentiveness made Decker's approach easier. That inattentiveness could get the driver killed in a more dangerous situation. Decker smelled the cigar.

It was damned sloppy surveillance--unless the driver was being sloppy on purpose in order to lull Decker into feeling secure when he wasn't. That was a useful technique when used properly, of course. Let the person under surveillance think he'd spotted the one keeping an eye on him, eluded him, perhaps, while all the time someone else had him in their sights. Soviet trained surveillance teams often used this approach. Decker looked around carefully, but didn't see anyone else who might be keeping an eye on him.

The license plate was excessively dirty, perhaps an attempt to make it difficult to read, but Decker made out the lettering and recorded it in his pocket notebook.

He wished he could call James Bolington and have him run a quick check to see who owned the car, but that was out of the question. In fact, after his confrontation with Bolington, Decker had an idea that it actually might be someone working for the CIA. Or in cooperation with them.

The driver now had a cell phone to his ear. There was no doubt in Decker's mind that he was shadowing him, or Makena, or both of them, probably making sure they weren't getting close to that bastard who'd killed those little girls.

Bolington was obviously protecting that killer. For what purpose? What was he doing for 'us' anyway, to use Bolington's expression. Whoever 'us' was.

There was no way Decker could get a close look at the driver or at the interior of the car. He'd assume the driver had the capability to monitor his cellular telephone calls, though, so he wouldn't make any more sensitive calls with his cell phone. And he'd get a check on that license number just as soon as he could.

* * * * *

There was a public telephone inside the coffee shop. On his way back to join Makena, Decker stopped at that phone and checked the directory to see if there was a listing of private detectives. There were two in Tadjoura. One had a 24-hour number.

"I need some information," he told the voice answering the phone.

"All right. How can I help you?"

"I want to know the ownership of a black BMW with the license plate number--"

The voice interrupted. "A BMW, you say?"

"Yes."

"You're a foreigner, aren't you?"

"Yes."

"There are three kinds of people here in Zaharra who drive BMWs. Some are foreign diplomats and a very few are company executives, but most of 'em are well-placed national government employees. Nobody else can afford those cars."

"Yeah. I can understand all that."

"You still want to run that number?"

"Yes."

"Read it off."

Decker read the number he'd recorded.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do. It may be expensive."

"How expensive?"

"Depends on how much I have to pay. One hundred United States dollars, minimum."

"That's okay. When can I come to your office and get the information? Or--"

"Call me tomorrow morning. Code 627," the voice interrupted. "If I've got anything for you, I'll tell you where to meet me."

"Wait a minute. You said 'Code 627'. What's that mean?"

"That identifies you to me."

The telephone went silent.

* * * * *

Makena smiled when Decker returned to their table, but her eyes reflected concern of a sort he recognized all too well.

"What's up?" he asked.

She glanced around the room, scooted closer to Decker, put her hand on his arm, and whispered, "I think we're being watched. We'd best not talk about any kind of plans."

Decker understood. "Who?"

"See the man seated just inside the door with his back to the wall. There's a briefcase on the floor by his chair. He was watching you and fooling with the briefcase while you made the phone call."

The man wasn't just watching them. Built into the briefcase he was carrying was a camera. It now held six photographs of the couple.

* * * * *

It was late that evening when Decker heard gunshots from outside the hotel. He immediately switched off his room lights, sprang to the window, and pushed the shade aside just enough to see what was going on. A BMW was the only moving vehicle in sight, and it was speeding away down the street. Directly below his window, a woman lay sprawled on the sidewalk in a spreading pool of blood.

She looked familiar. Decker hurried downstairs. The few people in the lobby were huddled against the wall, well away from the door. Away from the gunfire. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to the woman on the sidewalk. Or to him.

Decker looked around the lobby. Saw nothing suspicious. Nothing was moving on the street as he went outside and hurried to the woman's side.

He'd seen her before, all right. It was the woman he'd seen at the United States Embassy, the one who'd been on her way in to James Bolington's office as he was leaving. The one who'd seen his photograph of the four little girls. What she was doing there outside his hotel, he'd never know. She was dead.

# Chapter 11

Late the following morning, Decker called the private investigator from a public phone: "Code 627--"

Before he could say another word, the detective hissed, "Your number?"

Better clarify what he was asking. "What number?"

"What's the number on the phone you're using? And it better be a public phone." The voice was harsh, demanding. Angry--or more likely, frightened.

Decker relayed the information.

"I'll call you back there in ten minutes."

Decker assumed the detective wanted to call him from another phone, perhaps to avoid a monitored call, but what were the dramatics all about? Well, he'd soon find out. A glance around assured Decker that no one seemed especially interested in him.

Ten minutes later the phone rang. "Hello."

"Code?" the voice snapped.

"627."

"Mister," the investigator hissed, "I don't know who you are, and I don't want to know, but you damned well better leave that car alone. It is registered to Zaharra National Security--better known to us citizens as the Secret Police."

The phone clicked and went silent. Somehow, Decker wasn't surprised at what he'd heard. He'd call the detective later and make arrangements to pay for the information.

He walked to another public telephone a block away, dialed Lawrence Tredor's secure number, and relayed what the detective told him. "Can you come to my office?" Tredor asked.

Decker didn't waste any time driving to the British Consulate, but he did keep an eye out for anyone who might be tailing him. There weren't any BMWs in sight, but then the secret police probably had other cars they could use. Always assume you're being tailed, even when you're sure you're not.

Once he neared the consulate, Decker drove an evasive pattern around several blocks. Nobody appeared to be following him.

Tredor ushered him into his office, exchanged greetings, leaned back in his chair, and clasped his hands behind his head. "Well, Mr. Decker," he began, an amused expression flitting around on his face, "you seem to have riled the waters."

Decker managed a grin. "Yeah, I guess so, but I don't know why. What do you know that I don't?"

"You go first."

"Okay. I told you what this detective told me, and believe me, he wasn't happy to do so. Sounded scared as all get out."

"No, I suppose he wasn't happy," Tredor mused. "I wonder who he asked about that license plate."

"There's more I can tell you."

Tredor cocked his head. "Like about a young woman who was murdered in front of your hotel?"

"You already know."

"Yes. I find it important to know when an employee of the American Embassy is murdered."

"So you know who she was?"

"Yes. Her name was Sarah Hays. She worked for James Bolington. She was a relatively new employee."

"I saw her when I was in Bolington's office," Decker responded, "but I wasn't introduced to her. Fact is, I think she was more disturbed by the picture of those four little girls than was Bolington."

"I'm sure she was. Do you have any idea of what she was doing in front of your hotel when she was murdered?"

Decker shook his head. "No."

"Coming to see you, perhaps? Or leave a message for you?"

Decker shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. I had no contact with her except that one chance meeting in Bolington's office. It's possible, of course, that she wanted to contact me. Do the police have any idea of what she was doing there?"

"Not that they're releasing to the public."

Decker smiled. "But you're not exactly 'public'."

Tredor smiled and shook his head. "You are correct to assume that I have contacts within the police departments, but I haven't heard anything about the young woman. Um, now . . . ." He paused for a moment as if uncertain that he should raise a question.

"What is it?"

"This is a difficult question for me to ask, knowing that you and Makena Nwoso appear to have become close friends, but I have to ask, okay?"

"Sure."

"Is Makena sympathetic to the rebels up north, the ones who attacked Begwa? Perhaps, even more to the point, is she involved with them in any way, helping them with finances or otherwise?"

# Chapter 12

Is Makena sympathetic to the rebels who attacked Begwa, or is she actually involved with them in any way? Tredor's question startled Decker, and he mentally kicked himself for not raising it himself. He'd assumed she was not sympathetic to the rebels, was not involved with them in any way, but then she was an outcast according to the standards of the current government, a status apparently supported by many of the people of Zaharra. Whether she'd remain an outcast if the rebels overthrew the present government, he wasn't sure. "I don't know how to answer that," he said. "Why do you ask?"

Tredor leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. "You have to understand something about the history of this sad little country," he began by way of reply.

He paused, and Decker waited for him to continue.

"You know that Makena Nwoso is of the Karaboo people?"

"Yes. She told me that makes her an outcast in today's society, but that at one time not so long ago her people ruled the region. At least they were highly influential."

"That is true. You see, there have been four different governments here in the past twenty years since Zaharra assumed its independence. I don't know how many before that. Mostly they've been overthrown by force and not by free elections, although there have been some sham elections.

"The Karaboo were quite influential a generation ago," Tredor continued. "In fact, Makena's father was a diplomat during that era."

"Makena told me that he was an aide to the ambassador to Great Britain."

"That is correct. I actually met him years ago. Now, you have to realize that the present government overthrew the Karaboo-backed government in a brutal and very bloody uprising in which many of the Karaboo people were slaughtered and buried in mass graves. They then took over the diamond mines, mostly owned by the Karaboos, including the one owned by Makena's family."

"I didn't know that her family owned a diamond mine."

"Oh, yes. They owned a very profitable mine, and with the government takeover, Makena's family lost everything. Some of her family and many of her friends died in the fighting, too. I should think she might be extremely resentful of the present government. She might actually be inclined to help the rebels in any way that she could."

"I can understand what you're getting at. The government might be keeping an eye on her for that reason."

"Yes. I suspect that the government keeps watch on all the remaining Karaboo people. And I want to get to something else as well, something related to what I've told you."

"What's that?"

"Once the government took over the diamond mines, the black market trading began."

"Smuggling?"

"Not exactly. Black marketing. Instead of going through regular channels, the government traded diamonds directly with various groups to finance its activities. They used slave labor to operate the mines and were able to buy weapons and equipment that they never had been able to afford before."

"How does all this fit in with the attack on Begwa?"

"I'll get to that in a little bit. First, though, I want to point out to you a questionable connection between the United States and the present government, a connection that might involve Bolington."

"Black marketing?"

Tredor smiled. "Right. Of course, the rebels engage in black marketing, too. They seized control of a diamond mine along the northern border about a year ago, and they found that there was a ready demand for diamonds."

Decker nodded. "I understand how that works."

"Now to get back to the Begwa situation, that cartridge you showed me most likely was bought with black market diamonds. There is probably no paper record of the exchange."

"And it was obtained from the United States?"

"Yes, most likely, but the rebels trade with other countries, too. In fact, they'll trade with anyone who is willing to sell them what they want and will look the other way when it comes to payment. It might even have come from the United States via some other country.

"The people of Begwa were loyal to the present government," Tredor added. "By completely destroying the village, the rebels showed the rest of the poeple here that the government can not protect them, that they should join forces with the rebels for their own safety."

"If the rebels win, will they not simply continue the black marketing in diamonds and the oppression of those people?"

"Perhaps." Tredor sighed in acceptance of that likelihood. "Of course, there are different factions within the rebel ranks. My guess is that Bolington is shielding one of those leaders who would continue trading diamonds with the United States for arms and equipment. After all, it is a tremendous trade, and the United States military-industrial complex profits greatly from this trade. And," Tredor continued, "Bolington no doubt has found a way to profit nicely himself."

"No doubt. So Bolington is working both sides of the conflict. If the rebels lose the war, then the diamond trafficking continues as it has all along. If the rebels win, it still continues. Bolington wins either way."

"Yeah. Things really won't change much for the common people, regardless of which side eventually wins. Even if the rebels promise the Karaboos greater authority and a return of their diamond mines, it won't happen. It won't happen because there is relatively little else in the way of wealth this country has to offer, unless your company comes through with oil or natural gas wells."

The telephone on Tredor's desk jangled. He said, "Excuse me," motioned for Decker to remain seated, and picked it up. From what he could overhear, Decker assumed that someone had arrived to see Tredor. Their conversation was over for now.

Tredor affirmed Decker's assumption when he hung up the phone. "We'll continue this discussion later," he assured Decker. "I'll get back with you if I come close to getting a name for you."

Decker turned to leave, then turned back and asked, "Do you have a handgun target range here at the Consulate?"

Tredor nodded. "Yes. Want to practice?"

"Yes, but it's not just for me," Decker replied. "I want to teach Ayo to use a gun."

# Chapter 13

Ayo was sittng up in a wheelchair by her bed when Decker arrived in her room that night. "Ayo, you're sitting up!" he exclaimed by way of greeting.

"Hi, Ethan." She extended her hand to the side, the slipped it around his waist as he stepped close to hug her. He held her hand as he then sat in a chair beside her. "Yes! I sitting up. I tired, but I so excited!" she exclaimed. "This is first time I up to move around. I walk little bit, too. Around room. Down hall and back. Makena help me."

"Wonderful." He squeezed her hand, then released it. "I'll be right back." He got up and closed the door to her room, then returned to his seat by Ayo and took her hand once more.

"Makena remove many bandages," Ayo explained. She raised the blanket that covered her left leg. "See. I get better."

"That's great!" There was only a small bandage there now, just covering the bullet wound. Fortunately, the bullet had not hit the bone in her leg or a major blood vessel.

"My chest still hurt bad," Ayo continued, "but Makena says it better, too. She take good care of me. I so glad she here."

"Yes, she does take good care of you. She says you're healing up just fine. It will take time."

"Except eyes and face. They never heal."

"I know, and I'm sorry." He glanced over both shoulders to be absolutely sure they were alone, then took her hand in his. "There are two things I want you to know, Ayo."

She squeezed his hand and faced him. "Yes?"

Decker lowered his voice to a whisper. "First, I love you in spite of the hurts, and I'm going to do my best to take care of you. Second, we, that's you and me and Makena, are going to get the man who did this to you and killed those children. I promise you that."

"Ethan?" Ayo turned toward him and clutched at his shoulder. "Is okay I call you Ethan?"

"Sure."

"I love you, Ethan, and I help catch evil man."

You've already helped with the description you gave to me. You did a good job."

"He very evil."

"Yes, and--"

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! There was a loud knock at the door just then that interrupted Decker. As he turned, startled, the door swung open and Enu stormed into the room. Anger was written all over her face. "Where is Makena?" she snapped.

"I don't know," Decker replied. He turned to the girl beside him. "Do you know where she is, Ayo?"

"Not here. Left over hour ago. Said she be back."

Enu was clearly angry. "Another patient has been calling for her for well over an hour. Where can she be?"

"Is it like her to just disappear?" Decker asked.

Enu softened her voice. "No. She's very reliable. I'm sorry if I sounded rude." She looked around the room, then marched out the door. "I'll find her," she said over her shoulder.

Decker glanced at his watch. Ayo said Makena left her room over an hour ago. How closely the girl could estimate time, he wasn't sure, but it wasn't like Makena to disappear without telling anyone where she was going. Maybe she'd had no choice. Her disappearance worried him.

Enu left the door open. Decker closed it again, then sat close to Ayo. "I want to take you out for a ride just as soon as you're feeling up to that."

Ayo smiled. "I like that. Tomorrow?"

"You sure you're up to it?"

"Yes. I like ride."

"Okay, then, unless Makena says we shouldn't, we'll go for a ride. We'll do this every chance we get from now on. Some fresh air and exercise will help you get your strength back. Help you feel better. Also, there are some people I want you to meet, and we'll pay them a visit within a few days. And I have some other things I want to--"

Tap! Tap! Tap! Enu returned just then, knocking more quietly this time, and Decker cut short his thought. "I don't know where Makena is," she told them, more gently now, "so I guess I'll take over her duties." She turned to Ayo. "I'll help you get back in bed now, okay?"

"Yes. I ready to go rest."

Decker got up. "I'll come back when you're in bed," he told Ayo. "We'll talk more then."

He walked down the hall and seated himself in the hospital lobby, waiting for the nurse to put Ayo into bed, wondering where Makena might be. Wondering just how worried about her absence he should be. He'd wait a few more minutes, and then he'd call Lawrence Tredor if she wasn't back. Get his take on what might have happened.

Ten minutes passed. Fifteen Twenty. Decker reached into his pocket for his cell phone, thought better of it, then looked around the lobby for a public telephone. There was one near the door.

From the doorway he could see into the parking lot. As he lifted the receiver and began to dial Tredor's number, a black BMW drove into and through the parking lot, and stopped in front of the hosptial entrance. A man wearing a policeman's uniform got out of the car and opened the rear door.

Makena stepped out of that car. Unsteady on her feet. The man made no effort to assist her. Then Decker saw her face. It was contorted with fear.

The car drove away. Decker hung up the phone.

# Chapter 14

The moment she saw him, Makena stumbled forward and crumpled into Decker's outstretched arms. She was trembling almost uncontrollably with fear. "Ethan! Thank God you're here," she breathed as he caught and hugged her.

"What's going on?"

"Let's . . . Let's go to Ayo's room," she gasped.

"Okay, but Enu may be there. She was looking for you earlier."

"It's okay," she breathed. "She's probably angry with me again. I need to explain to her what has happened."

Enu had just finished getting Ayo settled in her bed when Makena and Decker arrived. One look at Makena told her that something was very wrong. "What happened to you?" Enu asked.

Decker guided Makena to a chair. "Let me sit for a moment. Clear my nind." Her head dropped into her hands.

"Okay. Can I get you something?"

Makena lifted her head. "Aspirin, maybe. Please."

Enu brought two aspirin tablets and a glass of water. Makena gulped the aspirin down.

"I'd just finished getting Ayo up," Makena began after a moment, her voice trembling, "when the hospital administrator paged me. Said I should come to his office immediately, so I did. The . . . The tone of his voice scared me, but . . . but what else could I do?

"Two men--cops of some sort, I guess--were waiting for me in his office. They flashed badges, and told me to come with them. One of 'em even had handcuffs out. I . . . I had no choice.

"At first I thought they were going to pull my arms behind my back and handcuff me. Instead, they grabbed my arms and fell in on either side of me, making sure I didn't try to run away, I guess, and walked me outside to where their car was waiting. Another man got out and opened a rear door for me.

"My head was whirlingl. I . . . I . . ." Tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks. "They . . . They pushed me inside the car."

Enu handed her a tissue. "Take it easy."

"They drove me around and around, not saying a word. Just looking at me with hate in their eyes. It was simply horrible. Then they blindfolded me so I couldn't see where we were. Drove me around some more. Then walked me into a building.

"To judge by the traffic sounds, I think we ended up somewhere in the center of town. By then I was so disoriented, I didn't know where we were or where I was. I . . . I tried to think of some way to get word to someone, but I couldn't. I mean, I thought I'd never come out of that building, that maybe I'd just disappear. That nobody would ever see me again."

"What happened then?" Enu asked.

"They walked me down two long flights of stairs and to a room where a dozen men were seated. I guess they were waiting for me. They took off my blindfold and made me sit in a chair under a bright overhead light. It was like a scene out of a movie where they interrogate the captured criminal. Believe me, I felt like a criminal.

"They wanted to know about my involvement with the rebels. I was so frightened I could hardly talk, but I told them I wasn't involved at all with the rebels, that I didn't know any of them. Then they wanted to know if I gave money to the rebels. They should have known that I don't have any money, not since the government seized our family finances.

"They obviously didn't believe me. They said they'd have me arrested and put in prison for life or maybe hanged for treason if they found out I lied to them."

"What did they do then?"

"I guess I finally convinced them I didn't know anything about the rebels because the men who picked me up finally walked me up those stairs and back to the car, and brought me back here. Said I should let them know right away if anyone in the rebel army contacted me. That they were keeping an eye on me, that they'd know if I gave money or any kind of help to the rebels."

Tears again filled Makena's eyes and spilled down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away. "I was so frightened," she sobbed.

Enu put her hand on Makena's shoulder. "I'm sorry about what happened," she said. "I knew something was wrong when I couldn't find you, but I didn't know what." She turned to Decker, genuine concern in her face. "Will you be with Makena this evening?"

"I'll be with her. We planned to go eat together, that is if Makena still wants to."

Makena turned her tear-streaked face up to Decker's. "You know I do," she whispered. Once Enu had left the room, she got to her feet, hugged Decker with all her strength, and added, "Tonight more than ever, I need you, Ethan."

Decker and Makena walked to Ayo's bedside and watched her for a few moments to be sure she was sleeping peacefully. He'd wanted to talk to her more, but that could wait.

He turned then, held out his arms for Makena, and held her close. She buried her face in his chest and they held each other for what seemed like an eternity. Somehow she felt secure when she was with him. It was the only security she'd known for the longest time.

"Those men really scared me," she whispered.

Decker held her. "I'm sure they did."

"Those men may have been policemen, but they were nothing but thugs. The way they looked at me, like they'd like nothing better than to hurt me, to . . . to rape me. I . . . I've seen men look at me like that before, like I was a nothing . . . an outcast . . . and nobody would care if they raped me . . . or killed me."

She rested her head on Decker's chest for a long moment.

"There was a big wooden desk in that room where they took me," Makena continued. "Some of those men were looking at me and then at that desk like they'd like to . . . ." The words caught in her throat as her eyes filled with tears. He held her while she trembled and cried. When she calmed, she tilted her head to look up at him and then whispered, "I love you, Ethan."

How much longer would she and Ayo be safe here? Decker wished he knew the answer. "I love you, too," he replied. It was true. He did love her, but . . . . Could he protect her?

# Chapter 15

For both Decker and Ayo, the timing was perfect. Decker finished his work for the oil company and was free to spend time with Ayo by the time she had recovered from her wounds sufficiently to spend time outside of the hospital with him.

Makena requested time off from her duties at the hospital and accompanied them as they purchased clothes and personal items for Ayo, took her on outings, and began to teach her how to take care of herself.

It was after they'd taken her back to the hospital and Makena had put her to bed one evening that Ayo summoned the courage to ask something of Decker. "Ethan?" she began, hesitantly.

"Yes?"

"I not sure I should ask, but something troubles me."

Decker pulled his chair closer to her bed, took Ayo's hand in his, and smiled down at her. "Well, then, ask anyway?"

"Hospital very expensive. I cost you much money. I sorry."

Decker shrugged his shoulders. "I told you I would take care of you, Ayo. I meant it."

"But . . . ." She hesitated, tears in her eyes. "Makena, you tell him."

Makena pulled up a chair. "Ayo is worried that she's costing you so much money, what with the hospital bills and the things you've bought for her. I think she's worried that you might not be able to afford this, or that you might regret your decision to take care of her. You see, no one in her village could have afforded such care."

Decker smiled at Makena, then turned to Ayo. "I understand. That's a legitimate concern, all right, but let me tell you a story."

"Okay."

"On my first job as a consulting geologist," Decker began, "I was working with a very small oil company. It was what people might call a shoestring operation. They couldn't pay me much in the way of a salary, so I opted to accept shares in the company as most of my salary. Of course, I was taking a chance on them, but I had a lot of respect for the people who were managing the company.

"Well, to make a long story short," he continued, "with my help, the company brought in two oil wells within a year that are still producing, and producing well. The following year, we brought in a natural gas well. Today, the company has sixteen producing wells, and they've gotten into the refining business. Of course, we're looking for even more oil and gas. As you can imagine, my shares of stock in the company are now worth more than I'll ever spend, and the dividends just keep coming in."

Ayo considered what Decker told her. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't understand everything about stocks and dividends, but I understand you won't hate me because of the hospital costs. I not worry now."

Decker smiled. "No. Don't you worry. I meant it when I said I'll take care of you, and gladly. I've got enough money to keep you, and I've already set up a fund in your name back in the United States in case something happens to me."

Ayo settled back, content and secure with what she'd learned about Decker. "I glad you found me when you did," she whispered, and then added, "I love you."

Decker leaned close to Ayo. "I love you, too, and we're going to get you out of here soon. In the meantime, keep your phone under the covers with you."

They'd bought a cell phone for Ayo. Decker and Makena worked with her until she could speed-dial by feel the three numbers they'd programmed into it: Decker's, Makena's, and Lawrence Tredor's. She could at least alert someone if there was trouble, and after Makena's treatment at the hands of the secret police, well, who could know if they also had their eyes on Ayo. Or if the man who'd tried to kill her might come back.

The secret police might be monitoring cell phone conversations, of course, but they wouldn't know Ayo had one until she actually used it.

Ayo was smart. She was able to quickly memorize phone numbers, and once she became more practiced with her phone, she'd be able to use it quite effectively to communicate. Decker knew she could, and encouraged her every chance he got. Having the phone available would be a major step toward her independence.

She squeezed Decker's hand. "I will. We go see your friend tomorrow?"

"Yes. We'll go see Mr. Tredor. In fact, it's a special occasion for him. We'll help him celebrate his birthday."

"Special occ . . . . How you say that word?"

Decker repeated "Special occasion."

"Special o-k-shun?" Ayo sounded it out, then got it. "Occasion."

"Special occasion! Yes. Very good. It's his birthday. There will be several people there at a party for him, and he wants us to join them. In fact, there will be people there who want to meet you." There also would be people there watching to see how he interacted with Ayo. To see how he would manage with her. Decker knew that, and it didn't concern him in the least. He could take care of Ayo.

* * * * *

Dakarai laughed when he learned that the government secret police had questioned the nurse. Let them keep an eye on her. He owned several of those top cops. Paid them well. Very well. When he wanted to know where she was or what she was doing, he'd easily find out from them. Who could know what they really wanted of her. Did they really think she was helping the rebels? Providing money to them?

Maybe they'd kill her and the kid and save him the trouble. Maybe they'd torture them both before they killed them. Capture the torture on video for him to see--and enjoy.

Yes-s-s-s! Yes-s-s-s! The kill-crazed demon within Dakarai screamed his pleasure as his host considered those possibilities. Life was good. Very good.

# Chapter 16

"Would you like some birthday cake, Ayo?" Decker asked.

"Birthday cake?" Ayo was puzzled. "I not understand. What is that?"

"Today is Mr. Tredor's birthday, and there's a great-looking strawberry cake to help us celebrate with him. You see, eating cake to celebrate a birthday is a tradition with us Westerners," Decker added by way of explanation.

"Strawberry cake for birthday? I still not understand." She'd never had strawberry cake, or attended a birthday party like this one.

"Not only strawberry cake, but any kind of cake will do just fine at a birthday party," Decker explained. "This cake happens to be strawberry flavored and looks delicious. Do you know what strawberries are?"

"Oh, yes. Parents and I raised them in garden. I like, but I not have strawberry cake."

"Well, then, Ayo, let's have some strawberry cake. Okay?"

"Yes."

Moments later, Decker cut a small bite of cake from the piece in front of them. Once Ayo had the fork in her hand, he gently guided it toward her mouth, fully aware that people were watching to see how he related to the girl. Well, he'd show them how to relate to a blind girl. That was no problem for him. "What do you think?"

Ayo smiled. "It very good!" she exclaimed.

"Another bite?"

"Yes!"

* * * * *

It would be several days later when Tredor expressed his pleasure at the way in which Decker related to Ayo. "I didn't think it was a good idea for you to adopt a blind girl," he explained, "but now I understand that it was right for you--and for Ayo."

* * * * *

"There are two people here at the consulate today I'd especially like for you and Ayo to get acquainted with," Tredor told Decker once the party was over.

"Okay."

Tredor punched a button on his desk and spoke to his secretary. A few minutes later, there was a knock on his office door.

"This is Doctor Clay Taylor." Tredor introduced the man who responded. "He's our staff physician," Tredor continued, "and I thought he might take a look at Ayo." Tredor paused for a moment, then added, "If Dr. Taylor thinks it appropriate, we'll ask a vision specialist to take a look at Ayo's eyes."

While Makena and Ayo accmpanied Dr. Taylor to his examination room, Decker used Tredor's secure phone to place a call to the private detective he'd called earlier for information about the black BMW.

Upon hearing Decker's voice, the detective immediately asked to call back in ten minutes. Decker gave him Tredor's number.

The detective would be finding a public phone. His own most likely was tapped. Or at least he suspected it was. Always assume your phone is tapped. Decker knew from experience that a phone could be a person's worst enemy.

"How can I help you?" The words were little more than a whisper. Decker detected a reluctance in the question.

"Do you have any contacts within the ranks of the rebel army?"

"I have limited sources of information." Cautious. That was to be expected.

"I'm looking for the name of a man and how I might get in touch with him. I can give you a good description of him."

"It would be very expensive information because I must protect both myself and my source. You understand that."

"How expensive?"

"Maybe as much as 5,000 United States dollars to begin my search."

Decker glanced at Tredor, who was listening. Tredor nodded his okay for Decker to go ahead.

"And how much to finish?"

"Depends on how much trouble I run into. Perhaps another 5,000 United States dollars. Maybe more. I cannot be sure."

Decker didn't hesitate. "How can I get the first 5,000 dollars to you?"

"First, you give me the man's description. If I think there's a chance I can get the information, I'll answer that question."

Decker relayed the description Ayo had provided of the man who'd killed the four children.

The detective thought over the information he'd been given. "I will make inquiries," he said. "It will take two or three days."

* * * * *

Tredor did not trust James Bolington, had not trusted him since the rumors surfaced months ago about his black-market business dealings with the rebels. Decker might help him with his plans to get to the bottom of those rumors. And there was that other job . . . . Yes. Lawrence Tredor could use a man with Decker's skills for several projects he had in mind. He hoped Decker stayed alive.

# Chapter 17

Three days and 15,000 United States dollars later, Decker had his man's name. "This is the name of the man who most closely matches your description and is known to be involved with the rebels, although I do not think he is a regular fighter," the private detective said. "As a note of interest," he added as an afterthought, "he also is said to be involved with the underground diamond trade."

"He's not a regular fighter?" Decker questioned the detective's description.

"No. I'm told he's not a regular soldier. He's said to be more like a part-time mercenary, if that makes any sense. You won't find him camped out with the rebels, at least not on a regular basis."

"Hmm? Can you explain further?"

"He is said to join the rebels at times, and fight with them, but then he goes home."

"He goes home? Where's his home? How do I make contact with him?"

"That may be very difficult. You see, not only does he fight part-time with the rebels, but he meets with them on a regular basis to conduct business. Then he--"

"Business?" Decker interrupted.

"He supplies them with arms, and perhaps aids them in other ways. Exactly how, I don't know."

"So where is his home?"

"He lives in Itsanii, on the coast. He is very elusive, of course, and does not welcome guests. No doubt he is accompanied with bodyguards at all times."

"Do you know for sure that he supplies the rebels with arms and supplies, perhaps in exchange for diamonds?"

"I do not know for certain, but I'm reasonably sure."

"You say that he may aid the rebels in other ways. What do you mean?"

"Perhaps I misspoke. Actually, it appears to be the rebels who cater to his lusts."

"How might that be?"

"He is said to be bloodthirsty and sadistic. Some go so far as to say he is possessed of a demon. If there is a raid on a village being planned, he likes to participate. He rapes, tortures, and kills for pleasure, and the rebel leaders go along with it because he supplies their needs. It was told to me that he celebrates his killings with the rebel soldiers, supplying them with expensive liquor and party favors, but that is strictly hearsay. Once the killing and celebrating is done, he apparently goes home to Itsanii."

"So--"

"Oh, yes," the detective interrupted, "and kids. He is said to especially enjoy killing little children."

"Little children, eh?"

"Yes. Especially babies. I am told that he and some of the other men play a game with any little children they encounter in their raids. One of them tosses the babies into the air and the others shoot at them."

"Is it a policy of the rebels to kill babies like that?"

"I don't think so. My informant tells me that the rebel officers and most of the other men do not approve of these sadistic games. They know that such activities undermine their cause with the villagers."

"So why do they permit this guy to do this kind of thing?"

"It is simple. They are deeply indebted to him, not only for arms but for the whiskey. The liquor boosts their spirits, I'm told, and that is important because sometimes they are not paid promptly."

"So how could I find him in Itsanii?"

"Umm . . . . After what I've told you, do you still want to find him?"

"Yes." More than ever.

"He is, in my thinking, a psychopath, a serial killer, except that in war people do not use those terms. And you must realize that he has the money to protect himself. I am not sure that you can find him, and if you do . . . ."

"So how do I find him?" Decker persisted.

The detective sighed. "I have discovered that he owns a nightclub in Itsanii. It is on the waterfront. I do not know the name of the club."

"Are you saying I could find him there?"

"No, although he probably is there some of the time. He owns the club, but he does not manage it himself. Perhaps the manager could put you in touch with him. I'm not sure that I would advise you to inquire."

"And what is the manager's name?"

"Okafor. I do not know his first name."

"Could you find out the name of the club?"

"Perhaps."

"How much?"

* * * * *

Decker looked for a long time at the notes he had taken of the phone conversation, not wanting to believe what he'd been told and written down in his notebook. He guessed he'd have to tell her sooner or later, and it might as well be sooner. It would not be easy because the name he'd been given was Dakarai Nwoso, the name of Makena's brother.

# Chapter 18

Makena was emphatic and defiant. "No! It simply could not be my brother."

"Why not?" Decker had to ask. He'd known she would be upset. Couldn't help but be.

"If you think the man who killed those little children is my brother, then . . . then . . . ." She clenched her fists as tears filled her eyes.

"Take it easy, Makena," Tredor said, his voice reassuringly calm. "We're not accusing you or your brother of anything. Right now, none of us knows what to think. Let's try to sort things out."

"But it simply could not be my brother, Dakarai," Makena insisted. "He doesn't match the description Ayo gave you."

"How would you describe your brother?" Decker asked.

"Look at me. I am tall for a girl," Makena replied, doing her best to contain her hurt and frustration. "My brother, too, is tall. Karaboo people are tall people. Tall and slender. Perhaps my brother is not as tall as some Karaboo men, but no one would describe him as short! Ayo described the killer as much shorter than the average man in her village."

"She was badly frightened."

"Yes, but she was very careful and deliberate in her description of the killer."

"Did your brother Dakarai have a scar under his right eye?"

"No. He had no scars of any kind."

"But you haven't seen him for some time."

"That is true. However, he did not have a scar or a tattoo the last time I saw him. I do not think he would have wanted a tattoo, certainly not one of a naked woman. Nor were his teeth bad or missing. In fact, he had beautiful teeth.

"Furthermore," Makena continued, "I do not think my brother would be the owner of a nightclub. Or be a bloodthirsty and sadistic killer, as the detective said someone described him. We were not raised with those values."

"No, I'm sure you were not," Tredor agreed, "but hostilities and anger sometimes cause people to change, and I can understand how the Karaboo people might be quite resentful of the present government."

Makena shook her head. "Change like that? I don't think so, not my brother. When we were little, he always tried to be a peacemaker whenever there was trouble. He hated it when people were angry at one another."

Decker looked from Tredor to Makena. "I'm curious. Is the name 'Dakarai Nwoso' a reasonably common name, such that there might be several men, or at least two, by that name?"

Tredor shook his head. "I don't know. There are no people by that name listed in the phone directory."

Makena sighed. "Nwoso is a fairly common family name. I suppose there could be two men by that name. I simply do not know."

"Could it be that someone took your brother's name, stole his identity, so to speak, as a way of confusing the authorities?" What Decker did not say was that the real Dakarai probably would have been killed if that were the case.

Makena shook her head and lowered her eyes, suddenly very tired because of the questioning. "I do not know."

"Well, whoever he is," Decker replied, "I think it's time for me to pay a visit to Itsanii. See what I can find out about him."

Tredor nodded.

Decker turned to Tredor. "Can Makena and Ayo stay at the Consulate for a few days while I am away?"

"Of course. We have excellent guest quarters. They will be safe here."

"One more thing, Mr. Tredor," Decker continued. "When I start tracking this guy, whoever he is, I may need to be somebody else. Can you arrange fake identification for me if it becomes necessary?"

Tredor smiled. "Yes."

# Chapter 19

Decker found The Green Whale, Nwoso's nightclub, without any trouble. It occupied one part of what appeared to be a warehouse complex covering an entire city block. Other warehouses, in various stages of disrepair, lined the surrounding streets. It did not appear to be a prosperous section of town, yet looks could be deceiving. Sometimes, Decker knew, it did not pay to appear prosperous.

The exterior of The Green Whale was painted a classic green and white, an exterior obviously designed to attract any wealthy tourists who might find their way to Itsanii and were out for a night on the town. A stylized whale with a grin on its face and an overflowing shot glass held in its flipper was portrayed over the main entrance. Bright neon lights advertised the variety of entertainment to be found therein.

There was a second story above the club. Offices were no doubt located upstairs.

Decker counted three bouncers positioned strategically around the club's main entrance. Most of them looked fully capable of mayhem and murder. Dakarai Nwoso--if he was there--his club, and his patrons, appeared to be well protected.

He wasn't there to inquire about Dakarai Nwoso that night, however, nor did he expect to find him at the club. Rather, Decker was there to look things over. See what he was up against.

* * * * *

The following day, Decker paid a visit to the Itsanii English-language newspaper office and asked to speak to the editor. "I'd like some information about a man by the name of Dakarai Nwoso," he said, once introductions were made.

The editor leaned back in his chair, put his hands behind his head, and smiled as he looked at Decker. That name obviously was familiar to him. "Yeah?" he grunted.

Decker didn't say anything.

"What kind of information?"

"A recent photograph. The address of his residence. Anything else you might have on him."

The editor continued to look right at Decker. His eyes were hard.

"You're wondering if it's safe to talk to me? To share information with me? Is that correct?" Decker asked, correctly reading the editor's face.

"That is correct."

Decker retrieved Lawrence Tredor's card from his pocket and handed it to the editor. "Call this man. He will vouch for me."

The editor studied Tredor's card for a moment, then reached for his telephone.

Decker waited. He'd check in with Tredor later that night and see what he knew about these newspaper people. See which side they were on.

"If you will come back tomorrow morning at eight o'clock," the editor said, once he'd finished talking with Tredor, "I will have someone show you what we have on Dakarai Nwoso. At that time, I also will want to know more about your interest in the man."

* * * * *

A young woman was seated in the editor's office when Decker arrived the following morning. She stood and introduced herself: "I am Nthanda Contee, an investigative reporter for the newspaper."

Decker introduced himself.

"I understand you are intereted in Dakarai Nwoso?"

"Yes."

The editor's eyes were hard as he focused on Decker. "Before you talk with Miss Contee, exactly what is your interest in Mr. Nwoso?" he asked.

Decker opened his briefcase, retrieved the photograph of the murdered children, and handed it to the editor.

The editor studied the photograph for a long moment. "Do you think Dakarai Nwoso is responsible for this atrocity?"

"That's what I'd like to find out."

"Your guess is?"

"Yes."

Nthanda Contee studied Decker, her intense eyes shifting rapidly from the photograph to his face. "You must realize, Mr. Decker," she said, "that in inquiring into Dakarai Nwoso's activities, you may be signing your own death warrant."

# Chapter 20

Decker nodded his understanding of what she'd said, then studied Nthanda's face for a moment before he spoke. "You also must have a special interest in this man Dakarai Nwoso?"

"I do." She turned to the editor, and he nodded for her to go ahead. "We think he is engaged in a great deal of illegal activity throughout Zaharra, ranging from smuggling diamonds to importing arms for the rebels who are attempting to overthrow our government, to laundering money, and a variety of other crimes. We didn't know he was directly involved with the rebels in the way you suggest, but I am not surprised."

"And you have pursued an investigation into his activities?"

"Yes, and I am lucky to remain alive." Nthanda sighed. "Others who have looked into his activities are not so fortunate."

Decker nodded his understanding. "He's been described to me as bloodthirsty and sadistic. They tell me that when he visits the rebel troops, he sometimes accompanies them on raids against civilians, that he especially enjoys killing children."

The editor shrugged his shoulders. "No doubt that is all true. He is, by all measures, an evil man."

Decker turned to Nthanda. "So what do you do with the information you gather on him? Is anyone in authority interested?"

Nthanda smiled. "There is something very interesting going on between Dakarai Nwoso and the authorities."

"How so?"

"We do not fully understand these relationships, but he seems to have found a protector, someone with enough clout to thwart anyone who is looking into his affairs. Perhaps you know who that might be?"

Had Tredor not told Decker that these people were trustworthy, he would not have responded as he did. "How about a representative of the United States government?"

Nthanda's jaw dropped. "A representative of the United States government? How can that be?"

"I don't know," Decker replied, "but when I asked people in the United States Embassy in Tadjoura for help in locating Nwoso, I was told that I should drop my inquiry because he was now cooperating with them. Still, I'm not quite sure who 'them' is in this regard."

"Is the United States government sympathetic to the rebels?"

"Not that I know of, but I suspect several companies within the United States are profiting from the sale of weapons and equipment to the rebels."

"We know the United States supplies military aid to the present government, yet you think they support the rebels as well?"

Decker shook his head. "I don't know, but it's conceivable. It may be that this guy is playing both sides for what he can get."

"Still, despite the warning from your government representative, you persisted in trying to locate this man who killed the little girls."

"Yes. It is important to me to do so."

Nthanda turned to the editor. "Can we proceed?"

The editor nodded.

She turned to Decker. "I can show you a photograph of Dakarai Nwoso, and provide you with information on his two nightclubs and his residence. You must realiize, however, that he is heavily guarded at most times."

Decker smiled. "I would think so."

"He is very wealthy. You must know that as well."

"No. I really don't know all that much about him."

"He is wealthy enough to have his own private jet airplane. That should tell you something."

"He owns a private jet?"

"Oh, yes. He's a world traveler. We've tracked his airplane to several South American countries as well as to the United States. Sometimes he makes a trip to those island-nations that are infamous for their secretive banking systems. He is always accompanied by bodyguards."

Decker didn't say anything. Dakarai Nwoso obviously was wealthier, and therefore more powerful and dangerous, than he'd first thought.

Nthanda shook her head. "There is no way to get close to him."

Decker's eyes grew hard. "That remains to be seen, but first I want to determine if he is the man I'm looking for."

"You are not certain?"

Decker told them about the possibility that there were two men named Dakarai Nwoso, or that someone might have stolen the identity of the other.

The editor leaned back in his chair. "Before you go with Nthanda, Mr. Decker, let me ask another question."

"Okay."

"What do you intend to do to Dakarai Nwoso when you locate him?"

"Assuming I believe that he's the one who blinded and then killed those little girls?"

"Yes?"

"Killing would be much too easy for him," Decker replied. "In my book, it's an eye for an eye, so I'll let him go through the rest of his life like those little girls would have had to--blind and disfigured. That punishment is just the beginning, but I'd rather you didn't ask what else I have in mind for him."

"You don't intend to simply turn him over to the authorities, then?"

Decker smiled. "No. But I'm going to make him wish I had."

Nthanda sighed as she stood up. Was the only justice in Zaharra to come from the barrel of a gun? "Come see my file on Dakarai Nwoso," she said.

# Chapter 21

Nthanda waved Decker to a seat in her tiny, windowless office. "I shall bring you the file on Dakarai Nwoso," she said.

"Wait."

Nthanda waited.

"May we talk a little before we look at the file?"

"Certainly." Nthanda sat down.

"Have you seen this man called Dakarai Nwoso recently?" Decker began.

"Yes, quite recently, but only from a distance. As I said, it is quite difficult to get close to him because he is surrounded by bodyguards who keep people at a distance. Of course, any one who gets too close to him may expect an unpleasant visitor in the middle of the night. That has happened. So . . . we keep our distance, but to answer your question, I have seen him recently."

Decker nodded. "Good. I ask because it may be that there are these two men named Dakarai Nwoso, or it may be that the one you know assumed the identity of the other.

"If there are two of them, how will you know which one you seek?"

"I have an eyewitness description of the one I'm looking for." He handed Nthanda a copy of the description Ayo had provided. After she'd studied the description for a few moments, Decker asked, "What do you think? Is the man you know the one I've described?"

"Perhaps. Let's look at the information in my file," Nthanda replied, scanning the information as she spoke. "First, I'll show you the few photographs I've got of him."

"He doesn't mind being photographed?"

Nthanda smiled. "Of course, he minds. But I know how to use a telephoto lens, and I caught him several times when he was out on the town, going to one of his clubs, things like that. Furthermore, I'm not the first person to investigate this man, and those people also took photographs."

"One of his clubs, you say? How many does he own?"

"Two. That is, there are two that I know of."

"I know about one of them, The Green Whale."

"There's another one called Davey Jones' Locker."

"Okay." Decker made notes. "We'll have to check that one out, too. Oh, wait a minute."

Nthanda paused. "Yes?"

"You implied earlier that other people who were investigating Nwoso were--"

"They're missing and presumed dead."

"Then you must live with the threat of harm?"

"Oh, I do. Of late, however, I've simply backed off on any investigation of Nwoso. No one in authority is interested anyway, and . . . ." She shrugged her shoulders as her voice trailed off.

Decker watched her eyes as she was speaking. "I don't believe it for a minute," he countered.

"No. You are right. I have not given up. I guess I still have faith that someone may someday care about the crimes of Dakarai Nwoso and his thugs, but for the time being I feel safer not actively pursuing him." Nthanda grinned. "Let him think no one is watching him. That is when we might catch him off guard."

"I understand."

Nthanda retrieved a file from her cabinet and selected a photograph.

"Here's the best photograph we have of Dakarai Nwoso." She handed it to Decker. "It was taken at a great distance but I enhanced it with my computer," she explained.

Decker smiled as he studied the photo. "There is the knife scar under his eye."

"Yes."

"Do you have any photos that might show off the tattoo on his arm?"

"No . . . Wait." She sorted through several photographs. "Here's one where he's wearing a short-sleeved shirt. You can see a little bit of a tattoo, but it's hard to tell what it is."

Decker studied the photo. The visible part of the tattoo might be the legs of the naked woman Ayo had described, but he couldn't be absolutely sure.

"Anything else we can look for in the photos?"

"There is something I can't tell from the photo, and that's the color of his skin in comparison to other men in the country. My eyewitness says it is 'light.' You've seen him in person. How would you describe him?"

Nthanda thought for a moment. "Yes, I would say that his skin is rather light in color. Lighter than the average man in Zaharra, anyway. Oh, and there is something else I may have that relates to your physical description."

Decker waited while she looked through her files.

"Here's a clipping about his accident." Nthanda pulled a newspaper clipping from her file. "You say he drags his right leg. Well, about five years ago, Nwoso was involved in an accident. Other than a brief mention in the paper, it was another hush-hush event, but I found out that he'd damaged his right leg, or more specifically, his right knee. That well might cause him to limp or drag his leg."

"Yes. What about his teeth?"

Nthanda smiled. "His mouth has been shut each time I've seen him and in all the photographs I've seen of him. Maybe there's a reason he keeps it shut. However," she paused a moment, "many men his age in Zaharra have bad teeth because dental care was almost nonexistent when they were growing up. And most of the men smoked cigarettes at one time or another so their teeth are stained."

Decker sat back in his chair, thinking. "I want to send a fax of the best photograph you have to my friends in the British Consulate in Tadjoura. Is that okay with you?"

"Yes. We can do that."

"Nthanda," Decker continued, "You've given me enough evidence to suggest the Dakarai Nwoso you know is the one I want. I would like to see him up close, and I think I can do that through his Green Whale Club manager, a man I know only by the name of Okafor. Would you like to accompany me?"

# Chapter 22

Nthanda studied Decker's face for a long time before she replied. "I . . . I guess so." She broke into a smile. "That means yes!"

"Great. We'll have dinner first. My treat. Then we'll take a drive. You can show me the house where Nwoso lives as well as his second club. You said it's called the Davey Jones' Locker, right?"

"Yes." Nthanda thought over what she'd just agreed to. "On second thought, my being with you may kill any chance you have to see Nwoso in person."

"Maybe." Decker didn't seem concerned. "Or, who knows, it might actually enhance that possibiltiy."

"At any rate, I'll be pleased to have dinner with you." She smiled, then lowered her eyes. "I don't get very many invitations for dinner these days."

Decker smiled back. His raised eyebrow asked why.

"I think I'm too well known and not well-liked," she explained, "because our paper has not always championed the popular causes. In fact, we've angered a number of well-placed people." Nthanda sighed. "Or," she continued, "maybe it's because people think they'll be blown up along with me."

"I know the feeling," he said.

They made arrangements for Decker to pick up Nthanda at her apartment.

* * * * *

"Want to tell me the rest of the story?" Nthanda asked, once they were seated, backs to the wall, in the restaurant she recommended.

"The rest of the story?"

"You showed us the photograph of those four little girls, and damned near made me sick, but I have a feeling there's more to your interest in their killer." They'd agreed not to use the name of Dakarai Nwoso in public where they might be overheard.

"I'll tell you, but not while we're in a public place."

Nthanda nodded. She understood.

Later that night, seated in Decker's rental car, he told her the entire story, beginning with his discovery of the little girls and his rescue of Ayo. He told her about Makena Nwoso and the possibility that the man identified as the killer might be her brother. He told her about his rebuff from James Bolington at the United States Embassy and his welcome at the British Consulate. He also told her about the surveillance, likely by the Secret Police, and the unexpected interrogation of Makena.

When he finished, she eyed him for a moment, smiled faintly, and then put her lips close to his ear and whispered. "I thought I might be putting you at danger by being seen with you. It might just be the other way around."

* * * * *

The man seated across the street in a black BMW couldn't have agreed more.

# Chapter 23

Dakarai Nwoso's residence was located in a semi-rural area five miles south of the city. Stone walls topped by a woven-wire security fence surrounded what Nthanda described as a "compound." Decker could see the house through the entrance gate, but caught only a brief glimpse of a huge stone structure that reminded him of a medieval castle.

"Have you got a photograph of this place? The house and grounds?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. Sorry."

"Maybe we could get a view from an airplane. Take some pictures from the air. Do you know any pilots?"

Nthanda shook her head emphatically. "No, Ethan. That's not advisable."

Decker didn't say anything. He'd figure out some way to get a good look at Nwoso's house and grounds and guards if he wanted to get inside that gate.

That gate wouldn't give him any problems, either. He was familiar with the operation of similar gates.

* * * * *

Davey Jones' Locker was located in one corner of an old warehouse only a few blocks from the docks. Red neon letters amidst blue neon "waves" above the entrance spelled out the name. A shipwreck was depicted below the waves and two shapely mermaids were outlined in neon. Although it was relatively early in the evening, the large parking lot was already filled with vehicles of all descriptions.

Decker drove through the lot and noted there were a number of BMWs parked near the front door. To the side of the club were a number of motorcycles. He counted at least thirty. Couldn't be sure of the exact number without getting much closer. Didn't want to get much closer. Not tonight.

He turned to Nthanda. "Do the BMWs represent government people?" he asked.

"Yes. I'd say that a number of our elected representatives stop by here after work, as do some of the foreign diplomats. They're the only ones who can afford those expensive cars, that is, in addition to the drug lords and gangsters. Some of those characters hang out in there as well, and of course, government officials sometimes entertain guests there. The management will find 'em a girl or drugs or whatever it is they want. Keep 'em happy."

"It's the same in Tadjoura," Decker acknowledged. "The Secret Police drive BMSs, too." He told her what the private detective had to say about messing with the secret police.

Nthanda nodded. "The joke around here is that more business is conducted in this nightclub than in the halls of government. I believe it."

"What about the motorcycles?"

"They belong to a motorcycle gang that headquarters in the back of Davey Jones' Locker, in the warehouse area. Some people say they have ties with outlaw motorcycle gangs all over the world."

"Does the biker gang work for Nwoso?"

Shc chuckled. "Yep. The story is that they're his drug distribution system. I think they also do murder and kidnapping and intimidation. Whatever Nwoso or his friends want done. Of course, they're paid well. Those big motorcycles don't come cheap."

"Ever been inside the club?"

Nthanda countered his question with a question of her own. "How long do you think I'd last if I walked into that place?"

"That bad, huh?"

"Everybody in there hates me, Ethan. The government officials hate me because I've exposed a host of fraud, and because our paper crusades for things like free elections, open meetings, and things like that. The gangsters hate me for obvious reasons. If I walked in, somebody would point at me and give one of the bouncers a thumbs down. I wouldn't last twenty minutes, and no one would ever find my body."

* * * * *

The Green Whale, as Decker had observed the night before, was relatively classy in its appearance, much more so than Davey Jones' Locker. Out front, bright neon advertising promoted its spacious dance floor, a band, and a variety of specials on food and alcoholic beveraages.

They sat in Decker's rental car in the parking lot and watched a number of well-dressed people coming and going. "Of the two clubs, this is the place for tourists, isn't it?" Decker observed.

"Yes. Few of the tourists find Davey Jones' Locker, unless they're looking for sex or drugs." She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, those things are available here, too, but it's not quite so obvious. Tourists can bring their wives or girlfriends here and the women won't get hassled. Bouncers see to that."

"So, Nthanda, both clubs are located in large warehouses. Any particular reason for that?" he asked.

Nwoso oversees imports of various things," she replied. "They stash them in his warehouses until they're distributed."

"Imports? Like what?"

"All sorts of things. Military equipment, mostly, though I think. Once he brought in fifty armored cars. I know, because I counted them as they off-loaded them from the ships. I'm still not sure if the government or the rebels got those. They had no markings on them when I saw them."

"They let you get close enough to see the vehicles?"

"Security was very tight, but I watched from a rooftop several blocks away, watched them through binoculars. Took a few photographs, too." Nthanda looked around as if wanting to be sure they were totally alone. "I'll tell you a story."

"Okay."

"Rumor has it that there is a huge mountain of money stashed in one of those warehouses. Or maybe it's in a third warehouse somewhere."

"A mountain of money?"

"A mountain of cash. It's packaged in what they call 'bricks,' fills a huge room that's been made into a vault, and is stacked as tall or taller than a man. That's the story, anyway."

"It's probably waiting to be laundered."

"Yes, that's the story, anyway. Nwoso is said to move it through off-shore banks." She laughed. "They say the money comes in faster than Nwoso can launder it."

"Um-hmm. I'll bet it does." Decker turned to her. "Do you feel safe going inside this club?"

Nthanda thought for a moment before she responded. "Ethan."

"Um-hmm?"

She touched his arm. "You may think this is silly, but sometimes I get premonitions. When I do, I pay attention to them. They've kept me alive."

"And?"

"I have a very bad feeling about us going inside that club tonight."

"So, we won't. Want me to take you home?"

"Um . . . ." Nthanda hesitated. "Well, yes--and no."

Decker smiled. "Okay."

"You may think this is crazy," Nthanda said. She hesitated.

"What is?"

She clutched his arm. "I really like you."

"I really--"

"Look, Ethan! That car!" Nthanda interrupted. "See that car! It's moving, and the driver just jumped out. See. Over there." She pointed. "There. There he goes--and there goes the car."

They watched an older Toyota hurl directly toward the entrance of The Green Whale, accelerating rapidly as it did so, as the driver ran away. Two of the bouncers ran toward the speeding car, then seeing that they couldn't catch up with or stop it, turned and ran the other way.

CRASH! Glass shattered as the car smashed into the building. BOOM! The car-bomb ripped the front of the building apart and several bodies were blasted through the air! People were screaming, but their screams were drowned out by the explosion.

"There'll be hell to pay now, Ethan," Nthanda hissed. "Let's get out of here. Take the side street." She pointed the way.

Decker already had the car's engine running and was shifting into gear.

# Chapter 24

Minutes after they drove away from the car-bombing of The Green Whale, Decker and Nthanda saw a number of emergency vehicles headed that way--lights flashing, sirens screaming!

"Who and why?" Decker asked.

Nthanda grimaced. "I've been expecting something like this for some time," she replied.

"Really?"

"Yes. You see, I believe Nwoso has been playing both ends against the middle, so to speak. He's been supplying the government with arms. They, in turn, have been paying him with uncut diamonds from the mines they confiscated, which he then sells on the black market. In addition, he's been supplying arms to the rebels who are fighting against the government. They pay him with drugs which his motorcycle gang distributes, while the government employees take their cut, watch, and do nothing. Some of them must have tremendous bank accounts, likely in offshore banks--as does Nwoso.

"And then there are several splinter groups in addition to the rebels who hate the government," Nthanda continued, "but my guess is that either the government or the rebels sent Nwoso a message with this car-bomb. Somebody didn't like his doing business on both sides of the aisle."

"And likely killed off several tourists and local civilians in the process. That won't be good for business."

"Absolutely not. Tourists feed the government a lot of money and something like this will cut deeply into the tourism industry. That might indicate that the rebels had a hand in the bombing." She turned to Decker. "As to the killings of civilians, you know very well that there are no civilians in this fracas."

"That is true. So what do you think, bottom line, Nthanda. Are the rebels or the government responsible for tearing up Nwoso's club?"

"It's a tossup, but I guess I'd say the rebels."

"Even though he's supplied them with weapons and they allow him to go on killing sprees with them?"

"It's a tough question, all right, but I'd have to say the rebels did it. They won't admit it, and it will be impossible to trace those responsible."

"Will anyone take credit for the attack?"

"I doubt it. Not publicly, anyway. Nwoso will get the message and life will go on as before. That is, after he retaliates, of course. And he will retaliate."

"What will he do in retaliation?"

"He will strike out against the ones who have bombed his club, and he will strike fast and hard. He has the resources to hurt either group, the rebels or the government."

"Assuming the rebels are behind this, they will have shown their ability to hurt a friend of the government, thereby embarrassing the government. The government will be cracking down on anyone associated with the rebels."

Nthanda nodded. "You'd best warn your friend, Makena."

* * * * *

Decker drove aimlessly for a little while, thinking. Getting close to Dakarai Nwoso would be even harder now. Harder, but not impossible. There was always a way. He'd find that way.

Finally, he parked the car in front of Nthanda's apartment building and turned to her. "I'm sorry our evening together had to end like that. Maybe we can do something together again?"

She put her hand on his arm. "It's been a long time since I felt like I had a friend," she said.

He looked into her eyes. "I've enjoyed your company, and I want to be your friend. We have a common enemy, you know."

Nthanda sighed and put her head on his shoulder. "I want to be your friend, too, and I don't want our evening to end."

"I know." He put his arm around her shoulder.

She snuggled closer to him, and studied his face. "Come on up to my apartment," she invited. "Please."

# Chapter 25

"You'd better alert your friends at the British Consulate in Tadjoura," Nthanda said, once they were in her apartment. She gestured toward her telephone. "Tell them what's happening here. This attack on The Green Whale could bring about riots and plunge the city and maybe the whole country into turmoil."

"Do you have a secure phone?"

"As secure as any you'll find in Itsanii."

Decker dialed Tredor's night number.

Tredor saw Nthanda's number on his Caller ID and answered immediately, although obviously he'd been awakened. "What's going on over there?" he asked.

Decker told him about the car-bomb and the damage it had done to The Green Whale. Tredor said he'd find out what he could about the incident and be back in touch.

"We received your fax of the photograph," Tredor added. "Makena is certain that the man in the picture is not her brother."

"Let me talk to her."

Tredor sighed. "She's not here."

Decker was incredulous. He'd wanted both her and Ayo to stay at the consulate where they'd be safe until he returned. "She's not there? Where is she? What has happened?"

"She got a call last night from a man who said he was with her brother in a hospital in Zimbabwe," Tredor explained. "Her brother, she was told, is near death and was asking for her. She asked to speak to her brother and whoever she spoke with told her he was too ill to talk. Then he told her some things that only her brother would know. Finally, she managed to speak to her supposed brother for a few moments. She figured it had to be her brother."

Decker read the tone in Tredor's voice. "But you don't think it was her brother?"

"I really don't know. It could have been someone who knew him years ago. There was no way for her to check it out, him being in Zimbabwe. She thought she had to go immediately to see him, especially if he was dying. I couldn't talk her out of it, and she was afraid to reveal her plans over the phone by calling you. Besides, she didn't think you'd approve of her leaving. Anyway, she left as soon as she could pack a few things."

Decker sighed. "She took off last night, then? By car?"

"Yes. She rented a car. Oh, and lest you think I should have done something more, I did send one of our men with her. The road down that way isn't so good, but he's a good driver."

"Thanks, Lawrence. Has she agreed to call you regularly, I hope?"

The man who went with her will call, and he has a secure phone."

Decker swore under his breath. Why hadn't Makena listened to him? "So all we can do now is wait and see what develops there in Zimbabwe. How's Ayo?"

Tredor chuckled. "She's having a fairly good time, actually."

"That's good to hear. What's she doing?"

"She's having fun. The man who oversees our fitness center has her exercising on the equipment several times a day. She's working out on the treadmill, lifting weights, swinging from ladder bars, all sorts of stuff. Her trainer says she's quite athletic. Also, he's teaching her some sort of martial arts. They've been focusing on her breathing and developing her senses as well as spatial orientation and movement."

"Great!"

"I think she looks and acts much better than she did just a few days ago. You remember that the bullet in her chest hit a lung and she's had difficulty breathing ever since she got out of the hospital. Well, that's cleared up, maybe helped by the breathing exercises, and she's putting on some muscle. Oh, and she spends a little time with me every day, comes into my office and we talk about all kinds of things. But, Ethan . . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Don't think for a minute that she doesn't miss you. She knows where you're at, and why you're there, of course, but she misses you."

* * * * *

Nthanda was completely exhausted. The moment she sat down, she started to fall asleep. "I'm sorry I can't keep you company any longer," she breathed. "Make yourself at home." With that, Nthanda stretched out on her sofa, pulled a throw over her, and dropped off to sleep.

Decker switched on Nthanda's small black-and-white television set, keeping the sound low so as not to awaken her, and quickly found a newscast regarding the bombing of The Green Whale. A man described as a "well-placed government official," whom Decker didn't recognize, was blaming the rebels for the bombing of "one of Itsanii's most revered industries" and promising swift retaliation for the "despicable act." In fact, he assured his listeners, government troops already were rounding up people in the city considered loyal to the rebels. "Furthermore," he continued, "the army is calling up additional troops to secure our city and our nation."

There now was the noise of heavy vehicles in the streets below. From the window of Nthanda's apartment, Decker could see several military trucks in convoy. He guessed those trucks were filled with soldiers on their way to secure the city, or on up north to battle the rebels.

Motorcycles were prowling the city, too, traveling in packs like wolves. Decker could see their headlights in the distance. Perhaps Nwoso had activated his private army. Would Nthanda be safe?

Decker sat in the recliner and pondered these things as time ticked away. Toward morning, he heard what sounded like an explosion in the distance.

From the window he could see that a building far to the west of them was burning.

He hadn't heard her get up, but Nthanda was now beside him, her hand on his shoulder, looking with him at the burning building. "It is as I feared," she whispered. "It is our newspaper building that is on fire."

An old Toyota drove by as they watched, gun barrels sticking out the windows. Another car followed. And then another.

As the last car passed by, gunfire erupted in the street below Nthanda's apartment. Who was doing the shooting was anybody's guess, but it would appear that Dakarai Nwoso's retaliation against his perceived enemies had begun. Decker guessed that the government would have little interest in most of his targets.

"Are you on somebody's hit list?" Decker ask.

"I . . . I don't know. Probably."

"Then we'd better get you out of here," Decker muttered.

"But how?"

# Chapter 26

Decker had just started to dial a number on Nthanda's phone when it rang, startling them both. The Caller ID showed "unknown number." What now?

They looked at each other for a moment. Hesitating. "Go ahead," she said, "pick it up. Let's see what's going on." Her eyes were wide with fright.

Tredor's voice came on abruptly: "Tredor here. You guys need to get out of Itsanii."

"Yes, sir, but how?"

"In fifteen or twenty minutes, two vans, one blue and one brown, will park in front of the building you're in," Tredor replied. "They will park as close to your car as possible. People in those vans will cover you while you get in your car. Follow the brown van. It will escort you to the consulate here in Tadjoura. Now, get packed and get ready to go."

"Yes, sir." Somehow Tredor's men knew exactly where he and Nthanda were located. Decker wondered what they knew about the bombing and the increasing violence in the streets.

Nthanda had overheard enough to guess at Tredor's message. She already was packing a small bag with clothing and personal items. Decker's things were still in his car. Twenty minutes later they were on the way to Tadjoura and the safety of the British Consulate.

* * * * *

"You may not know this," Tredor began, once Decker and Nthanda were seated in his office, "but the rebels are now only fifteen miles from Itsanii. They've overrun several government outposts and captured a variety of arms. We don't know how much longer government soldiers will be able to hold them off. If they gain control of the port city, it will spell disaster for the government. I thought it best that we get you and a few other people out of there." He paused, looked back and forth from Decker to Nthanda for a few moments, his eyes twinkling, then said, "Yes, to answer your unspoken question, even though we don't have much manpower available, we kept an eye on both of you."

Tredor leaned back in his chair. "Now you may be wondering why we kept an eye on you," he continued. "First of all," he turned to Nthanda, "Mr. Decker here seems to get into serious trouble without much effort, and I like to know where trouble is brewing. To my immediate interest, however, was our finding that someone in Itsanii was tailing him, or perhaps both of you."

Decker nodded. He understood--and was grateful, although he silently cursed himself for not discovering the police surveillance on his own. "Your guys did a good job," he told Tredor. "I had no idea that we were under surveillance."

"And now," Tredor continued, nodding at Decker and smiling just a little in acknowledgment of Decker's comment, "there's a girl who will want to see you. I'll call down to the fitness center for her."

The trainer brought Ayo to Tredor's office moments later. Decker threw his arms around her and Ayo melted against him. "I love you, and I've really missed you," she said as they continued to hug each other.

"I love you, and I've missed you, too," Decker responded.

Ayo lightly touched Decker's face with both hands, orienting herself to him, then leaned forward and kissed him--first on his cheeks and then on his lips.

It was the same way Megan had oriented her lips to his before that smirking drunken punk ran a stop sign and killed her. Maybe Ayo's love would help ease the pain he still felt over Megan's death. He'd loved that girl. He now loved Ayo. Loved both of them.

Megan had been dead for years, but she still appeared in his dreams. Sometimes it was several minutes after he awakened of a morning before he realized that she wasn't sleeping in the adjoining bedroom. Ayo would never take Megan's place in his heart, but he'd do his best to love her as if she were his own little girl. He'd taken care of the punk who'd killed Megan And he'd do his best to get the bastard who'd blinded Ayo.

A little later he introduced Ayo to Nthanda.

* * * * *

"What have you heard from Makena or her driver?" Decker asked Tredor.

"Not a word." His voice was serious. "That worries me."

"Where exactly did she go?" Nthanda asked.

"She talked to someone who identified himself as a friend of her brother, Dakarai Nwoso. Her brother was said to be in a hopsital in Zimbabwe, on the outskirts of Bolawayo, I believe. Whoever she spoke with said her brother was dying, had only a few days to live, and had asked her to come see him. She then spoke briefly with someone who claimed to be her brother. He asked her--begged her is probably the correct term--to come see him before he died. Made quite a plea, I think. She couldn't resist." Tredor paused. "I tried to talk her out of making the trip, to let me check things out first, but she didn't want to waste time because she was convinced that her brother was there and was dying. So, I sent Daniel Livingston, one of the guards from the Consulate with her. He would drive her."

"What was the name of the hospital?"

"Let me think. I've got it written down." He opened a notebook on his desk and began to check the entries. "Something like Rikers or--"

"Rikerscliffe?" Nthanda questioned.

"Yes, I believe that's it."

"Oh, my God!" Nthanda exclaimed.

Tredor's eyes widened. "Is something wrong?"

"You don't know what that hospital is? What goes on there?"

"No."

"It's full name is Rikerscliffe Hospital for rthe Criminally Insane. Not only is it a place for the criminally insane, but it is where political prisoners are incarcerated to be reeducated. Rumors about the hospital staff misconduct includes drug experimentation, radical surgical procedures, and torture of the patients--the kinds of stuff dictators use to repress dissent. Getting sent there is a death sentence.

"I've seen the place," Nthanda continued. "It's a monstrous stone building surrounded by an electrified fence, razor wire, and heavily armed guards. Nobody has ever escaped alive from Rikercliffe."

# Chapter 27

Tredor's repeated calls to Daniel Livingston went unanswered.

He called his counterpart at the British Consulate in Zimbabwe, described what had happened, and asked him to be on the alert for both Makena and Livingston. "Can you get me a telephone number for Rikerscliffe Hospital?" he asked.

Moments later, he had that number.

Nthanda and Decker held their breath as Tredor dialed the hospital. "I'm calling," he began, after identifying himself, "to inquire about a patient at Rikerscliffe Hospital."

"Yes sir? And who would that be?"

"Dakarai Nwoso."

"One moment please."

They waited.

Moments later, the voice came back on. "I'm sorry, sir," she said, "but we have no patients here by that name."

"Have you had a patient by that name in the past?"

The receptionist searched her records. "Not in the past year, anyway," she said. "Beyond that, I don't know. Those earlier files are in storage and not readily available to me."

"Has anyone showed up there recently looking for a patient named Dakarai Nwoso? A family member, perhaps?" Tredor asked.

"Not that I know of, sir, and I'm the first person anyone would encounter after passing security."

Tredor thanked her. Whether or not she had been telling the truth, he couldn't be sure. Still, it was all they had to go on, for now.

Decker had been studying a map of the area. "It seems likely they would have taken the most direct route to Bolawayo."

Tredor nodded his agreement.

"A very treacherous route, if I remember correctly," Decker murmured, "through mountainous country."

"Yes," Tredor agreed. "The road is very poorly maintained, and doesn't carry much traffic these days. Still, David Livingston is a skilled driver and shouldn't have had any trouble. That's why I selected him to accompany Makena."

"Okay," Decker said. "I wish we had a photo of Makena, but we don't. Get me half a dozen photos of the man who accompanied her. I'm going to retrace their route. See what I can find out."

"I'm going with you," Nthanda said.

Both Decker and Tredor looked at her. "Are you sure that's wise?" Decker asked.

"I said I'm going with you." She was even more emphatic this time.

* * * * *

Decker stopped at what appeared to be the last service station on the way out of Tadjoura on the road to Bolawayo. He showed the attendant the photo of Livingston and described Makena as well as the car they were driving, told him the approximate time they would have been leaving the city, and then asked if he'd seen them.

The attendant shook his head. "I not on duty then, sir."

"Can you tell us who was?"

"I get manager."

The manager came over and Decker again described who they were looking for.

"Yeah, they came by here. Bought gasoline. Used the restrooms." He shrugged his shoulders. "They seemed to be in a hurry. Didn't want to chat."

Decker thanked him. They now knew they were on the right road.

South out of Tadjoura the road climbed higher into the rugged mountains. Decker noticed that there were no guard rails, not even on the most treacherous drop-offs. Furthermore, the road surface condition deteriorated rapidly, with the washouts and potholes becoming ever more frequent and difficult to avoid as they continued toward Zimbabwe.

Decker drove slowly, his eyes searching the road for any signs of skid marks or debris that might indicate an accident. Several times each mile he pulled off the road as best he could, stopped, got out of the car, and searched the mountainside below the road with binoculars.

As they slowly progressed thrugh the mountains, Decker noted the increasing number of sheer drop-offs to the right. In fact, the narrow road appeared to have been carved haphazardly along the side of the mountain. There were, as he had noted earlier, no guard rails. Drive--or be forced--off the road and you'd drop anywhere from 100 to 1,000 feet. Maybe more. And there was enough underbrush below to practically bury a vehicle from view.

They arrived at a small village. Decker stopped at a market and talked to several of the people there. Yes, he was told, the couple had been through there.

Decker studied his map. There were no more villages for perhaps fifty miles.

The road continued along the side of the mountain, climbing and then dropping almost straight down through hairpin curves. Still, Livingston should have had no trouble driving the road. Decker had driven worse.

Nthanda had been silent for most of the trip. Now, as they continued deep into the mountains, she spoke up. "I'm sorry to say this, Ethan," she began, "but I've got a really sick feeling about what we're going to find."

"Yeah," Decker responded, "so do I."

It was getting dark, especially in the valley below the road. Part of the way through a narrow hairpin curve, Decker pulled the car to the shoulder of the road, stopped, got out, and looked around. Nthanda joined him as he paced along. "This is where I'd ambush them," he mused.

"You think they were ambushed?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I don't know why, but I think somebody wanted Makena dead. Maybe she knew too much about something or someone." They got back in the car. "This is where we'll begin searching tomorrow," Decker said, "unless we have good reason not to."

"What about tonight?"

"There's a village up ahead, maybe fifteen miles or so. It should be large enough to have a hotel. We can stay there. We'll check in the morning to see if Makena and Livingston were through there. If they were, we'll keep on going."

"You don't want to check on them tonight?"

"No. There's no use letting the wrong people know why we're here tonight or who we are. That would give somebody the whole night to attack us. Or to plan an attack on us for tomorrow."

* * * * *

Decker parked in front of the small hotel. Turning to Nthanda, he asked, "Would you like to share a room or would you prefer one by yourself?"

Nthanda smiled and placed her hand on his. "The only place I want to be tonight, Ethan, is very close to you."

* * * * *

The next morning, Decker and Nthanda began questioning people in the local businesses as to whether they'd seen Makena and Livingston. No one had seen either of them. Decker wasn't surprised.

They drove back to where they'd stopped searching the night before.

Mid-morning, Decker spotted the wreckage of a car. It was barely visible in a ravine hundreds of feet below the highway, but it appeared to be the color of the car Makena and Livingston were driving.

Decker dialed Tredor's number. They'd let him notify the particular officers he wanted to respond to the "accident."

* * * * *

Decker and Nthanda watched silently as the policemen climbed down the mountainside and attached a steel cable to the car. A heavy-duty wrecker then began to drag the wreckage up the mountainside and to the road.

It was the car Makena and Livingston had been driving, all right. The license plate proved that much.

The car was riddled with bullet holes, but the passenger door was open and neither Makena or Livingston were inside.

After a hushed discussion, two of the police officers climbed down the mountainside once again. This time they brought up two canvas body bags.

Decker immediately confronted them. "I want to see the bodies," he said.

One of the officers shook his head. "No. No. Very bad. Horrible to see."

"What's horrible to see?"

"You don't want to look at them. Bullets may have killed them, but animals have eaten away much of their flesh." Decker thought the officer was going to throw up.

"I want to see them anyway," Decker repeated, motioning for Nthanda to look the other way.

The officer backed away and turned his head. Decker dropped to his knees beside the body bags, unfastened the closures, and looked inside. The officer was right about the condition of the bodies, but Decker had seen gruesome sights before, and he wanted to be as sure as he could be that he and Nthanda had found the people they'd been searching for.

There wasn't enough left of either body for Decker to make a positive visual identification, but there was enough recognizable clothing remaining to indicate that the bodies were most likely Makena's and Livingston's. Tredor could probably determine a positive identification of Livingston from dental or DNA records, but they might not have that information readily available about Makena.

At any rate, the female body had been about the size of Makena, and Decker had seen her wearing similar clothing before. Swearing vengeance under his breath against those responsible for this double murder, he closed the body bags and got to his feet.

Nathanda put her hand on Decker's arm. "I'm terribly sorry, Ethan," she whispered, "but I guess neither of us is surprised."

"No, but it still hurts like hell."

"I understand." Nthanda gripped his hand. "You were quite fond of her, weren't you?"

He'd been fond of her, all right. In love with her, really. "Yeah. I wanted to get her out of here," Decker responded. "Maybe take her to America with me, where she could get herself a job where she'd be respected. Be treated right. You see, the first time we talked, she told me she was an outcast, that she wasn't accepted here now in this country. Didn't even feel free to eat in my hotel restaurant with me. She had a master's degree in nursing from a school in England, and they still treated her like dirt at the hospital where she worked." The angry words tumbled out.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know that's how it was with her."

"Well, that dream's all to hell and gone now. But I can still do my best to find the bastard who killed her."

* * * * *

Once the police had cleared away the wreckage and the bodies and left the scene, leaving them alone, Decker turned to Nthanda. "Come on. Let's take a walk."

"A walk?" She looked at him, questioningly.

"Yeah. Let's see if we can find where they fired from." He laughed derisively. "You'll notice how much interest the cops had in gathering evidence. All they wanted was to get out of here."

Decker had determined the night before that this section of the road would provide the perfect spot for an ambush. Now, he looked for a path by which a sniper might climb to a location up the mountainside where he'd have a clear shot as the car slowed for the curve. Less than a quarter mile down the road they found the path.

It was not an easy climb, but they found the spot where the sniper sat, a spot that gave him a commanding view of the approaching car and an easy target as it slowed for the curve. It hadn't taken a skilled rifleman to kill them. Not at that close range.

Whoever killed them would have had to have some help. Someone would have had to communicate their approach. Let him know they were coming. Someone had to drop him off and pick him up after he'd killed them, too, because there wasn't a nearby place to park a car along the road.

Decker searched the place where the sniper had waited. Searched in an ever-widening pattern, and found three cigarette butts and a candy bar wrapper. He placed the four items in a plastic sandwich bag he'd brought with him for that purpose. It just might be that Tredor knew an honest cop who might use these items as evidence if he were to investigate these murders.

As near as Decker could count the bullet holes in the car the sniper had fired at least eight rounds. Some of the spent cartridges should be around. Assuming the killer hadn't taken them with him. He hadn't bothered to clean up the other trash, so he probably figured nobody would come looking for them. Probably didn't care if they did.

They climbed over another rock pile and Decker found the cartridges, along with two more cigarette butts. There had been two of them, all right, a spotter and a shooter. He placed the additional cigarette butts and cartridges in another plastic bag. Maybe these items, too, would provide an honest cop with a lead on the killers. The cops who'd taken away the bodies didn't seem very interested in searching for the killer, leads or none. Maybe no one would.

Another half-hour search turned up nothing more. They'd done the best they could. Tredor's contacts would make what they could of the evidence he'd collected. It wasn't likely that anyone would search very hard for the killers. Except Decker. He intended to search damned hard.

They'd started the descent down the mountainside and back to their car when Nthanda suddenly clutched at Ethan's arm. "Wait, Ethan," she whispered, "There's a car coming."

# Chapter 28

Decker and Nthanda quickly clamored back into the spot previously occupied by the sniper, hunkered down, and watched the car, now identifiable as an unmarked, black BMW, approach and slow down. Government official or the Secret Police? They'd find out soon enough.

The BMW pulled off the road behind Decker's rental car. A man climbed out of the back seat, walked briskly to the edge of the road, and looked down to where the wrecked car had been. Stood there, rather like a tourist looking over the countryside. Seemed to be smiling.

"Recognize him?" Nthanda whispered.

"Yep. It's James Bolington. He's well-placed with the United States Embassy in Tadjoura. CIA, or something related."

"He the one who turned down your request for information on the man who killed those little girls?"

"Yeah."

Bolington studied the scene for a few minutes. Decker and Nthanda ducked as he then turned and scanned the mountainside. Let him wonder where they were, if he cared. It was unlikely he would come looking for them. Moments later, Bolington shrugged his shoulders and then climbed back into the car. The BMW continued down the road.

Nthanda and Decker watched them drive away. "He didn't actually see us, but he knows you are here," she whispered.

"Yeah. He's seen my car. He knows I found them. Somebody, probably one of the cops, got the word back to him real fast."

They waited to make sure the BMW wasn't coming back before they climbed down the mountainside from the sniper's nest to the road.

"We'll follow them," Decker said, as he climbed behind the steering wheel.

"Follow them? Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"We're not breaking any laws. Give Tredor a call. Tell him what we're doing. Who knows where they're going, but it would seem to be a little unusual for someone from the United States Embassy to be out here in the mountains, heading toward Zimbabwe, after looking over a murder scene. Especially after somebody arranged for the death-car to be ambushed on the road to Zimbabwe, right about here."

"Do you think they'll know we're tailing them?"

"They know."

Decker followed them from a distance, knowing they knew he was there, but keeping well out of sight. His map indicated there were no major intersections or places where Bolington's BMW could leave the main road until they reached the next village. Decker didn't have to follow close to them, at least for now.

Before long Decker and Nthanda arrived at the village where they'd spent the previous night. Decker drove through the side-streets. The BMW was not in sight. They continued on, certain it was up ahead.

Farther on, they came to yet another village. Nthanda immediately hissed, "There it is." She'd spotted the BMW pulling into a service station before Decker did.

They parked far down the street behind other vehicles, watching as the service station attendant filled the BMW's fuel tank with gasoline. When the BMW pulled out from the service station, Decker followed.

He closed a little behind the BMW because there was a fork ahead in the road and he wanted to be absolutely certain which way they continued on. As he suspected they would, they went to the right, toward Bolawyo, Zimbabwe.

Decker dropped back then, now almost certain as to where they were headed.

He was right. After crossing the Zimbabwe border, stopping only briefly to show the border security guards their identification, the BMW made straight for Bolawayo--and then for the Rikerscliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane. Decker and Nthanda followed.

The hospital security men must have been expecting Bolington, because the sturdy security gates opened as the BMW pulled up. Decker and Nthanda watched from a distance as Bolington and his chauffeur walked up the front steps and into the hospital administration buiilding. Both Bolington and his chauffeur were carrying briefcases.

"Do you suppose they're looking for Dakarai Nwoso?" Nthanda asked sarcastically.

"Yeah," Decker answered, "and if Makena's brother is alive when they find him, he probably won't be when they leave. Want to guess what's in those briefcases?"

"Cash, most likely. Looks like a payoff to me. I'd say they're paying off somebody, maybe the person who called Makena from Rikerscliffe. That almost had to be an inside job."

* * * * *

Decker and Nthanda watched the parking lot and the door through which Bolington and his chauffeur had entered the hospital. They didn't have long to wait, however, before the two men came out of the hospital administration building and walked directly to the BMW. The men were not now carrying briefcases.

They followed the BMW through the streets of Bolawayo and watched it park in front of a restaurant. Bolington and his chauffeur went in. Moments later, they came out, accompanied by two other men.

Decker's eyes hardened. "Unless I miss my guess, the first one is Dakarai Nwoso, the man in your photograph." He turned to Nthanda. "Do you know the second one?"

Nthanda sighed. "You're right about the first one. Now about the second one, if it's who I think it is, you're getting us in awfully deep."

"Yeah? I suppose so. Who is it?"

"It's a man they call Gebhuza. His name means 'slashing warrior' and he's heavily involved in drug trafficking. Owns a nightclub, too, I think. He also traffics in antiques, the valuable kind of stuff archaeologists dig up. Probably isn't particular where he gets the stuff he buys. Has his own private museum of antiquities, and the stuff in his museum is estimated to be worth a forture."

"So is he a buddy of Nwoso?"

"I think I'd be safe in saying they're partners in crime. I'm told that Gebhuza and Nwoso go back a long ways."

# Chapter 29

Getting us in awfully deep. That's the way Nthanda put it, and she was absolutely correct. Decker was right back where he'd been ten years ago--in awfully deep. Undercover and awfully deep. Like having been tossed into a swamp filled with alligators.

When he got out of counterterrorism and began to work again as a geologist, he thought he'd left it all behind. And here he was again, in deep. Only this time he was more personally involved than he had ever been.

He still had the skills he'd had then, of course. Some of them might need a little polish, but he still had them. He'd work on them. Polish them. It might take some time, but he'd get Dakarai Nwoso if it was the last thing he ever did.

Trouble was, this time around his friends were getting involved. Much too involved. Killed even! Decker had never had many friends, not after his wife died and his daughter was killed, and he valued the few he had now.

He didn't want to get his friends in deep, as Nthanda put it. One of those valued friends was already dead, and he didn't want to risk losing another. He'd have to go it alone, get his vengeance without risking Nthanda or Ayo. He could do it. He'd often worked alone. Preferred to work alone, in fact. Didn't like risking the lives of others.

Decker preferred to work alone for another reason. He didn't like witnesses to what he sometimes had to do. He certainly didn't want witnesses to what he had planned for Dakarai Nwoso.

He'd get Nthanda back to the safety of the British Consulate in Tadjoura as quickly as possible. Then he could get on with his task.

* * * * *

"You think those two were involved in ambushing Makena and David Livingston?" Nthanda broke into his thoughts.

"Maybe so. Bolington and Gebhuza and Nwoso. All three of them, most likely. Sniper and spotter and driver. They'd make a good team, I suppose, and I'm told that Nwoso likes to get his hands bloody, especially when there isn't much risk to him."

"Like when he killed those little girls?"

"Yeah. Maybe Bolington drove them out to where they ambushed Makena and Livingston, and then picked them up once they'd killed 'em. In my book, doing so would make him an accessory to murder."

* * * * *

They watched as Nwoso and Gebhuza got in the BMW with Bolington. The moment they were moving, Decker pulled into the light traffic behind them.

They weren't driving fast, and they weren't taking any evasive actions. "They know we're here," Decker said, "and they don't care."

Twenty minutes later, the BMW pulled into the brightly-lighted parking lot of a Bolawayo nightclub named The Zoodoo. Decker drove on past, circled the block, then parked whre they could watch the BMW.

All four men went inside the club. They didn't even glance in Decker's direction. They know we're here, and they don't care.

"What do you know about The Zoodoo?" Decker asked.

Nthanda shook her head. "Not very much."

"Does Nwoso own it? Or Gebhuza?"

"I don't know who actually owns it, but Gebhuza runs the place, so I assume he owns it. My impression is that a lot of money gets laundered there, and to judge by the expensive vehicles parked around, it's frequented by well-placed people. If Gebhuza has anything to do with it, it's a drug dealer's hangout. And like I said, Gebhuza keeps a number of priceless antiques there. Oh, and did I mention that he's been accused of buying from looters?"

"Not surprising." Decker changed the subject. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes, but I don't want to go to The Zoodoo."

"Me either, but I think they'll be in there for a while. We'll have time to get some food elsewhere. In fact, there's a fast-food restaurant down the street. I saw it when we were driving over here. Let's go back there, get something to go, and come back here."

"You still want to shadow them after they leave The Zoodoo?"

"Yes. I want to find out what we can about their habits, their hangouts, and who they associate with."

Twenty minutes later, Decker and Nthanda had their brown-bagged dinners and were back, parked down the street from The Zoodoo. The BMW hadn't moved. While they watched and waited, Nthanda called Tredor with an update on their activities.

"I had to tell Ayo what happened with Makena," Tredor told them, "and as you can guess, she's really hurt. Hurt and very sad. She's been crying ever since I told her."

"I can understand that. Would she like to talk to Ethan? Would that help?"

"Yes, but I'm not sure she can talk. Wait! She's right here, and she says yes. Hang on."

Nthanda passed the phone to Decker. He did his best to console Ayo, but with little success. "I want to talk important things with you when you back." Ayo whimpered as they were saying goodbyes. "Please," she added. Decker assured her that they would indeed talk about important things when he returned. Ayo was crying when she hung up her phone. Decker felt very, very bad--now more determined than ever to punish those responsible for Makena's death.

* * * * *

It was almost midnight when the four men left The Zoodoo nightclub. Decker and Nthanda followed the BMW to a nearby hotel and watched while Nwoso and Gebhuza went inside.

"I think Gebhuza owns the hotel, too," Nthanda said.

"He's got a little empire here."

"Yep." Nthanda replied. "He's got more money than he knows what to do with, so the businesses are a place to stash it. Besides, a hotel makes for easily laundered money--or am I getting too cynical?"

Decker didn't think so.

The BMW headed back up the road toward Tadjoura. Decker and Nthanda followed until they were sure where Bolington was going. They alerted Tredor of that fact.

There was no way Decker wanted to drive that road in the darkness, especially not with Bolington somewhere ahead of him. Instead, he and Nthanda found a hotel for themselves for what was left of the night.

* * * * *

"You can't tell me what you did before you began work as a geologist, can you, Ethan?" Nthanda asked as they drove toward Tadjoura the next morning.

"No." He was instantly sorry he'd spoken so abruptly.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. Sorry I was so abrupt."

They rode in silence for some time.

Nthanda studied his feataures. "I know you want to avenge the deaths of those little girls, and now Makena's death, but getting close to Nwoso isn't going to be easy. What's our next move?"

Decker hesitated. She wasn't going to like what he had to say. "I'm going to get you back to the British Consulate in Tadjoura where you'll be safe. Then I'm going after Dakarai Nwoso. If the plan I have works, it won't take long, but I want you to stay there at the Consulate until I get him."

"I'm going with you, if you'll let me." Her voice was firm.

"Not a good idea. I've already lost a really fine friend in Makena, and I don't want to lose you. And I do consider you my friend." He hoped she wouldn't misinterpret what he said--read more into it than he'd intended. "Besides," he added, by way of softening his statement, "I work my best when I work alone."

Nthanda put her hand on Decker's arm. "Listen to me, Ethan," she began. "I didn't have a real friend in the world until we met up, and I hope with all my heart that you like me, that you do consider me as your friend. I could even go for saying I hope we become more than friends."

"Yeah, I know. I've enjoyed being with you, too. That's why I want you safe."

"Listen to me," she repeated. "I want to be there when you get Nwoso because I have my own reasons for wanting him dead--or, better, worse. I want to help you get him."

"Nthanda?"

Her eyes questioned him. "Yes?"

"He'd make this as easy as he could. Hope she'd understand. "When I kissed you a few days ago, I meant it to mean that I cared about you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes. I hoped that was what you meant." Her eyes locked with his. "I kissed you back, remember?"

"Nthanda, I am sorry, but because I do care about you, I can't let you go with me. I've always worked alone. That's all I know how to do. I want to know that you're safe, and that Ayo's safe. Knowing that both of you are safe will take a major worry from my mind. If there's any way you can help me, I'll let you know."

He hadn't expected that she would agree with him, but she did . . . reluctantly. He hoped he'd see her again, but in this business there weren't any guarantees. Makena's death was proof of that.

# Chapter 30

Ayo had taken Makena's death very hard. Her grief was evident in many ways, but especially in her patterns of speech. Whereas she'd been speaking very good English, thanks to Tredor's and Makena's coaching, she now spoke haltingly as she had when Decker first brought her to the hospital. She didn't sleep or eat well, and the developing happiness in her face now seemed dissipated and dimmed.

When Decker greeted her upon his and Nthanda's return to the Consulate, Ayo immediately threw her arms around him and would not let go. There was little he could do except hold her, and he did just that. Held her and talked lovingly to her until she relaxed and went to sleep in his arms.

Over the next few days, Ayo gradually recovered. As she did so, she began to eat regularly again, content now to let Decker help her as he had earlier. Little pleasures in life gradually returned to her.

* * * * *

Decker dyed his hair a darker shade of brown, let his beard grow, and obtained eyeglasses with tinted lenses. While he waited for Tredor to provide him with identification papers and a driver's license identifying him as Victor McClure, Antiquities Dealer, he sharpened his old survival skills in the consulate shooting range and in the gym.

At times, he and Ayo worked out together on the fitness equipment. One afternoon, he showed her some of the self-defense skills he'd learned years ago. He'd given her a sturdy walking stick, and with Decker's guidance, she learned to to use it as a weapon as well as an aid to moving about.

Ayo also was rapidly becoming familiar with the small semiautomatic pistol Decker had given her. In addition to teaching her how to load, hold and fire the gun, he taught her how to identify sounds and voices as targets, and how to aim just under those voices. When Ayo wasn't practicing with it, the pistol was loaded for her self-defense with bullets that would fragment upon impact and wouldn't pass through walls. Decker hoped she would never have to use that gun. He wanted her to know how to use it if she did.

* * * * *

Something he'd read in Nthanda's files on Dakarai Nwoso and Gebhuza had triggered an idea that might get him close to both men--Gebhuza first, and then Nwoso. Decker had toyed with that idea for a long time before twisting it into a plan of action. A call to an archaeologist he knew from his old life set his plan--Victor McClure's plan--into motion.

* * * * *

On the day before he was going to leave, Ayo asked him to come to her room with her. "There is something important I want to talk about with you," she said, clutching his hand as she choose her words carefully.

"Okay."

She sat beside him on the sofa and snuggled against him. He put his arm around her. "I might cry," she said.

"It's okay."

"I love you more than anything in the world," Ayo whispered. She was calm now, and speaking much better than she had been immediately following Makena's death.

"I love you, too," Decker replied. It was easy for him to say that because it was true.

Ayo snuggled even closer. "I so sorry about Makena. She was so good to me. I . . . I loved Makena. I . . . I cry long time."

"I know. I'm sorry, too."

She put her lips close to his ear. "I hope you get the man who did it. He is evil. I hate evil."

"Yes."

Makena was a Christian," Ayo continued. "She in Heaven now. I see her again, 'cause I am a Christian, too."

"Yes, I know you are."

"Ethan?" She hesitated. Serious. "It okay if I call you Ethan?"

"Of course, it is."

"Something very important to me. Okay?"

"Yes?"

"Are you a Christian?"

That was a hard one for Decker. "Ayo," he began, not really wanting to answer her question. Knowing he must.

She clutched him tightly. Waited. Knowing.

"I told you about my wife and little girl."

"About Megan. Yes. I so sorry."

"Well, my wife was a good Christian. She took Megan to Sunday School and church every Sunday. It was very important to her. I went along most of the time, and I did like the people there."

"Yes?"

"After my wife died, I took Megan to church by myself. The people were good to us, too. But then, after Megan got killed, I didn't want anything to do with God."

"Sometimes we not understand why bad things happen," Ayo said. "Sometimes, though, there is purpose in what happens even if we can't see it right away."

"What do you mean?"

"I not have wished such evil on your wife or Megan, but . . . ."

"But what, Ayo?"

"If you were not here in this country and near my village a few days ago, I be . . . I'd be dead."

Decker didn't have a response. What Ayo was thinking was true. If his wife and Megan were alive, he'd probably never have come to Zaharra. And he had become very fond of Ayo. The thought of her being dead sent waves of hurt through him.

"In the book of James, the Bible reminds us that we don't even know what will happen tomorrow, that God alone holds the future--not us. He knew I would need you, and He brought you here for me," Ayo said.

Decker recalled hearing that message when he was in church years ago. In fact, his pastor had suggested that one should say and pray, "If it is God's will, I will live and do this or that tomorrow."

"I want you to be a Christian, too," Ayo continued after a moments pause. "That way, you will see Makena in Heaven. Your wife and Megan, too. Me, too, and I'll be able to see clearly again. To see you. Please, Ethan. For me." Ayo's hands searched out Decker's face and she kissed him.

He didn't know how to respond.

"When you were in church . . . ."

"Yes?"

"Did the pastor explain what it means to be a Christian?"

"Yes. He explained why Jesus came to earth, died for our sins, and rose again from the dead. That was one of my pastor's Easter messages."

"Yes. Did the pastor tell you how to become a Christian?"

"How to become a Christian? Yes. He said that it is almost too easy to be true, but that it is true. He told us how to pray to God to forgive us our sins and accept Jesus as our Savior."

"Then, please. For me, Ethan. Say prayer with me."

"Okay."

Ayo said a simple prayer, a prayer similar to the one Decker's pastor had used, and Decker prayed with her:

"Dear God, I believe and confess that Jesus is Your Son. I believe He died on the cross for me and took away all of my sins, and that He rose from the grave. Please forgive my sins and come to live in my heart. Thank you, Father. Amen."

"If you meant it, Ethan, you now have that wonderful Bible promise from John 3:36, He that believeth on the Son has everlasting life."

Decker hugged Ayo. "Yes."

"Now, I let you go find evil man," Ayo whispered. "I pray God's protection for you every day, too."

"Thank you, Ayo." Decker made a mental note to find a Bible for Ayo, perhaps a recorded one that she could listen to.

Her face brightened. "Remember that God loves you--and so do I. Whatever happens to either of us on this earth, I will see you again."

# Chapter 31

Ethan Decker, now carrying identification as "Victor McClure, Dealer in Antiquities," drove a different rental car back to Bolawayo, Zimbabwe. After checking into a cheap hotel on the outskirts of the city, he got back into the car and spent time driving and then walking a counter-surveillance route in an attempt to determine if he'd been followed. When he found no evidence that he was being shadowed, he drove directly to The Zoodoo nightclub.

There were a variety of vehicles in the parking lot, including a few motorcycles and BMWs, but it was too early for the club to be crowded. Decker left most of his gear locked in the trunk of the car, and went inside.

A bouncer looked Decker over as he entered the club, but didn't seem to pay undue attention to him.

Decker looked things over, quickly spotted where people were seated, noted what they were drinking, where the exits were located, and where the bouncers were stationed. His old skills were clicking in. He was back in the saddle. Satisfied that he could find his way around the club easily if things got hot, he slowly made his way to the bar.

Few of the people seated in the club paid any attention to him. They were used to seeing foreigners in The Zoodoo.

The bartender came over. Instead of ordering a drink, Decker quietly asked a question: "Is Gebhuza here tonight?"

The bartender's eyes narrowed. "Who wants to know?"

Gebhuza was there. Decker produced a small cardboard box and a Victor McClure business card from his pocket. "Take these to Gebhuza," he invited, casually placing a United States fifty dollar bill on the counter, not answering directly, but sure the bartender got the message. "I think he'll be interested in seeing me."

The fifty immediately disappeared into his pocket as the bartender eyed the box suspiciously. "Hmmm. What is this?"

"Open it. You're welcome to look," Decker replied.

The bartender gingerly lifted the cover from the box. Looked inside. Didn't know what he was seeing, but correctly judged it to be something his boss might like to see. "All right. Wait here," he told Decker.

Five minutes later, the bartender was back, this time accompanied by another man, a bodyguard to judge by his looks and the bulge under his jacket. "Come with me, Mr. McClure," he said.

The man led Decker through a door at the back of the club, then patted him down. Satisfied that Decker wasn't armed, he led him down a narrow hallway and ushered him into an office where the man known as Gebhuza was seated.

Gebhuza sat on a well-padded chair behind a sturdy wooden desk. Two other men, both armed with holstered pistols on their belts, stood at either side of the room. They looked Decker over when he was ushered in.

"Have a seat, Mr. McClure," Gebhuza invited, standing momentarily as he motioned Decker to a chair directly in front of the desk. Decker assumed there was a shotgun aimed in his direction under the desk. He sat down.

The little box Decker had sent by way of the bartender was open on Gebhuza's desk. The tiki that had been in that box was in Gebhuza's hand.

Gebhuza looked up at Decker. "This is very nice," he said.

Decker nodded. "Yes."

"Is it authentic"

"I'm reasonably certain that it is."

"I'm going to assume you're willing to part with it?"

"Yes. I thought you might be interested."

"In that case, I'm going to ask the man who oversees my collection of antiquities to take a look at it."

Decker nodded. "Fine."

Gebhuza turned to one of his bodyguards. "Call Kgosi. Ask him to come to my office right away."

"Yessir."

The guard stepped outside the office.

Gebhuza turned back to Decker. "Would you like a drink while we wait?"

Decker shook his head. "No, thank you."

The truth was that Decker hadn't had an alcoholic drink in over twenty years. Drinks were much too easy to dope or poison. For whatever reason, Gebhuza wasn't drinking either. Decker noticed things like that.

"A tiki pendant such as this is very rare," Gebhuza mused, turning the small, inch-long figure over and over in his hands.

"Yes it is." Decker agreed.

"Carved of whale ivory, I believe."

"Yes."

Gebhuza grinned. "It is obviously male, no doubt representing a god or powerful personage, perhaps a king."

One of the guards leaned closer to look at the tike. "How do you know it's a male?"

"See the carving here," Gebhuza replied, pointing out where the phallus and balls representing outsized testicles had been carved into the tiki.

"Oh, yeah. I see what you mean."

"Designed to be worn on a necklace, wasn't it?" Gebhuza observed.

Decker nodded. "I believe so. It was drilled through the head, and skillfully done. Not an easy task back when it was made."

Gebhuza nodded his agreement.

The door opened then and a tall, slender man entered the room. "Hello, Kgosi," Gebhuza said by way of greeting, then handed him the tiki. "Take a look at this."

Kgosi examined the tiki with a magnifying glass. "Nice work," he murmured. He held the figure so Gebhuza could see as he pointed out various featuares. "The eyes are notched in the head. Very intricate carving. This took some doing."

"How old is it?"

"I'd estimate it is from the 1600s, but I'd need to do some research before I could be absolutely sure."

"Is it authentic?"

Kgosi hesitated, but only for a moment. "In my judgment, most likely."

While Kgosi examined the tiki and discussed it with his boss, Decker eyed the antiquities displayed on the walls of Gebhuza's office. Nthanda had been correct about his having an impressive collection of valuable antiquities, and he no doubt kept others elsewhere. Of the items displayed in Gebhuza's office, two ancient swords immediately caught Decker's eye.

He got up slowly, not wanting to alarm anyone by his movements, and went to look at them. Moments later, Gebhuza stood beside him.

"Those are beautiful swords," Decker said. "Tell me about them."

Gebhuza's face brightened. "I have many swords, but those are my prize possessions," he began. He ran his fingers lightly along the blade. "Do you remember from your history lessons how 300 brave Spartans fought the Persian Empire in a last-stand battle at Thermopylae? Held them off for three days."

"And those three days allowed the Greek navy to prepare an attack that destroyed the invading forces," Decker continued the story. "Sent them in retreat back to Asia."

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" Gebhuza exclaimed, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Sent the invaders back to Asia in disgrace." He paused. "The courageous Spartans were armed with these very swords." He beckoned Decker closer. "Look. See how thick the blade is."

Decker looked closely. The blade, well over two feet in length, appeared to be almost one-half inch thick at its thickest. "It would have been a heavy, deadly weapon."

"Yes. Only the mighty Spartans were strong enough to fight with something like this." Gebhuza paused, his eyes glowing. "There are only two other original swords from that battle in existence," he said, "and I'm working on acquiring them. One day soon they will be mine."

"I see."

"I'll tell you something else." Gebhuza's voice was a husky whipser. "I myself love fighting with great swords such as these."

"So you know how to use them?"

"Oh, yes. I was trained in the ancient art of swordsmanship by some of the best warriors in the modern world," Gebhuza explained. "I have put in many hours of full-contact sparring with warriors from the Middle East and from Asia, with a variety of swords, pole-arms, and other weapons, I might add. In fact, I prefer the sword to the gun for close-up fighting."

When Gebhuza turned back to Kgosi, Decker looked carefully to see how the swords were mounted to the wall for display. While the mounts were sturdy, as they had to be to hold the heavy weapons, he noted that the swords themselves were held in place by small plastic clips. He might not be the swordsman Gebhuza claimed to be, but he, too, had studied the science of swordsmanship.

* * * * *

"Any question in your mind about it being a fake?" Gebhuza asked Kgosi regarding the tiki.

Kgosi shrugged his shoulders. "In this day and age, there is always a slight doubt, but I'd say this one is real." He smiled. "It is well-suited to you, Gebhuza, because it likely represents a god or an important chief with much wealth and virility."

Gebhuza took the tiki from Kgosi and turned to face Decker. "One question remains, Mr. McClure."

"What's that?"

"How much are you asking for the tiki?"

All eyes focused on Decker.

"Let me explain," Decker began. "I am a dealer in fine antiquities. I can supply other items of equal or greater rarity that I think will interest you, and I will do so in the future if you wish. As for this item, I would like to exchange it for some information and perhaps a phone call on my behalf."

Gebhuza didn't say anything. He wasn't smiling anymore. Nobody was. The bodyguards had come to attention. Hands near their weapons.

"You see, I also deal in diamonds," Decker continued, paying no attention to the mounting tension in the room. "Sometimes--"

"Diamonds?" Gehbuza interrupted, suddenly very intereted in what Decker was saying. "What kind of diamonds? Cut or . . . ?"

"Both cut and uncut, but only the highest grades," Decker answered.

"Yes. Yes, go on!" Gebhuza's eyes dropped to the tiki in his hand. It was indeed, beautiful, and as Kgosi had said, well suited to an important chief as he was.

"I understand that a friend of yours, a man by the name of Dakarai Nwoso, is involved in the diamond trade," Decker responded. "If you could put me in touch with him, perhaps arrange a meeting with him, the tiki is yours."

# Chapter 32

He'd gotten what he wanted. Gebhuza had promised to arrange an appointment for him with Dakarai Nwoso. It was time to leave The Zoodoo.

Decker walked quietly through the club, remaining as inconspicious as possbile, out the front door, and across the parking lot toward his car. The bouncers must have been alerted, because not one of them paid any special attention to him as he left, yet patrons were quietly moved out of his path and doors opened as he approached.

The parking lot was beginning to fill with a variety of vehicles. Decker noted the arrival of half a dozen bikers as he left the club and was reminded of the thirty or more motorcycles parked outside Nwoso's Davey Jones' Locker in Itsanii. Maybe these guys were a part of Gebhuza's drug distribution system.

Trouble! As Decker approached his car, he noted a young man with long, unkempt hair and wearing a dirty tee-shirt lounging against the car parked to the right of his. Unmistakable trouble!

His wide eyes were crazed, reminding Decker of cracked marbles. He was high on something. Wouldn't feel any pain. As Decker started to unlock his car, the man cursed, scowled, spat on the ground at his feet, and took a step in Decker's direction. He showed Decker the butcher knife in his hand. Slashed the air! Once! Twice! Menacing as he could be. Blind rage was written all over his crazed face!

"What do you want?" Decker asked, facing him. Alert to any accomplice who might be coming up behind him. Seeing none.

"Your money. Give me your money. Otherwise you get hurt. Maybe dead." The man snarled and again slashed the air with his knife as he held out his free hand, edging closer and closer to Decker as he hissed, "If you don't, I stick knife in your gut."

"No you won't."

"I'll--"

There would be no reasoning with this doped-up thug. Decker hadn't fought anyone with a knife for a long time, but he hadn't forgotten how. The man's words died in his throat as Decker first broke his jaw, then both arms. There was a dazed expression in his crazed eyes even before Decker kicked him in the testicles, dropping him senseless to the pavement.

A quick search of the man's pockets yielded no identification, but a small roll of bills was tucked in his right shoe. Decker took the cash and the butcher knife with him as he drove away.

Had Decker been set up? The small roll of money the man carried didn't amount to a payoff for killing someone, but he couldn't be sure that wasn't the intent. Maybe he wasn't worth more than that to them. He'd watch his back.

It wasn't likely that Decker had been set up. The men he was dealing with were professionals. They wouldn't send a drugged assassin after him. Still . . . .

After driving a mile or so and determining that he probably wasn't being followed, Decker spotted a sewer manhole cover. He stopped, broke the knife, and dropped the pieces into the sewer before continuing to his hotel.

He'd watched for anyone following him, driven an evasive pattern, and hadn't seen anyone. Even so, he'd leave the car parked there for the night and go somewhere else to sleep. After retrieving his briefcase and overnight bag from the car trunk, he called a taxi.

After Decker watched to be sure the taxi wasn't being followed, he got out of it at a busy intersection and called another cab.

* * * * *

The tiki he'd given Gebhuza was, of course, a fake--a high-quality reproduction, but a fake, nonetheless. Not one in a million archaeologists could positively identify it as a fake or determine its true origin, however. Decker had obtained it from a friend, an archaeologist who'd had several similar items made and used a few years ago in a successful sting operation against looters of archaeological sites in southern Africa.

* * * * *

Once at his chosen hotel for the night and relatively certain that he had not been followed there, Decker placed a call to Tredor and informed him of his activities. Tredor wished him well.

Still later that night his cell phone rang. Gebhuza himself was on the line. The desired appointment with Dakarai Nwoso had been set up for Victor McClure, three evenings hence, at Gebhuza's club. Gebhuza had done his part of the bargain.

"I hope to see you again when you can offer me additional treasures," Gebhuza informed Decker, and Decker assured him that he would be happy to comply with his wishes. It might be he'd have need of Gebhuza's services again.

"Once I get the business with Dakarai Nwoso moving, I'll have more time to devote to antiquities for you," Decker said, adding that that was the part of his work that he especially enjoyed. He could almost feel the responsive smile in Gebhuza's voice.

* * * * *

Things were going too smoothly. That concerned Decker.

There is a saying in the military that if your advance is going well, you are walking directly into an ambush. Decker's advance was going well. Now he must find a way to foil the ambush that was almost certainly waiting for him.

There is another law of sorts that an old warrior like Decker had to acknowledge: You might as well smile today, because tomorrow will be worse. Not may be worse. Will be worse!

Decker's tomorrow would be worse.

# Chapter 33

Decker called Nthanda the following morning at the British Consulate in Tadjoura where she'd been staying along with Ayo. "I'm so happy, Ethan! I'm going back to work tomorrow," she told him immediately, hushed excitement in her voice.

"You're . . going . . back . . to . .work? In . . Itsanii?" Decker couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Yes! I'm so excited!" she gushed, paying no heed to the reluctance in his voice. "It will be so good to be in my own apartment again, and I'm eager to be back at work. There is so much that I want to do."

"Isn't that--"

"Oh, don't worry, Ethan. I'll be okay," she interrupted, sensing his concern.

Decker wasn't so sure of that. "But wasn't your newspaper office burned out?" he asked.

"Well, yes," Nthanda explained, "but my editor made arrangements for us to use a nearby building as office space. Anyway, the fire was contained and the printing equipment wasn't damaged. The fire didn't even reach my office. None of my files burned, although I understand there's a smokey smell everywhere. I want to get things cleaned up as soon as possible and--"

"Are you absolutely certain you'll be safe?"

"Oh, yes. The government forces have driven the rebels back into the hills, well away from Itsanii. And Ethan, they've determined who torched the newspaper office. At least they think so. It was nothing related to the car-bombing of that club."

Decker wasn't so sure it was a good idea for Nthanda to be back in Itsanii. She'd made a number of enemies there, and--

"I hope you'll come see me." Nthanda's words broke into his thoughts.

He hoped she'd be alive for him to come visit, but he couldn't come right out and say that. "Oh, yes," he assured her, in spite of his thinking. "I'd like that." He meant it. He'd enjoyed her company. Hoped she'd be alive--

"Maybe we could do something special together when you come to see me."

"Sure. Have you got something special in mind?"

"Maybe we could go to a nice restaurant. Wait! Better yet, I'll fix you a steak dinner at my apartment. I'm really a good cook." There was a decided smile in Nthanda's voice.

"I'll take you up on that." He'd try to be enthusiastic.

"I'll wear a nice dress, too. You've never seen me in a dress."

"No, but you're a beautiful girl. You'd look great in anything."

Nthanda almost giggled. "Umm. You're so nice to say that. I'll fix my hair, too, just for you."

Decker could hear the happiness in her voice. "Okay. I'll look forward to seeing you just as soon as I can."

"After we eat, we could go somewhere special for the evening. Just to enjoy one another's company."

Her enthusiasm was lifting his own spirits. He was beginning to anticipate seeing her again even more. "We'll do it, Nthanda," he agreed. "I'd like being with you very much."

* * * * *

Decker sat there a long time after he hung up the phone. It was not, he told himself, a good move for Nthanda to go back to Itsanii. Not now. Maybe not ever. Still, it wasn't his call. Why couldn't she stay where she'd be safe? A few more days, anyway?

He'd stay in Bolawayo, Zimbabwe, until his appointment with Nwoso. Then he'd go see Nthanda. Try to talk her into getting out of Itsanii. Maybe get her out of Africa altogether. She could go to America with him and Ayo.

* * * * *

He did miss Ayo. Once he got this business with Dakarai Nwoso and Gebhuza over with, he'd spend more time with her. A lot more time. Teach her some new skills. Take her with him everywhere he went. Take her to America with him. Get her out of Africa, too.

When he'd talked with her, she told him that she'd had some minor cosmetic surgery to minimize the scarring on her face. She'd been pleased with the results, describing in detail to Decker how much smoother her face felt. She wouldn't be nearly so self-conscious now. The surgeon had been very kind to her. There would be more surgery.

Something else was happening with Ayo. Tredor had requested that an eye specialist examine her. She'd been able to detect light and darkness in one eye that had not been as damaged by the acid. It just might be that . . . . Time would tell.

Several members of the Consulate staff had taken Ayo under their collective wings. Tredor did not want her to leave the facility, and with Decker's encouragement they'd hired a teacher to come there and work with her. Furthermore, Tredor and other staff members spent time encouraging her as well as tutoring her.

And Ayo was rapidly making friends with the children of the Consulate employees. Back home in Begwa she'd always been the older sibling, the teacher of little children. Now she could be an adolescent and relate to other children as a peer and have the kind of relationships she'd never had before.

Never mind all of this care and attention, however. Ayo wanted Decker back. Wanted him to be with her. How she'd ever been so fortunate to have him near when she needed him, she wasn't at all certain, but she thanked God every day for His goodness to her.

* * * * *

It was not "tomorrow" but the second evening after Decker's visit to Gebhuza that things got worse. Much worse.

Nthanda was back at work in Itsanii. Decker would not call her until his work with Nwoso was complete. She accepted that as necessary. He did check in with Tredor, however, so Nthanda relied on him to assure Decker that she was okay and happy to be back at work.

She'd called Tredor twice that day, once from work and once from her apartment, just to reassure him that she was okay and that things were going well. Everything seemed to be going nicely. Things always seemed that way when you were walking into an ambush. Why couldn't she realize that?

The fire-damaged newspaper editor's office was being rebuilt, and Nthanda was looking forward to moving back into her own office when the cleaning crew finished. And there was always a new story to pursue. Investigative reporting was Nthanda's life.

Smile today, because tomorrow will be worse.

* * * * *

It was late that night when Decker's phone rang. He immediately sensed in his gut that things were going to get worse. Or already had.

"I've got some very troubling news," Tredor began.

Decker was instantly awake. "What's that?"

"Nthanda's editor called. She's missing."

# Chapter 34

Decker swore under his breath. Things had just gotten worse, all right. He hadn't wanted Nthanda to leave the Consulate. Knew that it wasn't safe for her to do so. "What can you tell me about her disappearance?" he asked.

"Not much so far," Tredor responded. "She's always kept in close contact with her editor when she's been on assignments, so we assume this has to be serious. At first, her editor thought someone might have kidnapped her for ransom, but he hasn't had any demands to pay for her freedom. The police aren't doing much. They say they have no evidence of foul play. Nobody saw her being forced into a car or anything like that. In fact, the police imply that she may simply be away visiting friends, or that she's gone undercover on a newspaper assignment. Of course, her editor says that's all nonsense, that she's never disappeared like that before."

"What do you think has happened to her?"

Tredor sighed. "As you can guess, I advised her not to go back to Itsanii just yet, if ever. She's made enemies among the government officials there as well as among the criminal element with her investigative reporting, so it wouldn't surprise me if one of her enemies decided it was time for her to disappear permanently. The best I can do is say I'll keep you informed if I learn anything." Tredor paused, then added, "Watch your back."

* * * * *

Decker felt absolutely helpless. Much as he would have liked to go searching for Nthanda and take the entire city of Itsanii apart if necessary in order to find her, he knew that was simply not possible. Tredor would be using his resources to learn what was happening. For the time being, that would have to do.

Nthanda had seemed so happy the last time he'd talked with her, and she meant a lot to him. Decker hoped he'd have the chance to hug her again. For now, however, he had his own mission.

* * * * *

The afternoon before Victor McClure was scheduled to meet with Dakarai Nwoso at Gebhuza's club, Decker called Gebhuza. When the club owner came on the line, Decker confirmed the appointment. "I'd like to see you for a few minutes before I meet with Mr. Nwoso," Decker added, "because I have something I'd like to show you. Something that I believe will interest you."

Gebhuza seemed pleased to agree to Decker's request.

* * * * *

Gebhuza's bodyguards again patted down Decker before ushering him into the club owner's office. Once they'd exchanged greetings, Decker handed him a small bronze coin encased in a protective plastic holder. "I believe the copper in this coin came from King Solomon's mines," he explained. "I don't know if you're interested in such coins, but--"

"Oh, yes! I most certainly am interested in ancient coins such as this one!" Gebhuza exclaimed, interrupting Decker. He quickly retrieved a magnifying glass from his desk and began to examine the coin.

Kgosi came to Gebhuza's office a few moments later. He, too, carefully examined the coin. "To the best of my knowledge, it is genuine," he said, excitement in his voice, adding that it was difficult to locate ancient coins in such good condition. Gebhuza nodded his agreement.

Gebhuza turned to Decker. "How much?"

Decker slowly shook his head. "It is not an extremely valuable coin." He shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps it will reimburse you for the use of your office here today?"

Gebhuza smiled. "You are welcome to use my office any time."

The telephone on Gebhuza's desk jangled. He spoke into it briefly, then turned to Decker. "Mr. Nwoso is here."

"A favor?" Decker asked.

"What is that?"

"I'd like for you to meet with us."

Gebhuza smiled and nodded. "All right. I'll do that."

A few minutes later, Gebhuza's bodyguards ushered a man into the room. Both Gebhuza and Decker stood up as Gebhuza introduced them. "Victor McClure, meet Dakarai Nwoso."

There was only one thing wrong. The man just intruduced to Decker as Dakarai Nwoso was not the one portrayed in Nthanda's photograph, nor the one described by Ayo as the one who'd invaded her school.

# Chapter 35

Ethan Decker, now identified as Victor McClure, had no idea of who this man introduced to him as Dakarai Nwoso really was. He was not the man in the photograph he'd obtained from Nthanda, nor was he the brother Makena had described. Of that, Decker was certain.

Could there be yet a third Dakarai Nwoso? Decker didn't think so. Gebhuza hadn't expressed any questions about which man Decker wanted to see.

Decker would play along, however, whatever the game, for a few minutes, at least. Maybe figure out what was going on. Or maybe not. One way or another, if it wasn't working for him, he'd be out of there fast. Fight his way out if necessary. "Kind of you to give me a few minutes of your time," he said.

Everyone nodded, pleasantly. Eyes on Decker. Waiting. It was his move.

Decker's eyes darted around the room. Those heavy Spartan swords were still there. He could do a lot of damage with one of those, and he would if it became necessary.

"Gebhuza recommended you, Mr. McClure," Nwoso was saying. "Said you'd found a real treasure for him. Said we might be able to do business as well."

Decker smiled. His eyes shifted to Nwoso. The guy was smooth. "Gebhuza was very kind. I hope I'll be able to do business with him again--and soon."

Nwoso nodded. Smiled. Gebhuza nodded. Smiled.

"I deal in antiquities, which are of interest to Gebhuza," Decker continued. "I also broker diamonds, both ways, a part of my business I'm looking to expand, and thought might interest you."

"I am indeed interested in diamonds," Nwoso responded.

Decker retrieved a small velvet bag from his pocket and handed it to Nwoso. "These are representative of the diamonds I currently have available."

Nwoso emptied the six diamonds from the velvet bag onto a pad on Gebhuza's desk, then withdrew a jeweler's glass from his pocket and deliberately examined each of them in turn.

"These are very nice," he murmured. "Perhaps we can do business."

Decker didn't say anything.

"Do you also deal in uncut diamonds?"

Decker again reached into his pocket, retrieved a second velvet bag, and passed it to Nwoso. "Take a look at these," he invited.

Nwoso emptied the two uncut diamonds from the bag into his hand and examined them closely.

"I can, of course, obtain diamonds of various sizes and quality," Decker added, "but these are the size I and my present clients prefer."

Gebhuza stretched out his hand. "Let me see them."

Nwoso handed them to him.

Gebhuza examined the diamonds, then returned them to Nwoso. "They are of fine quality," he murmured, then added, "I hope the two of you can do business." He nodded to Nwoso. A prearranged signal.

Nwoso immediately sat bolt upright and turned to face Decker. "All right, Mr. McClure!" he snapped, then slapped his hand on the desk. "Gebhuza and I had you checked out. We can't find out much about you, so I don't know how much we can trust you." Decker sensed the bodyguards on either side of the room stiffen.

"I do my work in ways that do not leave a trail," Decker replied, keeping his voice calm while allowing a slight smile to flit across his face. "Once these diamonds, or antiquities, for that matter, have been delivered and paid for, no one, and I mean no one, can trace them to me or to their source. It is the way my sources and I and my clients prefer to do business. If you do not wish to do business with me on those terms, well then . . . ." He shrugged his shoulders.

Nwoso shook his head. "I did not mean to insult you, sir." There was a thin smile on his lips. "I understand what you are saying," he continued. "I, too, prefer to leave no record of where I've been or whom I do business with."

Decker did not respond. Instead, he quietly retrieved a small document case from his jacket pocket and produced a photograph. It was time to call this man's bluff. See who he claimed to be. Who he really was.

# Chapter 36

Decker quietly pushed the photo of Dakarai Nwoso he'd obtained from Nthanda across Gebhuza's desk. "I don't know what's going on here," he said, eying Gebhuza intently as he spoke, "but this man (he gestured at the one to his left) doesn't look like the one identified to me as Dakarai Nwoso in this photo." He turned to Gebhuza. "He was said to be a friend of yours."

As he spoke, Decker inched forward in his chair, muscles taut as a big mountain cat ready to spring, carefully calculating the distance and the moves that would be necessary to take one of those swords and . . . show Gebhuza and his thugs exactly how those Spartans used those swords.

Gebhuza rocked back in his chair and exploded with laughter. "What did I tell you?" he roared at the man he'd introduced to Decker as Dakarai Nwoso. "You aren't dealing with a fool." Turning to Decker, he explained: "Dakarai wanted to test you, Victor. See how knowledgeable you are. How connected you are. I'll call the real Dakarai for you right now. Set up another appointment right away." He reached for his telephone. His bodyguards were smiling.

Decker was already reachng for the diamonds on the desktop. Placing them back in their velvet bags. "There is no need for you to call anyone," he replied, calmly. "I don't play games. We're through." He stood up.

Gebhuza jumped to his feet. "Wait."

"What am I waiting for?"

"I'm sorry for the deception. Let me explain."

Decker paused.

"You see, Mr. McClure, Dakarai has had a problem with someone and . . ." Gebhuza hesitated. ". . . and he sent a representative."

Decker ignored the representative. "Dakarai has had a problem, eh? What kind of a problem?"

"Yes, he has a problem, and he's paranoid."

"Yeah? How so? I do not wish to do business with a man who has problems."

"He's being very cautious these days because he thinks someone wants him dead."

"Oh, really? Someone wants him dead?"

"It is so. Actually, a lot of people would prefer to see him dead, of course, but this one is perhaps more deadly than most. Therefore, Dakarai is being quite, um, careful." Gebhuza was choosing his words carefully. "Not that he has anything against you, you understand? He--"

Decker scowled. Yes, someone did want Dakarai Nwoso dead. Nwoso had that part absolutely right. "The meeting is over," he said, interrupting Gebhuza. "Thank you for your time and for the use of your office." He pocketed the diamonds, turned on his heel, walked past the bodyguards and out the door, through the club, and into the night, looking neither to the right or left as he did so.

* * * * *

Decker drove to the airport and parked his car, then caught a taxi that would take him toward his hotel. He changed taxis twice, making sure he wasn't being followed. Checked his hotel room carefully for signs of an intruder. Didn't find a bug. Didn't find anything suspicious.

He'd check the car for a bug of some sort in the morning, and then return it to the rental agency. Rent another one for the drive back to . . . to where? Tadjoura or Itsanii?

Well, he'd blown that attempt to get Dakarai Nwoso up close and personal. There would be other ways to get to him, however. Set a trap for him. Take him down. Decker didn't give up easily.

* * * * *

Decker sat down in the recliner. Switched on the television, but kept the volume low. Switched it off. Listened for sounds. Out in the street. Out in the hall.

Even though he'd taken precautions, he had to assume they knew where he was. Gebhuza would have spoken with the real Nwoso by now. Who knows what he might have told him. What orders he might have given or been given.

Decker's phone jangled softly. The Caller ID listed a number he wasn't at all familiar with. Well, he'd pick up. What the hell? "Hello?"

"Ethan! It's--"

CRASH! The phone went silent. Silent as death. It was as if someone had ripped it away from the caller and smashed it into the wall.

But Decker had heard enough to recognize Nthanda's voice.

# Chapter 37

Although the connection had been broken almost immediately, the Caller ID on Decker's phone had picked up and registered the calling number. Without a moments hesitation, he dialed the private investigator he'd dealt with before in Tadjoura.

After the now familiar routine of allowing the detective to call back from another phone, Decker gave him the number on the Caller ID and asked him to determine who the phone belonged to and where it was located.

"I hope you're not messing around with the Secret Police again," the detective said. Decker told him he didn't know what was going on or who he was dealing with.

An hour later, Decker's phone rang. "I can tell you where that call originated," the detective informed him. "It came from the old Itsanii cemetery."

"The old Itsanii cemetery? You've got to be kidding."

"No. It may sound like a joke, but it's not. That phone has been around a long time, as long, as a matter of fact, as there has been phone service in Itsanii. It's located in what once was a caretaker's house in the old Itsanii cemetery."

"What do you mean by saying it once was a caretaker's house? What is it now?"

"Years ago," the detective explained, "there was a caretaker who lived at the cemetery and took care of it. He lived in the house where that phone is located." The detective hesitated. "Only thing is," he continued, "I didn't know that place was occupied any more."

"Where is the cemetery?"

"Before I answer that, let me assure you that I tried to find out who might be living in that caretaker's house. Everyone tells me that the house is no longer occupied. Obviously, the phone works--"

"Okay. So, where is the cemetery?" Decker interrupted.

"It is located on the south edge of Itsanii. It's to the right as you approach the city from the south, the direction you'll be taking. Turn off the main north-south highway just before you reach the city limits sign, go maybe a mile or so, and you'll run right into it. I've been there."

"Can you describe it more?"

"It's a huge old cemetery, maybe covers half a mile or more in each direction. When a caretaker lived there, it was well-kept, but now I understand it's mostly grown up to weeds, vines, and scrub trees, except where a few people still take care of family plots."

Decker retrieved a map of Itsanii from his briefcase and located the cemetery, checking with the detective to be sure he had the right one.

"Is there any chance someone might have moved that phone to another location?" he asked.

"Not likely," he was told. "It has an old prefix number and probably is still in that caretaker's house. If you got a call from that number, the caller was almost certainly in that house."

Decker thanked the detective and made arrangements to pay him for his work.

As Decker was about to hang up, the detective quietly added: "My guess is that you're going to that old cemetery, to that caretaker's house."

Decker didn't say anything.

"Well, when you do, watch your back," the detective cautioned. "Anything or anyone might be lurking there. It could be a trap."

* * * * *

It could be a trap. Yes, Decker reasoned, it could be a trap. It probably was a trap. Still, that had been Nthanda's voice. There was no mistake about that. Therefore, he had to check out the possibility that she was being held there. That she still was alive. He was the only one looking for her, and it was the only lead he had.

* * * * *

The sun was just coming up the next morning when Decker arrived in Itsanii. He was tired and hungry from having driven all night, but he had to locate that cemetery before he'd entertain the idea of breakfast and sleep.

It wasn't hard to find the old cemetery. Instead of driving directly to it, however, he parked on a nearby rise and studied the area through his binoculars.

He could make out the caretaker's house without any trouble. It was located toward the back of the cemetery--and appeared to be deserted. Dilapidated and deserted.

In fact, the entire property was overgrown with weeds, and trash was scattered about. Most of the tombs and gravestones appeared to be moss-covered and, sadly, eroded with age. Some of the gravestones had been vandalized or had fallen over from neglect.

It was while he was studying the streets around the cemetery that he noticed the black BMW prowling through the cemetery. It came from behind the trees beyond the caretaker's house and slowly circled the entire cemetery before driving away to the north.

* * * * *

"There is no sign of Decker yet," the driver of the BMW reported to Dakarai Nwoso as he turned and began to circle the cemetery once again.

"Keep watching for him," Nwoso replied. "He knows the girl's there, and he'll be coming for her. It's just a question of time."

"Yes, sir. Umm . . . ." The caller hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want me to kill him when he arrives. They'll both be dead that way?" he questioned. "It would be easy."

"No. I don't want him killed in the cemetery, or anywhere near Itsanii for that matter!" Nwoso roared his response. "I want him! We'll follow my plan for him." Nwoso wasn't used to having anyone question his plans, and there was the sharp edge of anger in his voice. The demon within him chortled with pleasure. No way was his host going to let someone else have the pleasure of killing Ethan Decker.

"Yes, sir," came the submissive reply. "I understand. We'll follow your plan for him."

# Chapter 38

Decker studied the cemetery and surrounding area for over half an hour. During that time, the BMW slowly circled the cemetery twice and then parked out of sight behind the trees beyond the caretaker's house. The driver could watch the house from his hiding place without being seen, yet easily see Decker approach.

They--whoever they were--were waiting for him to show up, all right. That call had been staged. Decker now was sure of that. What they had planned for him and for Nthanda when he did show up, he did not know. Nor did he know for certain who was behind this trap. He'd assume it was Nwoso until he was able to prove otherwise. Dakarai Nwoso--the child killer!

Decker was much too tired to walk into a trap just then. Too tired and too hungry to be effective against them. Let them wait.

He checked into a scruffy little hotel just up the highway from the cemetery. Parked his car around back and checked in under a false name. The desk clerk who took his cash didn't even look up at him nor request any identification. Didn't know who he was. Didn't care.

They might find him there. Decker knew that. After looking over his room, he pushed a chair against the door and wedged its back under the knob. It wouldn't keep anyone out for long, but it would give him warning.

The window was locked. Decker checked to make sure. Then he balanced several bottles on the window sill so they would fall and make a racket if anyone tampered with the window. His pistol was under his pillow. It was the best he could do.

Years ago, when he worked in counterterrorism, he'd learned to catch sleep when and where he could. That training served him well today. After setting his mental alarm to wake him in two hours, he quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

Decker awoke reasonable rested and hungry. He'd seen a restaurant just up the road from the hotel, and it was there he ate breakfast.

He studied his map over breakfast, determined to find the most direct highway from Itsanii to Tadjoura and the safety of the British Consulate. They'd be looking for him and Nthanda to take that route, assuming they let him get her away from them. He knew it was a lonely road. Just right for an ambush. He remembered how Makena and her driver were ambushed. Only they hadn't been expecting sniper-fire. He was.

It was time to get Nthanda and got out of there with her--if he could. He thought about calling Tredor for back-up, but decided against it. This was his game. He preferred to work alone.

He drove back to the ridge above the cemetery. Then he parked his car there and watched while the BMW circled the cemetery again. By the time it was parked behind the house, he'd hiked to the grove of trees and was waiting for it.

While he waited, Decker carefully assembled the aluminum-barreled blowgun he carried in his brief case. It was one of those items he'd kept from his days as a counterterrorist. He'd learned what a quiet, effective weapon it was when he was working with native tribewsmen in a neighboring African country. They'd taught him the techniques of the blowgun, and the types of poisons available.

While the BMW's driver focused his attention on the back entrance to the house and the road into the cemetery, Decker positioned himself behind a tree opposite the driver's window. The blowgun would be effective from this range. The natives had taught him well. In his hands, it was a very accurate weapon. Accurate and silent--and as deadly as he wanted it to be.

The driver sat there with the window rolled down, casually smoking a cigarette. His lack of surveillance training was evident. Not once had he looked in Decker's dierection. He was about to learn the hard way to expect and prepare for the unexpected.

Decker selected a dart and inserted it into the gun. Watched his target. Waited. When the driver leaned forward to light another cigarette, Decker was ready.

WHOOSH! The dart flew almost silently. With a THUNK! it smacked into the driver's ear.

The driver jerked and then slumped forward without a sound. The fast-acting poison had done its thing.

The poison would not kill him. He would be paralyzed for perhaps an hour, unable to move or speak during that time, but he would recover completely. He would, however, be out long enough for Decker to get into that house and out again. Out and away.

Other poisons in Decker's arsenal would kill fast. He'd use them if necessary.

Decker cautiously made his way to the BMW, keeping himself out of sight from anyone watching from the house.

The driver was out cold, all right. Decker retrieved the dart and carefully placed it back in his brief case. He also took the pistol from the driver's holster and the rifle from the back seat. Then he checked both to be sure they were loaded and operational should he have need of them.

The rifle chambered the same caliber bullets as those that had killed Makena and her driver. Decker wondered if it was the same gun. Probably not. There were a million rifles in Africa that chambered those bullets.

Decker found a badge in the man's pocket. It identified him as a cop.

The cop was carrying handcuffs. Decker pulled the man's arms behind him and cuffed his wrists with his own cuffs.

After retreating back to the shelter of the trees, Decker stashed the rifle and his brief case where he could pick them up later. Then he went a roundabout way toward the house.

The house did not appear to be lived in. Paint was pealing around the windows. The concrete sidewalk was cracked and broken up. Weeds had grown up in the yard. While there were faded curtains at most of the windows, the windows in one room had been blacked out with plastic sheeting. Perhaps that was where they were keeping Nthanda? He'd find out soon enough.

Decker sensed movement inside the house. Someone was moving around in what probably was the kitchen. Through a grimy side window, Decker could make out an old man now seated at the table.

Decker though he might be walking into a trap. Now he was certain of it. They'd expected him to come. The driver of the BMW would have reported his arrival. They'd let him go in the house. And what then? What role did the old man play? Decker's guess was they'd let him take Nthanda with him. They'd follow them on the road toward Tadjoura--and ambush them. Just as they had Makena.

Why they wanted to do it that way, he didn't know. Maybe Nwoso had a thing about ambushes. He'd go along with the first part of their plan.

The old man looked up and raised his hands in the air but remained seated when Decker came bursting through the door. He'd been expecting him. By now, the old man would assume that the cop outside had alerted someone.

"Where's the girl?" Decker asked.

The old man showed no emotion as he slowly got to his feet. He kept his hands out where Decker could see them to show he wasn't armed. "Come with me," he murmured.

A quick glance around the room told Decker where others might be concealed in the house. He also noted the ancient phone on the kitchen counter, likely the one from where they'd had Nthanda call him.

Pistol in hand, finger on the trigger, Decker followed the old man across the kitchen and down a hall. There he stopped in front of a door. "She's in there," he said.

# Chapter 39

Nthanda was in that room all right, face down on the floor in a pool of blood.

Decker covered the old man with his pistol as he knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. Nothing. Her flesh was cool to his touch. She'd been dead for some time. Maybe ever since she made that call.

"Who did this?" he asked.

"I'm sorry. I do not know." The old man's voice was soft and expressionless. Somehow Decker wanted to believe him.

"What are you supposed to do now that I'm here?"

The old man shuffled his feet. Couldn't meet Decker's eyes. "Call a number. Let 'em know you've found her."

"What's the number?"

The old man told him.

"Do you know who it is you're calling?"

"No, sir."

"You don't know the name of the person you're calling?" Decker repeated.

The old man shook his head. "Sorry. No."

"You come with me," Decker ordered. "We're going outside. Keep your hands where I can see 'em. If you yell or try to run away, I'll kill you."

"Yes, sir."

Decker gently closed the door to the room where he'd found Nthanda, then followed the old man outside. "Straight ahead. Down into those trees," he directed.

The old man didn't say anything when he first saw the BMW or when he saw the driver slumped in his seat, but his face registered a hint of his surprise. "Did you kill him?" he asked Decker, motioning to the man in the car.

"He isn't dead. Yet."

Decker had seen a short length of nylon cord on the floor of the BMW. He retrieved the cord and then turned to the old man. "I'm going to tie you up so you can't make that phone call for a while," he said.

The old man didn't say anything.

"Back up to that tree." Decker motioned toward a large tree. The old man did so.

Decker tied the man's hands behind the tree and tied his feet together. That would keep him there for at least a few minutes, long enough for Decker to get away before he called somone. A pat-down told Decker the old man didn't have a weapon or a phone on him. No doubt they expected him to use the phone in the house. Or maybe he wouldn't have to call anyone if the cop made the call.

When he was sure the man was securely tied, Decker stuffed a rag into his mouth and tied it in place with shoe laces from the man's shoes. Someone would be along to check on operations here before long. They could free him.

That done, Decker maneuvered the driver of the BMW into the back seat, gathered the rifle and briefcase he'd stashed nearby, and then climbed behind the wheel. With a last glance to assure himself that the old man he'd tied to the tree wasn't going anywhere for some time, Decker drove the BMW to where he'd left his rental car.

After transferring the cop into the passenger seat of his rental car, Decker drove the BMW into a wooded area where it would be difficult to locate, then hiked back to his car.

* * * * *

Half an hour later down the road toward Tadjoura, Decker sensed his passenger begin to stir. He pulled off the main highway and drove down a side road for most of a mile, then parked the car where it would be hard to spot, yet visibility around it was excellent. No one should be able to sneak up on him. Not if he stayed alert.

He'd cuffed the cop's hands behind him with his own handcuffs. That should keep him from doing anything drastic. When he sensed that the poison was wearing off, Decker turned to him. "Wake up!" he snapped.

"You . . . You're in big trouble," the man snarled as he shook his head from side to side as if trying to clear his mind.

Decker smiled. "No," he said. "You're the one in big trouble."

"Like hell I am. They'll have you--"

"Maybe so, but you have me to worry about now," Decker replied, interrupting the cop's outburst, "so shut up and listen to me."

The man didn't say anything.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions," Decker began, "and you're going to answer them right away and fully."

"I don't have to answer any questions."

Decker didn't respond. "Question number one: Who killed the girl?"

Silence.

Without saying another word, Decker broke the cop's left arm. When the man's scream died away, Decker spoke again. "I'm going to count to three," he intoned softly, "and if you haven't started to answer my question by then, I'll break your other arm. And then on another count of three, I'll break both your legs. Three more and I'll crush your balls. You get the picture? One . . . Two . . . Th--"

"Enough."

"Who killed the girl?"

"They'll kill me if they find out I talked to you."

"That might be prefereable to what I'll do to you if you don't. I won't repeat my question again. For the last time, who killed the girl?"

"Dakarai Nwoso."

"Who else was involved?"

"No one. He did it himself. There weren't any eyewitnesses."

"He just go into that room by himself and kill her?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why did he kill her?"

"I don't know."

"Of course, you do. Your badge tells me you're a member of the police force. Cops know everything. One . . . Two . . . Th--" Decker's hand shot out and gripped the man's good right arm.

"All right. All right. Don't hurt me any more. I'll tell you what I know."

"Get with it."

"Nwoso let the girl call you, knowing you'd find out where she called from and come to find her. The plan was for me to spot you when you came for her. The old man would show you to the room where she was being held. You both would take off, and Nwoso's men would follow you. They'd ambush you before you got back to Tadjoura."

"I'm the one he wanted?"

"T think so. You and some little girl he kept talking about."

"I figured as much. But why kill the journalist?"

"That wasn't the original plan, and I didn't want him to kill her. Believe me, I didn't want him to kill her."

"So why did he kill her?"

"She'd been investigating him for years. I think he found out that she knew something about him. What it was, I don't know. Maybe it had something to do with his involvement with the rebels. Something about his having killed some little girls. Anyway, I saw him come back to the house there in the cemetery not long after he let her call you. He killed her then."

"You didn't see him kill her?"

"No, but I saw him go into the room where she was being held, and I heard the shots."

"So why not kill me the moment I show up?"

"I don't know."

Decker sighed and grabbed his arm.

"I really don't know. He told me his plan was for me and the old man to call him when you showed up."

"Both of you?"

"Yeah. He thought I might be out patrolling and miss you, but he knew the old man wouldn't. It was his way of being certain he knew the moment you came here."

"What was the plan for me then?"

"I think he wanted to follow you and kill you somewhere else. Maybe he figured he could dump your body where it wouldn't be found." He didn't tell Decker that he himself would have preferred to kill him right there in the cemetery. Bury him and the girl right there. But Nwoso wouldn't go along with him.

Decker pulled out his pocket notebook and wrote "Dakarai Nwoso killed Nthanda Contee." After showing what he'd written to the man beside him, he said, "You're going to sign and date this, and put your badge number under your name."

"I--" He started to object, then thought better of it.

"I'm going to take the handcuffs off so you can sign your name. If you try anything, I'll leave you in such a mess you'll wish someone had killed you."

The cop didn't say anything.

Decker handed him a pen and watched as the cop signed and dated the statement with his working hand. Once he'd written his badge number under his signature, Decker put the notebook back in his pocket and the handcuffs back on the man's wrists.

"Did they pay you well for what you did? For waiting for me there in the cemetery?" Decker asked.

"Yes."

Decker didn't respond. Time to move on. He already had taken the cop's cell phone. "Have you got another phone on you?" he asked.

"No."

Decker didn't trust him. "I'm going to get you out of the car in a few minutes," he said, "and I'll pat you down. You better tell me now, because if I find another phone or a gun or a weapon of any sort, I'll break your other arm. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. I don't have another phone, or a gun, or . . . or anything like that. Believe me."

"One more question. After you or the old man called Nwoso to let him know I was there at the cemetery, what then? What was the plan?"

"I told you."

"Well, tell me again. Be specific this time." Decker clamped his hand on the man's right arm. "One . . Two . . Th--"

"All right. All right. I'll tell you what I know." Decker relaxed his grip. "Dakarai didn't want to kill you there in the cemetery. Why, I don't know." The cop looked away. "Sometimes Dakarai just seemed to go crazy. It was like he heard voices in his head telling him what to do. See, he figured you'd be driving back to Tadjoura. He planned to ambush you. The first plan was to kill both of you on the road. After he killed the woman, his plan still was to follow and kill you somewhere out in the mountains. He . . . He likes killing . . . you know."

"So what was your role to be in all this?"

"I told you."

"Tell me again."

"I was to follow you when you left the cemetery, get a description of your car, find out where you were going, and call in with that information."

"Call in? What phone number?"

It was the same number the old man gave to Decker earlier.

"Where did he think I'd be going that he could ambush me?"

"Tadjoura."

Decker figured he'd gotten all the information he could from this man. "Get out."

He covered his passenger with his pistol as he opened the passenger door and helped the man out of the car, then patted him down. He didn't find another phone or gun.

"Lie face down over there." Decker motioned toward the ditch with his gun. Once the man was flat on his face, Decker removed his handcuffs and tucked them into his pocket, then took a wire coat hanger from the back seat of his car and wrapped it tight around the cop's wrists. That would hold him as securely as the cuffs, what with the one arm being broken. "You wait here at least twenty minutes before you move," Decker told him, "and if I find out you've lied to me, I'll find you and make you pay. Count on that."

"Yes, sir."

"You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

Decker stuffed a rag into the cop's mouth, and tied it in place with a handkerchief.

"I've got your badge number, and believe me, if you've lied to me, I'll find you," Decker snarled as he walked away.

* * * * *

Decker glanced at his watch. By now, Nwoso's men would be looking for him. Looking for the cop, too. Decker knew that. Well, let them look.

He drove back to Itsanii, located a do-it-yourself photocopy and faxing center, and made several copies of the cop's statement. In addition, he found addresses and phone numbers in a phone directory for and faxed copies of the signed statement to the chief of police, Nthanda's newspaper editor, and the president of Zaharra. Let them know that he knew. Turn up the heat on Dakarai Nwoso.

# Chapter 40

Instead of heading for Tadjoura on the road they might assume he was taking, Decker drove cautiously back toward the outskirts of Itsanii. There he pulled off on a side road, drove a mile or so until the road ended, and parked near several trees.

He sat there in the car for several minutes, quieting himself and formulating a plan of action. Moments later, he called the private investigator's number and gave him the phone number the old man and the cop said they were instructed to call after Decker found Nthanda. "I want to know everything you can tell me about this number," he said, "and I need it fast."

Sitting there in the car, Decker realized just how tired he was. He'd slept two hours earlier that day, but the rest of the day had been exhausting. And finding Nthanda's body had brought a heavy sorrow to his mind. Could her friendship with him have contributed to her death? That thought troubled him greatly. Why she'd ever returned to Itsanii he couldn't know.

Once he knew whatever the detective could find out about that phone number, Decker knew he had to get some rest.

Never mind that Nwoso or his men probably were out looking for him. Never mind that the cop he'd questioned had likely given Nwoso a description of the car Decker was driving. He had to get some rest. Had to clear his mind. Had to plan.

While he waited for the return call from the investigator, Decker drove back into Itsanii, located a run-down motel, and checked into it. He took the rifle and pistol inside along with his briefcase, then set about securing his room as best he could.

* * * * *

The call from the private detective gave Decker the information he wanted. "That cellphone number is assigned to a man by the name of Dakarai Nwoso." As Decker started to thank him, the detective continued, "It's an unlisted number and it cost me 1,000 United States dollars to get it. I hope that is okay." Decker assured him that it was.

* * * * *

Decker slept well that afternoon and night, awakening only a couple of times to check his surroundings. The following morning, he took the car back to the rental agency and rented a truck. Nwoso wouldn't be looking for a truck.

Nthanda had shown him where Nwoso lived. He'd take a look at that place first. See who was there.

Decker drove toward that residence, formulating a plan with a variety of options as he did so. On the way, he stopped at a general hardware store and bought a length of chain and a padlock. They went into his briefcase--his tool kit.

He drove past Nwoso's residence, looking for any signs of activity. To his surprise, he didn't see anyone around the estate. He hoped they were all out looking for him, but he knew they weren't.

Decker checked out the entrance gate, and noted the construction. He checked out the electric opener on the gate. Noted which way it opened. He checked out the guard post inside the gate and to the left, and noted that there was no one posted there at that time. He checked out the security camera above and to the right of the gate, noted its angle of coverage and the ease with which it could be disabled.

He could secure that gate with the chain and padlock he'd purchased. He could deactivate that security camera without any problem.

He'd seen a dog on the grounds when Nthanda showed him the residence, but he didn't see any dogs today. He could take care of any dogs that might get in his way.

The entrance to Nwoso's residence wasn't as secure as the owner might think. But where was Dakarai Nwoso? Where were the usual guards? The activity? The place appeared to have been locked up tight and abandoned.

* * * * *

Decker drove the streets until he found a place where he could park unobtrusively and watch the main entrance to Nwoso's residence. To the best of his knowledge, there wasn't a second entrance.

But where was everyone?

He watched the residence for most of the morning but didn't see anyone come or go. Nor did he see anyone looking for him.

* * * * *

Late that afternoon, Decker's cell phone jangled softly. Tredor's number appeared on the Caller ID.

"You can call off your search for Dakarai Nwoso in Itsanii for the time being," Tredor informed him, "because he's left the country."

"He's left the country?"

"Temporarily, at least, and he appears to have taken a number of his staff with him. Maybe all of them."

"Where to?"

"Can't answer that, at least not right now, but he's not in Itsanii. Come on back to Tadjoura," Tredor suggested. "You'll be safe here, and I'll fill you in on what I know."

# Chapter 41

Decker drove back to Tadjoura without incident. Nobody tried to ambush him, and he didn't see any surveillance directed his way.

The fact that he had not been able to find and confront Dakarai Nwoso did not especially trouble him. The man might run, but he couldn't hide. Not for long. Not from Ethan Decker. He would track him down to the ends of the earth, and when he found him he would become an avenging angel. An avenging angel with absolutely no mercy--and no witnesses. Nwoso's day of reckoning was coming, and it was not far off. Nobody killed Decker's friends and got away with it!

Back in Tadjoura, Decker went directly to his hotel. Two letters were waiting for him at the front desk. The first informed him that the company he'd been working for had optimistically begun drilling for oil near the former town site of Begwa. Government soldiers were protecting them from the rebels' threatened attacks. Decker's pay had been deposited into his account in the United States.

The second letter contained a job offer from the Rhino Oil Company--a smaller, recent startup company that he'd worked with once before.

Rhino Oil was interested in exploring for oil and natural gas deposits in Mabutto, a country directly across the African continent to the east of Zaharra. "We need you," the company president had written in his usual unpretentious way. Decker liked working for small, unpretentious companies. For unpretentious people.

If Dakarai Nwoso was no longer in Zaharra, Decker had little reason to remain in the country. He'd take Ayo and go. With this in mind, he went up to his room and packed his belongings. Not that he had that much to pack. Decker traveled light.

While he packed, he looked around the room for any evidence that anyone had planted a bug. He had to assume someone had, but it didn't make any difference now because he was going to check into another, larger, room so that Ayo could be with him while he considered that new job offer.

"My little girl is going to be joining me, so I'll need a room with two beds," he told the clerk. There was no problem with that request. The hotel had a number of unoccupied rooms. Not many tourists came to Tadjoura since reports of the rebel attacks began leaking out of the country.

Once he'd been assigned a new room, Decker checked it for bugs, and then placed his few possessions there. That done, he drove to the British Consulate.

"Are you ready to come live with me for a while?" he asked Ayo.

She snuggled against him. "Yes," she whispered, her lips close to his ear, "but not just for a little while. Forever!"

* * * * *

According to Tredor's "usually reliable" sources, Dakarai Nwoso had sold his house in Itsanii, dismissed his staff, and left the country in his private jet, accompanied by two or more of his bodyguards--and a great deal of currency. His destination was unknown, but apparently his departure had been in the works for some time.

He'd apparently sold his two clubs in Itsanii--The Green Whale and Davey Jones' Locker--to Gebhuza. Perhaps Gebhuza had purchased Nwoso's house as well. Tredor wasn't sure about that.

"The story," Tredor told Decker, "is that Nwoso has been linked to the murder of Nthanda Contee and escaped ahead of the posse." He chuckled as if he were letting Decker in on an inside joke. "Some say a cop informed on him. It may be that the authorities were being forced to pursue him for murder--and therefore hastened his departure." He shrugged his shoulders. "But then again, as I said before, my guess is that his leaving has been in the works for some time. The man is not one to make hasty decisions, nor does he fear the cops."

Decker showed Tredor the original statement the cop had signed. "He wasn't exactly signing of his own free will, but what he signed is likely true," Decker said. "It wouldn't surprise me to hear that the cop is dead."

Tredor photocopied and filed the statement. He didn't ask Decker how he came by it.

It was time for Decker to get moving. He thanked Tredor for his information, and for allowing Ayo to stay at the Consulate.

"I'll let you know when I find out anything about Nwoso's whereabouts, and I will," Tredor promised.

* * * * *

Ayo was ready to leave the Consulate. "Wherever we go, I hope you're going to keep me with you from now on," she told Decker.

When he told her he was, she hugged him tightly and then kissed him firmly on the lips." "I love you," she told him.

"I love you, too," he responded.

* * * * *

Decker took Ayo with him to their hotel room and helped her arrange her few possessions where she could easily find them. Then they went to the hotel dining room for dinner.

While they ate dinner, Decker told Ayo about the job offer he had from Rhino Oil. She listened intently.

She knew a great deal about the country of Mabutto. It was another impoverished country, she said, much like Zaharra, where she'd grown up. And the government there was a corrupt military dictatorship that changed rather frequently, yet remained the same in the way it treated the citizens. Decker knew those things, too. In fact, it seemed to him that he'd been working under similar circumstances ever since he'd started exploring for oil in backwater countries around the world.

Decker had the feeling Ayo hadn't told him all she knew about Mabutto, but he'd wait until she was ready.

"What do you think, Ayo?" he finally asked. "Shall we go to Mabutto?"

Ayo clutched his hand and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I'll go with you wherever you go," she whispered.

* * * * *

Ayo was silent for a few moments, thinking. When she spoke again, she said, "I think I can help you in your search for oil in Mabutto."

"Okay. How so?"

"I tell you a story."

"Okay."

"Many generations ago," Ayo began, "a group of men came to Mabutto from Spain to start a Christian mission."

"Yes?"

"They found a place in the mountains where there was a large cliff and a deep cave and began to build the mission there."

"Yes?"

"They were quite ambitious, and planned to eventually build a large church there on the mountainside, starting in that cave. In the valley was a spring that would be their water supply--or so they thought.

"The natives warned them that the spring water was not good water, that it did not taste good at least part of the time, but the Spanish group paid little attention to them. In fact, one of the leaders wrote back to Spain that the spring water was so sweet that they considered it near-holy.

"As the work on the church progressed, one of the men got the idea to increase the flow of the spring by digging where the water began to flow. That proved to be a mistake. Soon the water turned oily--and they couldn't drink it at all. They tried to skim off the oil and filter the water somehow, but they couldn't make the water good to drink. They could burn the oil in their lamps, but they couldn't drink the water.

"There was no other source of good drinking water near their church, and they were finally forced to abandon their entire mission project. I am told that the ruins of the church they started to build is still visible on the mountainside." She looked questioningly at Decker. "Would not that oily water indicate that there was oil underground?"

"Perhaps. It's certainly worth checking, and I thank you for your help."

"If we could find the location of that ancient church . . . ."

"We can find that location," Decker reassured her.

* * * * *

That evening, Decker called the president of Rhino Oil and accepted the offer. He also called the regional airline for reservations on the next day's flight to Kwekwe, Mabutto, and reserved a hotel room there where they'd be headquartered.

* * * * *

The following morning, a black BMW tailed Decker and Ayo to the airport. A security officer stationed inside the airport noted the flight they took and relayed the information to his superior.

# Chapter 42

As Decker and Ayo were boarding the flight from Tadjoura to Kwekwe, Mabutto, he heard someone call his name. Who could it be? Turning quickly, he recognized a young woman he'd met several years ago--a Dutch flight attendant named Skyla Osterhoudt. She'd been flying with a Dutch airline at the time.

He greeted her with a quick hug. "What a pleasant surprise!" he exclaimed. "It's great to see you, Skyla."

"Take the back seats," she whispered. "I'll be back to see you as soon as we're in the air." With a quick, affectionate squeeze of his hand, she was off to do her official duties.

* * * * *

"Where are you staying in Kwekwe?" Skyla asked as they were preparing to land. Decker told her. "Me, too," she said, then added in a whisper, "It's the best hotel in the city for us foreigners."

"Right. Want to share a taxi?"

"Yes. And are the two of you free for dinner?" she asked.

"You bet, and we're hoping you could join us. We've got some catching up to do, you and me."

"Yes! Let's have dinner together."

It was indeed good for Decker to see Skyla again. She'd been his flight attendant on a number of flights he'd taken a few years ago, and they'd shared talk and dinner at several restaurants throughout Africa.

Skyla was, in Decker's thinking, a beautiful woman, maybe the most beautiful woman he'd ever known, what with her oval face, luxurious hair, and flawless complexion. And she'd seemed to like him well enough, too. In fact, he'd wished any number of times that he'd been able to get better acquainted with her. Romance her a little, even. He'd noted today, however, that she was wearing a wedding ring. Had he heard that she had gotten married? Not that he could recall. Well, he'd find out that evening who she'd married. Lucky guy.

* * * * *

Skyla was every bit as charming as Decker remembered her. The three of them talked over dinner until the hotel restaurant closed, and then Skyla suggested they come to her room. "There are some things I'd like to ask both of you that I didn't want to bring up around other people," she said.

Decker smiled and nodded. He had a few quesions of his own for her.

Once in Skyla's room, Decker and Ayo told her how they'd met, and how Decker had been tracking Dakarai Nwoso ever since he'd learned his identity.

Decker's story didn't surprise or shock Skyla. She'd seen him in action herself.

Her mind flashed back to that night in Narvost. Skyla and Decker and two other flight attendants had just left the terminal building in Retag when a man brandishing a butcher knife and threatening to slash her face ripped away her purse and ran. Decker sprinted, caught the purse snatcher in about two seconds, ducked under the slashing knife thrusts, and slammed him head-first into a lamp post. Knocked him out cold. Skyla got her purse back. Decker broke the blade on the knife and threw both pieces into the sewer.

She'd told herself then and there that if she ever had to walk into a scary situation, she'd want Ethan Decker with her. With him she felt safe and secure. Why hadn't she had the courage to keep in touch with him? Well, she now had another chance. She wouldn't blow this one.

Later that night, Decker had the courage to bring up Skyla's marriage. "Who's the lucky guy?" he asked, motioning to the wedding ring on her left hand.

Skyla smiled. "Fooled you, huh?" She almost giggled.

"Fooled me? Ummm. I guess so." What was this all about?

"I'm not married."

Decker raised his eyebrows and eyed her ring.

Skyla smiled. "Sorry, Ethan. I should have explained earlier, and saved you the question." She hesitated a moment, then continued. "You know how it is with being a flight attendant. A share of the guys who fly think I'm fair game to hit on. They think I'm ready to jump into the sack with 'em as soon as we land. Or maybe before we land. The losers are the worst. You understand, don't you?"

Decker nodded. He understood. "Well, simply stated, the wedding ring on my finger cuts down on the hits," she continued. "Some guys don't pay any attention to a wedding ring on a girl's hand, of course, but a few do, so I figure wearing the ring saves me from having to respond to a bunch of propositions. And it's been worth it!" Skyla touched his hand. "I didn't mean to fool you, Ethan, and I hope you know that."

"I know that now, and I understand. It's okay."

"Thank you."

"You never married?"

Skyla shook her head. "No, and I'll be honest with you, okay?'

"Sure."

"I've had several proposals, but I kept comparing the guys to you, and they all came up short. I couldn't see myself settling for any of 'em. And you, well, you were married--or at least, I thought you were. So, I couldn't . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm not married now."

"Oh! I didn't know that. But you were, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"What happened?"

Decker told her how his wife had died and his child had been killed. Then he told her the rest of the story about what he'd done to Megan's killer.

"I'm so sorry," Skyla breathed.

Decker signed. "It's okay. I'm over it. Maybe I wouldn't have been near Begwa when Ayo was hurting if Megan hadn't died and left me alone. And I sure do love Ayo."

"If Ethan hadn't been near and had the courage to help me, I'd be dead," Ayo interjected. "I was hurting so bad, and I'd been praying to God for mercy. When Ethan picked me up and started talking to me, I thought it was an angel God had sent for me. He has been so good to me."

Skyla sat quietly for a moment, then spoke softly to Ayo. "He's been good to me, too." She glanced at her watch, then turned to Decker. "I've enjoyed our time together, but it's getting late. We'll have to call it a night soon because I'm leaving early in the morning, and there are two things I want to say before we part."

"Okay."

"First, a question. How long are you two going to be in Mabutto?"

"It depends. Maybe a month. Maybe a little longer."

"I fly in here regularly now, and I'd like the opportunity to get better acquainted with both of you. How about if I give you a call when I'm going to be here, and we'll have dinner together? Maybe do some other things together, too?"

"That would be great," Decker replied. He paused for a moment, wondering how she'd take what he was going to say, then plunged ahead. "I've got to tell you, Skyla, I've thought about you many times over the past few years, wondering how you were, what you were doing. Maybe looking at my feelings for you, too, and feeling sorry for myself because you weren't near. Afraid I'd never see you again. Can you understand that?"

Skyla's eyes twinkled. "I've been thinking those same things, and you took the words right out of my mouth. So right here and now, I'm inviting myself along with both of you on a date every time I'm back here."

Decker's eyes were moist. "We'll look forward to those dates." He hesitated, then added, "And there was something else?"

"Yes. When you were talking about this man named Dakarai Nwoso, something occurred to me. Maybe it's nothing important to your search for him, but then again . . . ."

"What's that, Skyla?"

"A few days ago when were arriving here in Kwekwe, our landing was held up for a few minutes because a small private jet was cleared for landing in front of us."

"A small private jet?"

"Right. Now there aren't very many private jets in this part of Africa, so I got to wondering who that one belonged to. I thought it would have to be some very important person." Skyla smiled. "I got the numbers that were on the plane and I checked it out as best I could without being too obvious. Surprise. Surprise. The owner's last name was Nwoso."

Nthanda once had mentioned that Nwoso had a private jet, and Tredor mentioned that he'd taken it with him when he left Zaharra. "Dakarai Nwoso?" he asked.

"I never did find out a first name, but the first initial was 'D' and the last name was Nwoso. It didn't mean anything to me at the time, so I didn't pursue it. Do you want me to try to find out the owner's first name?"

Decker shook his head. "No. Stay completely away from that line of questioning. I'll find out." He showed her the photos of Nwoso. "Steer way clear of this guy," he cautioned. "He's a killer, and he's mean as the devil."

* * * * *

Sleep did not come easily for Decker that night. He'd lost two close friends to Dakarai Nwoso and his thugs. He hoped he wouldn't lose a third.

# Chapter 43

The first stop after breakfast for Decker and Ayo the following morning was an outfitters clothing store that catered to outdoors men and women. There they purchased sturdy clothing for Ayo, including jeans, denim shirts, a light jacket, and hiking boots. They'd be hiking through the mountainous areas to the north of Kwekwe, and she'd need appropriate clothing. They also purchased a lightweight back-pack for her, as well as a sturdy walking stick. Decker thought, but didn't tell her, that she looked "cute as a bug," to use a friend's favorite expression, in her new gear.

Decker's driver, a well-traveled native of Mabutto assigned to him by the oil company, was named Bhekizitha Yeboah. His first name, "Bhekizitha," he assured Decker, meant "searches for enemies." "It is good for you to have me along," he said, quite seriously, "because there are a great many enemies in these mountains."

"Enemies?"

"Not to worry," Bhekizitha replied with a reassuring wave of his arm. "We'll spot them before they spot us." He patted the holstered pistol at his side.

Over the next few days, Decker would come to understand what Bhekizitha meant. Before the week was out, his driver would spot and dispatch two cougars and two big poisonous snakes before they came even close to harming anyone.

On the way out of Kwekwe later that day, Decker noticed what appeared to be a major construction project just off the highway. A huge building was nearing completion and some landscaping had begun. No signs indicated what the project was to be when it was finished, however. "What is that building?" he asked his driver.

"Casino."

"A new casino, eh? Who's building it?"

"The government hopes to attract many wealthy tourists," Bhekizitha replied. "They are backing the project with cheap loans and tax write-offs. Of course, they hope to make millions on the revenues of various kinds once it is completed." He hesitated, then shrugged his shoulders and continued. "Some foreigner actually owns it, someone by the name of Nwoso, or so I've been told. He's supposed to have owned something similar--a nightclub, maybe--in Zaharra."

So that was what Dakarai Nwoso was doing here, assuming it was the Dakarai Nwoso that Decker was interested in and not a relative or a chance-name. No doubt his experience in running nightclubs would have helped him secure this opportunity to build a new casino in Mabutto--at government expense. Decker would check him out. "Looks like a massive undertaking," he ventured.

Dhekizitha frowned. "It's a massive undertaking, all right, but I do not like seeing that casino go in here."

"Why is that?"

"You must understand a difference between what they call casinos here in backwater Africa and those in the United States and Europe," Bhekizitha replied. "Perhaps elsewhere as well, but I cannot speak of the others."

"What do you see as the difference?"

"I have been to many foreign countries and visited several different casinos, so I can compare them with the reputations of several casinos built in surrounding countries here in Africa over the past few years."

Decker nodded. Interested. "Okay. How do you compare them?"

"In many countries, such casinos seem to be mostly about gambling and partying, hosting conventions, and having a good time. Those I visited actually catered to families and featured stage shows that families could enjoy. They even had child-care facilities for small children, a game-room for teenagers, things like that. They were clean and the food was very good."

"That's so. Many of them do cater to families."

"And they seemed clean in a different way. By that, I mean there was no obvious criminal activity involved. Do you agree?"

"In general, yes. I'd say many if not most of them are well policed."

"Here, it is different," Bhekizitha continued. "You would not want to bring your family to this casino once it's built, or to most others in surrounding countries. There would be no direct threat to your family, of course, but it would not be the same as in America or Europe." He paused and looked over his shoulder as if wanting to be sure no one was listening. "Here, big money is to be made by the casino from gambling, of course, but also from prostitution and drugs. Trafficking in anything that will make money flourishes, including, I'm told, white slavery.

"The government needs money, so it will overlook almost anything that goes on there," he continued. "In fact, the man who has been hired to manage it, this man named Nwoso, is reputed to be little more than a gangster with connections to organized crime and drug cartels. Some say, in private, of course, that he also has ties to the paramilitary groups fighting across Africa, that he sells them arms.

"There's something else that troubles me--the use that will be made of the profits. Most of the profit will benefit only the powerful ones in government who will secret it away in their off-shore bank accounts."

Decker remembered the motorcycles and BMWs parked around Nwoso's clubs, and what Nthanda had to say about him and the activities that went on under his supervision. This casino sounded to Decker like the very place Dakarai Nwoso would prefer to own.

* * * * *

There was litle doubt in Decker's mind that there was oil and natural gas to be found in the area to the north of Kwekwe. The satellite maps he'd studied suggested so, as did his field work.

As the days went by, he and Ayo explored a great deal of territory, and he found her to be a tremendous help to him, as well as a good companion. She obviously was very bright, and surprisingly cheerful, considering what she'd been through. Bhekizitha liked her, too, and began teaching her to recognize bird calls and animal sounds, and to identify a host of things by their feel and smell.

Bhekizitha also listened thoughtfully as Ayo told him about herself. He did not press her for information as to what had happened to bring her and Decker together, and for that she was thankful. She was, she soon determined, the first teenager Bhekizitha had ever been really close to, yet he related well to her. And she to him.

Decker observed with a smile that Ayo actually hugged Bhekizithia a couple of times. It was good, he thought. She needed people who could relate kindly to her and she to them.

* * * * *

"There!" Bhekizithha pointed, excitedly. "There it is!"

It had taken Decker and Bhekizitha several days of intensive work to hack their way through the brush, but at last they found themslves at the foot of the mountain. There, halfway up the mountainside, was the remains of the ancient mission church Ayo had told them about.

The missionaries had begun construction of the church in a massive cave on a cliff high up on the mountainside. From where Decker stood, it appeared to him that they had completed most of the exterior walls. Whereas he had expected to find a crumbling stone structure, the walls looked to be remarkably well preserved.

"How did they get up there?" Decker asked as he surveyed the structure.

Bhekizitha smiled. "Nobody knows for sure."

"Has no one explored the ruins?"

Bhekizitha shook his head. "I doubt it. Not very much, anyway."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not certain, but I think it has to do with the superstitions of the natives."

Ayo spoke up. "I think I can answer that question."

Decker and Bhekizitha looked at her. "Okay."

"Bhekizitha is right about the superstitions. You see, the natives thought this place was haunted," Ayo explained, "so they wouldn't venture near the church."

"Haunted?"

"Yes. That is the story I was told."

"I don't understand? Tell us more."

"The natives thought that a spirit battle had been fought in this place," Ayo explained. "The God of the missionaries fought the gods of the earth, and the gods of the earth poisoned the waters so the missionaries could not remain here."

"That thinking I can understand."

"Even after the missionaries left the area, the gods of the earth were angry. They claimed this place as their own, and did not want anyone interfering." Ayo smiled, knowlngly. "No one would dare go near the spring after the gods poisoned the water, for fear of the gods. And people thought the God of the missionaries remained in the church, where He would take the souls of anyone who trespassed there. Some people believe the God of the missionaries fights with the gods of the earth here yet today."

Decker turned to Ayo. "But you are not afraid, or afraid for us?" he questioned.

"No," Ayo responded. "My God--our God--is greater than any of the spirits that may inhabit the earth. Perhaps He Himself will guide us to the spring. To the source of the oil."

Decker turned to Bhekizitha. "Do you know where the spring is located?"

"I'm not sure. We'll have to look."

It didn't take long for them to find the spring, nor for Decker to determine that the water was indeed oily.

"So, what do you think?" Ayo asked. "Is the water still oily?"

Decker assured her that it was.

* * * * *

Each day as they drove from and to their hotel, they passed the casino that was under construction. Decker took notes on its design, being careful not to alert his driver to his special interest in that project.

Decker had called Tredor and confirmed that the man behind the casino was indeed the Dakarai Nwoso he was looking for. "The government of Mabutto will protect him," Tredor warned Decker, "so you must be very cautious."

# Chapter 44

Six days passed before Skyla called Decker, six long, lonely days that helped him realize just how much he enjoyed being with her. How much he missed her. He was overjoyed to know that she'd be arriving in Kwekwe the following evening. "We're both anxious to see you," Decker assured her.

To be honest, Ayo had conflicting feelings about Skylar's involvement in her "father's" life--or his in Skylar's. She liked Skylar well enough, yet did not relish the thought of sharing Ethan with another woman. Makena had been different, of course. Ayo absolutely loved Makena and her hopes of the nurse becoming a part of her "family" had been cruely dashed. There would never be another woman who would take Makena's place in Ayo's heart. Makena had been so kind to her.

Well, Ayo promised herself that she'd do her best to like if not actually love Skyla. She'd do it for Ethan, even though these were not thoughts she could discuss with him--or anyone.

* * * * *

The new casino was nearing completion. There now was extensive and enthusiastic television and newspaper coverage, not only of the construction progress, but about the tremendous economic benefits projected for the city of Kwekwe and the country of Mabutto.

According to the media reports, job interviews were being conducted for a number of well-paying positions within the casino. Many of the people who accepted employment were portrayed on television and pictured in the local newspapers. It appeared that the casino payroll would be enormous, and a major bonanza for the citizens of an impoverished country. Decker could understand the enthusiasm, but he'd believe the economic benefits to the common people when he saw them.

Interestingly, while there were media interviews with many of the people who would be working at the casino, and especially of those in surpervisory positions, there was no mention of Dakarai Nwoso. He appeared to be keeping a very low profile.

In addition to the casino, other construction projects were proceeding with great haste in order to accommodate the anticipated influx of tourists. The airport had been expanded and a new control tower constructed. Several new hotels and restaurants were in the planning stages or under construction.

Few people apparently shared Bhekizitha's view that the casino would bring an unsavory criminal element into the city and that any profits would more likely benefit the already wealthy and powerful instead of the common people. To criticize the project in public would surely invite hostilities, of course, and governments in these small African nations would tolerate little or no opposition.

No mention had been made in the media regarding the exploration for oil and natural gas around Kwekwe. This pleased Decker. Let the public focus attention on the new casino and other tourism projects. His job would be easier.

* * * * *

A military government ruled Mabutto. Of that, Decker had no doubt. In fact, the letter he carried authorizing him to go wherever he wanted within the country in his search for oil and guaranteeing his protection was signed by a high ranking general in the Mabutto army. "Nobody's going to interfere with your work," Bhekizitha exclaimed after reading the letter, "not with that signature."

There was, Decker observed, a decided military presence throughout Kwekwe. Well-armed, uniformed soldiers patrolled the streets, and military vehicles were positioned around the airport. Government office buildings were especially well guarded as was the new casino and the other construction projects.

Although there appeared to be a strong military presence in the city, Decker noted that business seemed to be relatively normal. Until that night when he was expecting Skyla.

About an hour before her plane was scheduled to land, Decker's phone jangled. "We're being diverted to Harare," she told him in hurried, hushed tones. "Something is going seriously wrong in or near Kwekwe. Watch your back. I'll call you later."

Decker and Ayo had just returned to their hotel room from dinner when Skyla called with her disturbing report. Decker switched on the television, but before he could locate any news reports, he heard the rumble of heavy trucks in the street outside.

He hurried to the window. "There are military trucks in the street," he told Ayo. "Troop carriers," he added.

"I'll see if I can find out anything," she replied, then slipped on earphones and switched on her small radio.

Bhekizitha called moments later. "Are you and Ayo in your hotel?" he asked. "Stay in your hotel," he cautioned upon learning that they were in their room. Before Decker could ask what was going on, Bhekizitha said, "I'll call you back later when I find out what's going on." There was a "click" as he disconnected.

Decker turned to Ayo and relayed the message. "Have you heard anything on your radio?" he asked.

Ayo shook her head. "The local stations are just playing music. There must be a government blackout on any news about what's going on."

Decker turned out the lights and opened the window shades just enough to see through, but hopefully not be observed. The military convoy had passed, but now he could see that there were several military helicopters in the sky. WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! Those choppers were nearby--only a few blocks away from his window.

Were those explosions in the distance, or was he imagining things?

KER-BOOM! KER-BOOM! He was not imagining things.

Decker's phone jangled again. "Bhekizitha Yeboah" showed on his Caller ID.

# Chapter 45

"Are you and Ayo inside your hotel and okay?" Bhekizitha asked, his voice strained. He was obviously concerned.

"Yes. Thank you. What's going on?"

"I'm not certain what all is involved, but it appears that there was an assassination attempt on the president. Some faction of the military that did not approve of the current government leadership was behind it, or so we're being told. Some suspect that the rebels were involved, but exactly how, I don't know."

"I take it that the assassination attempt was not successful?"

"No. Several of the president's bodyguards were killed or injured, but he is all right. Our current government is still in power. However, I think it best that we don't go out into the field tomorrow. There is a great deal of military activity in the area, so let's give it a day or so to pass. Play it safe. See what happens."

"Okay. If that's what you think is best."

"It is what I think is best, because there may be more going on than I am aware of. You and Ayo stay inside and I'll contact you in the morning, or later tonight if anything develops that seriously affects us."

"Does this situation cast suspicion on foreigners like me and Ayo--and Rhino Oil?"

"Not that I know of. The government officials who are cooperating with Rhino Oil are still in power. Still, foreigners often get the blame for internal problems. Let's just stay inside for a day or so."

"When do you think we'll get news coverage of what's happening?"

Bhekizitha chuckled. "It's hard to say. Maybe by morning. It depends on what's really going on."

Decker had the feeling that Bhekizitha knew more than he was telling. He also knew that the cell phones they were using were not as secure as they might be, so it was best not to discuss anything that might be misinterpreted by eavesdroppers. And Decker remembered well the black BMWs that used to shadow him. Maybe they still did?

* * * * *

Skyla did not call that night. That worried Decker. He thought about trying to call her. Decided it was best not to do so. Hoped she was safe.

The following morning, Ayo and Decker found a local newscast on television. There was little specific mention of what had happened but the president of the country appeared in his military dress uniform and told everyone to remain calm, that despite the many rumors going around, he was okay and everything was under control.

There had been, the president informed everyone, an attempt on his life. "Those responsible for this outrage are under arrest and will be dealt with according to the laws of our land," he said. Laws or no laws, Decker did not envy the captives.

* * * * *

Skyla called that afternoon to let Decker know that her flight would arrive in Kwekwe that evening. The airport there had been reopened, and all appeared well.

Ayo came to Decker after he'd talked to Skyla and sat beside him, her hand on his, her head against his shoulder. "Skyla really likes you, Ethan," she said.

"I hope so."

"Oh, she does. I can tell by the way she talks to you." Ayo hesitated a moment. "You really like her, too, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I'm glad--for you." She hugged Decker.

"And she likes you." He hugged her in response.

Ayo kissed Decker. Yes, she was certain that Skyla did like her, but . . . .

There simply was no way that Ayo could tell Ethan how she felt about Skyla. Well, regardless, Ayo would do her best to love Skyla--for Ethan.

* * * * *

Skyla arrived at the hotel that evening. Decker and Ayo met her in the lobby, and went up to her room with her. The moment they were alone, the three hugged each other.

While Skyla and Ayo sat quietly, Decker slipped a device that looked like a ball point pen from his pocket, switched it on, and began a methodical sweep of the room for bugs. His small device wouldn't likely pick up the most current sophisticated listening or video devices, but it would detect many of them.

It wasn't that he expected to find listening devices in Skyla's room, but he felt better having assured himself that their conversations were their own. And he had found two listening devices in his and Ayo's room when they first checked in. Found them and disabled them.

He had no idea of who had placed those bugs in his room or when. It may be they were intended to monitor a previous or future hotel guest. He wouldn't count on that.

"I want to show you something," Skyla said, once Decker gave them the okay to talk openly.

"Okay."

She retrieved a letter from her purse and handed it to Decker. "This was waiting for me when I arrived. Guess what I've got an invitation to."

# Chapter 46

Skyla carefully unfolded the colorful invitation and handed it to Decker.

It was addressed to her, in care of her airline, and began: "As an important individual contributing to the tourism industry in Kwekwe and the great nation of Mabutto, you are cordially invited to be my guest at the Casino Kwekwe. We are extremely proud of our new facility and would like to showcase it to you and a select group of fellow professionals before our scheduled grand opening." The date and time were noted, and the invitation was signed by none other than Dakarai Nwoso himself. A RSVP was requested.

Skyla smiled, but her eyes were not. She knew what Decker was thinking. Knew what he had in mind for this man. What he was capable of doing to this man. She waited for his reaction.

"So now we know for sure. Dakarai Nwoso is indeed the man behind the new Kwekwe Casino."

"Yes. I thought you'd be interested in that fact."

Decker nodded. "I can't recommend that you accept that invitation."

"No? You don't think I should go?"

Decker shook his head. "It would be much too risky."

"Too risky?"

Ayo knew what Decker was about to say, and she hugged him, her face buried against his chest as she struggled to hold back her tears. Decker hugged her as he spoke: "Ayo and I have already lost two wonderful friends. They were killed because they were important to us, and Dakarai Nwoso killed them. We couldn't stand to lose you, Skyla."

"Would Nwoso associate me with you and Ayo?"

"We have to assume that he would."

"Does he even know that you're here in Kwekwe?"

Decker smiled. "We have to assume so. Just like we have to assume that our rooms are bugged and our telephone calls monitored. After all, the Mabutto government approved my being here, and it is backing the casino. Somebody has probably made the connection between the three of us."

"And you did find bugs in your room?"

"Yes."

"They could have been placed there some time ago, perhaps in order to listen in on somebody else."

"They could have been, but I doubt it."

Skyla came and sat down beside Decker. "If it is important to you, I could go to the party and verify that this Dakari Nwosso is the one you're looking for. See if he matches the photo you showed me. Maybe even get a photo of him with my cell phone camera. Even if it would be risky, I'd do it for you."

"It isn't worth it, Skyla." Decker put his arm around her.

"But you really want him, don't you?"

She read the answer in his eyes before he said, "Yes, and I'll get him, but I don't want any more of my friends to die."

"Then what's your next step?"

"I'll be finished with my work here in another two weeks. At that time, I plan to take Ayo to the United States where she'll be safe. I've arranged for her to attend an excellent boarding school where she will receive a good education and the best of care, and I've arranged for my attorney to oversee her finances."

"Where to then?"

"I don't know. I'm considering another job with Rhino Oil, but it depends on what I can learn about Dakarai Nwoso's activities. He's on my short do-list. Rhino Oil will give me a brief vacation if I ask them."

Skyla sighed. "Another job with Rhino Oil? That's what I was afraid you'd be doing."

"Afraid I'd be doing? I don't understand?"

"I've been thinking a lot about what you said the last time we talked." Skyla hesitated. "About us."

"And?"

"You mean a lot to me, Ethan." She put her arm around his neck and her head on his shoulder, then took Ayo's hand. "You mean a lot to me, too, Ayo," she said.

Ayo faced Skyla. "You mean a lot to me, too, Skyla," she replied. There, she'd said it. She'd try to mean it. Hoped they wouldn't lose Skyla to that evil man, Nwoso.

"I'd like to find some way for the three of us to be together long enough to get acquainted, and I'm willing to make major sacrifices to do so. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Skyla asked.

Decker looked directly into her warm eyes. "I understand."

"Could we go to the United States together, the three of us? Enjoy one another's company? Spend some time getting acquainted? Do this before you take another job or start hunting down Nwoso? Please?"

* * * * *

Before Decker could respond to Skyla's request, his cell phone jangled. Bhekizitha's name appeared on the Caller ID. "Hello?"

"I'm at the door to your hotel room. Where in the hell are you?" Bhekizitha gasped. He sounded frightened. Anxious.

Decker gave him Skyla's room number.

Moments later, Decker opened the door to Bhekizitha. "What's going on?" Decker asked.

"We've got to get you guys out of here," Bhekizitha hissed, "and I mean right now."

# Chapter 47

Skyla had not yet unpacked her bag. She grabbed it and the three of them hurriedly followed Bhekizitha down the stairs to Decker's and Ayo's room. No one said a word as they packed hastily. With one last look around, Decker switched off the lights. "Okay. Let's go."

Bhekizitha led the way down the back stairs and out a side entrance. A beat-up gray Toyota waited for them in the parking lot.

Skyla, Decker, and Ayo tossed their bags in the trunk and climbed into the car. Bhekizitha sprang into the driver's seat. Moments later, they were on the highway, heading toward the airport.

"What's going on?" Decker asked the question for everyone.

"You know there was an attempt on the president's life," Bhekizitha began.

"Yes, at least that's what we were told."

"Well, it's true, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. There is serious fighting to our north between those loyal to the present government and a band of insurgents wishing to overthrow it. The assassination attempt was a part of their drive to acquire control of the government, and they were aided by a small faction within the present military. It also served as a diversion, for the rebels, as they began to attack the city."

"The fighting is to the north of Kwekwe, then? That's where we were exploring for oil!"

"Yes. That's where the rebels first attacked and overran a government military post. Next they hit an electric plant that supplies power to a part of Kwekwe. It's not safe for us to be up there right now. The oil company is pulling you and your friends out of here, at least until the political situation stabilizes."

"Are the rebels powerful enough to be successful in overthrowing the government?"

"I don't know. They have the backing of a number of people in northern Mabutto where they have their camps, and when they captured that military outpost, they obtained rockets and other heavy weapons."

"Will they attack Kwekwe next?"

"I'm sure they'd like to, and they now may have the strength to do so. I doubt they can actually capture the city, but they can inflict heavy damage and seriously hamper the present government. My guess is they'll try to strike the airport as one of their first targets."

"Do they have airplanes?"

"No, and if they can completely shut down the airport and destroy the runways, the government may not be able to launch an air strike against them."

"Does the government have attack aircraft?"

"Yes. They've got several older Russian MiGs. How operational they are, I don't know, but the military has not lacked for money. My guess is that the MiGs will be in the air as soon as they can be armed and fueled. The rebels will be hard pressed to defend against them unless they have acquired surface-to-air missiles--and have the knowledge to use them."

"Have the rebels got rockets that will reach the airport?"

"Probably."

Bhekizitha drove them toward the airport, taking back streets to avoid road blocks. Few civilian vehicles were on those streets.

Armored military vehicles were patrolling around the airport. Trucks rumbled by. Some were filled with troops and others were towing weapons. "They're gearing up for a real war," Bhekizitha said.

"Will the airport even be open?" Skyla asked.

"I don't know," Bhekizitha replied. "My guess is they'll close it to civilian aircraft so the military can use it."

"Then how will we--?"

"No problem. Rhino Oil is sending a helicopter for you guys." Bhekizitha answered Skyla's question.

Indeed, as they approached the airport, Decker observed a small helicopter bearing the Rhino Oil Company logo waiting for them on the tarmac.

"Are you going with us?" he asked Bhekizitha.

"No. I'll be okay, and Rhino Oil needs someone here who can access the situation and determine when it's safe for you to return to the area. So, I hope to see you back here in a couple of weeks." He did not sound very optimistic.

As they approached the Rhino Oil Company helicopter, Decker noted that there was another helicopter parked on the tarmac a short distance away. It carried no identification markings other than a minimum of registration numbers, but Decker had seen a similar helicopter before, and that one was used by the United States Embassy in South Africa. Maybe the United States was evacuating diplomats?

* * * * *

From inside that United States Embassy helicopter, Dakarai Nwoso watched as the four people got out of the Toyota, claimed luggage from the trunk, and walked to the Rhino Oil Company helicopter. His eyes brightened measurably when he saw the young girl, obviously at least partially blind, being led hand-in-hand by the tall man he recognized as Ethan Decker. "Ah ha!" he breathed, his eyes glittering as the demon inside him echoed his perverse delight. Turning to the man beside him, he asked, "Do you see what I see?"

James Bolington, seated beside Nwoso, had also observed Ayo, Skyla, and Decker boarding the Rhino Oil Company helicopter. Bolington had arrived only an hour ago in the aircraft they were seated in and immediately summoned Dakarai Nwoso to meet with him. Turning to Nwoso, he said, "That's them, all right."

"The blind girl is the one who provided the description of me. Started all the damned trouble. Right?"

"Yes."

"Hell! I thought she was dead when I walked away from that school. Blind and dead. Like the others. I should have made sure she was dead. Raped her, beat her up, and then made sure she was dead. That's what I should have done."

Bolington's eyes brightened. "You still can," he retorted.

"Ye-s-s! Ye-s-s, I can!" Nwoso hissed his reply, his lips twisted in an evil grin.

"Yes! Yes! Yes-s-s-s-s! Do it!" The evil spirit in Dakarai Nwoso came to life and screamed, but only was heard in Nwoso's head.

Nwoso had, in Bolington's way of thinking, become very sloppy of late in his sadistic killing of people. Especially in the killing of children. He was, in fact, becoming a liability to what had been a very smooth operation. Although Bolington needed the man's contacts and money-laundering capabilities, he was getting tired of covering for him. Still, he had to keep Nwoso satisfied, at least for a little longer. And then . . . .

"Damned right. I can still get her. Hell, I'll kill 'em all!" Nwoso exclaimed, his eyes hard and filled with hate. As the rotor blades began to turn on the Rhino Oil Company helicopter, he turned to Bolington. "I want to know where they go from here," he said, "and I want the name of that third person, the woman who was with them."

# Chapter 48

"I didn't understand. Where are they taking us?" Ayo questioned as Decker buckled her seat belt and then gave her a reassuring hug.

"Harare," he responded. "It's in the Western part of Mabutto. Rhino Oil has a field office there. They'll put us up at a hotel."

"Will we be safe there?"

"We should be safe once we reach Harare." Decker wouldn't count one-hundred percent on that, but he'd try to reassure Ayo. "If things get threatening later, they'll fly us out of there."

"Will the rebels be able to overrun Kwekwe, or even all of Mabutto?"

Decker would be honest. "I don't know."

* * * * *

As they talked and prepared to leave Kwekwe, Decker warily observed the second helicopter. Something about its probable relationship to a United States Embassy in that part of the world made him very uneasy. Maybe its presence was nothing to be alarmed about, but after the brush-off he'd had from Bolington, well . . . . He noted the identification numbers on the helicopter in his pocket notebook. Tredor could find out who it belonged to, maybe even determine what it was doing there in Kwekwe.

Assured that everyone was ready, the Rhino Oil helicopter pilot started its engine. As they slowly lifted into the air, Decker watched a car drive up and park near the second helicopter. Two men dressed suspiciously like well-placed government officials jumped out of the car and turned toward that aircraft. Someone already on board beckoned to them from the door--someone who looked very familiar. Decker was not surprised.

He'd only caught a glimpse of the man through the door, but Decker was certain he recognized James Bolington, more by the way he moved and gestured than by having clearly seen his face. Now, what was Bolington doing here?

"See that airplane?" Skyla's question broke into Decker's thoughts. "The small jet. Over there?" She pointed.

"Yes."

"That's the one I was telling you about, the one I was told belongs to a man named Nwoso."

Decker wrote down the identification numbers in his notebook.

BOOM! Concussion from the unexpected blast suddenly rocked the Rhino Oil helicopter as it lifted into the air.

"Oh! What was that?" Ayo gasped. "Are . . . Are we okay?"

BOOM! A second explosion followed before Decker could respond. It, too, rocked the helicopter.

"Yes, I think we're okay." Decker squeezed Ayo's hand. "I'd say the rebels have launched a serious attack on the airport," he replied.

"Oh, my goodness!" Skyla exclaimed. "Look, Ethan! Look there! Over there!"

Decker looked where she was pointing. The newly refurbished airport control tower had taken a direct hit and was in flames. Losing the control tower wouldn't seriously hamper military flights, but Nwoso probably wouldn't be flying his jet out of the Kwekwe airport until the control tower was back in operation. Nor would there be commercial flights in or out of that airport until the control tower was functioning again.

* * * * *

It took James Bolington one telephone call to learn the name of the woman accompanying Decker and Ayo. A second phone call told him where they were going. A third call located the hotel in which they had rooms reserved, courtesy of Rhino Oil. He smiled as he passed the information to Dakarai Nwoso.

* * * * *

As the Rhino Oil helicopter leveled off and headed toward Harare, Decker noted frenzied activity at the south end of the airport. Three Russian MiG aircraft had been parked there. One of those now screamed into the air, obviously headed toward the rebel position north of the city. A second MiG was being armed and serviced. A third was being pushed into position for servicing. If the rebels did not have attack aircraft of their own or surface-to-air missiles with which to combat the MiGs, those planes would make a decided difference in the outcome of the battle.

Skyla nudged Decker. "Look over there!" She pointed.

They watched as a huge plane with no apparent markings came in for a landing on a second runway. "Looks like a military transport plane," Decker observed. It was almost certainly an American plane.

"There's another one." Skyla pointed to a second similar plane circling overhead, preparing to land.

* * * * *

The Rhino Oil Company helicopter was too far away now for Decker to observe the transport planes, but he could guess that they contained military equipment destined for the Mabutto government troops. Bolington had to have been involved in that operation. Decker would bet serious money on that. Maybe Nwoso was also involved. What they were getting out of the transaction, Decker could only guess.

* * * * *

James Bolington, Dakarai Nwoso, and the two government officials representing the Mabutto military forces watched from the Embassy helicopter as the two transport planes landed. Five heavily armored vehicles were hastily unloaded from the first plane and two small helicopters from the second.

Service personnel immediately swarmed over the armored vehicles. They would be on their way to confront the rebels within hours. The two helicopters would take a little longer before they, too, would be used to confront the rebels. Both, however, were attack aircraft, capable of carrying a variety of missiles as well as machine guns--attack capability that the rebels likely could not readily counter.

At the same time as the transport planes were bringing additional military hardware to the Mabutto forces, the Russian MiGs were attacking the rebels. No more rockets would be launched against the airport or against the city of Kwekwe that day. Perhaps not for a long time.

The commanding officer overseeing the unloading of the new armored vehicles, helicopters, and a variety of munitions and missiles, called the officials who were watching with Bolington and Nwoso. "Everything we ordered is here and is in excellent condition," he reported.

Briefcases filled with cash changed hands. Then the men shook hands all around.

Once the government officials had left, Nwoso turned to Bolington and smiled. "My thanks to you, my friend," he said.

It was Bolington's turn to smile. "And mine to you." A quarter million United States dollars would have been deposited in each man's numbered offshore bank account in addition to that received in the brief cases. Bolington would be retiring soon on that nest egg.

"How is the casino coming along?" Bolington asked, once the government transactions had taken place.

"It will be ready to open just as soon as the government gets the political situation under control." Nwoso scowled. "Until then, few foreign tourists will risk travel to Mabutto."

"We need it up and doing business as soon as possible," Bolington replied.

Nwoso nodded. He knew the reason for Bolington's interest in the casino. The man had almost five million dollars in United States currency stashed in Nwoso's warehouse in Itsanii, waiting to be laundered through the casino. Nwoso smiled, but only to himself. As long as that money was in his warehouse, Bolington would not give him any trouble.

* * * * *

Later that day, Dakarai Nwoso watched Bolington's helicopter lift off, then slid behind the wheel of his personal BMW. Once in his car, he began the drive to Harare.

This time he would leave no witnesses, blind or otherwise.

# Chapter 49

Reports on the news over the next few days were not favorable for the present Mabutto government. The rebels had managed not only to knock out the Kwekwe airport control tower and damage a runway, but to shoot down one of the MiGs the government had sent to attack them. In addition, they had destroyed another power plant and cut off all electricity to the city of Kwekwe and the surrounding area. Furthermore, people sympathetic to the rebel cause had taken to the streets in protest of repressive government policies, and the police had met the protests with deadly force. At least sixty people had been killed, and many more had been injured. Dozens of the protesters had been jailed.

Mabutto was clearly in serious turmoil. Even the arrival of additional armored vehicles and attack helicopters had not enabled the present government to halt the rebel advance. How long it would be before the rebels actually conquered the city of Kwekwe was anyone's guess. If Kwekwe were to fall, it would not be long before the rebels advanced on Harare.

After learning that Kwekwe was in serious danger of falling to the rebels and that more fighting was inevitable in Mabutto, Decker suggested to Skyla and Ayo that they leave the country the following morning. Although security had been tightened, the Harare airport was still operating as usual and there were regular flights in and out of the city. Rhino Oil Company security personnel would accompany them to the airport. "I want you out of here," Decker told Skyla and Ayo. Both regretfully agreed that it would be best.

"Won't you come with us?" Ayo begged.

Decker didn't answer that question directly. Instead, he outlined how he wanted Skyla to accompany Ayo to the United States. While there, they could meet with Decker's attorney and get Ayo enrolled in school. "We'll see how this revolution plays out in Mabutto," he told them.

"But you could come with us tomorrow?" Ayo questioned.

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

Decker wished she hadn't asked. He'd try to make it as easy as possible. "I've got some unfinished work here," he said.

Both Skyla and Ayo knew the work he was referring to. They would not ask again that he come with them.

* * * * *

Dakarai Nwoso and his demon accomplice formed a plan as he drove toward Harare. He'd made a mistake when he shot up that school in Begwa, all right, a mistake he would not repeat in the future. He should have made sure they all were dead, including the teacher. And then he'd lured that nurse out on the highway toward Zimbabwe, thinking Decker and the girl, or at least Decker, would be with her, that he'd have the opportunity to kill them all and leave them where nobody would ever find the bodies. Instead, he'd only managed to kill some guy from the British Consulate. That hadn't pleased Bolington, nor the bloodthirsty demon within him. Now the demon would give Nwoso no rest. Only spilled blood would quiet the demon.

The nurse wouldn't give anyone any trouble, not anymore. But he'd wanted Decker and the little girl as well. Wanted to kill 'em all! To appease the demon. To appease his own bloodlust.

And then Decker managed to contact that damned journalist. She'd made life harder for him in the past, and she had to go. Again, he'd wanted to get her and Decker at the same time, get them out on a lonely road and kill them his way, but that plan hadn't worked out either.

He'd had to kill her. When she'd taunted him, called him a baby-killer, the bloodlust had simply been too strong for him to resist. The demon would not let him rest until she was dead.

Nwoso cursed silently every time he thought of how he would have saved himself a lot of trouble if he'd just killed that teacher in Begwa. Made sure she was dead.

And Bolington wasn't happy about the killings. He couldn't exactly blame the man for being annoyed with him for bringing attention to himself the way he had, although Bolington shouldn't really be too upset, not after he'd laundered millions of dollars for him through his nightclubs. The guy must have millions stashed away. As he did.

Now, if Mabutto could just get stabilizaed. It didn't make much difference to Nwoso if the present government or the rebels won the revolution. Either government would have need of and would support his casino, and thereby continue his and Bolington's profitable money laundering operation as well as bring in considerable revenues for Mabutto. He'd supplied both the rebels and government with arms just as he had both sides in Zaharra. Nwoso chuckled. As long as there was an Africa, there would be plenty of war and therefore demand for his and Bolington's services--of all kinds. Life would be good forever.

But now Dakarai Nwoso had a prior objective--to kill Decker, Ayo, and this woman named Skyla Osterhoudt. Once they were out of the way, nobody would care a damn what he'd done to those school kids at Begwa, or anywhere else.

Besides, killing was enjoyable! It had always given him a thrill, especially so if he could set it up so that it was a surprise for the victims. He almost laughed out loud as he thought about how those kids had screamed when he'd smashed in the door to that hut. How they'd screamed and thrashed about when the threw acid in their faces.

Killing Decker and the girl and that woman wouldn't be so much fun, but he had to kill them as quietly as possible. Or . . . Or did he? He'd brought a silenced pistol, but . . . .

He'd catch them in their hotel room in the early morning hours while they were alseep. Nobody would even hear the shots. By the next day, he'd be back in Kwekwe. No one would know where he'd been or what he'd done.

And it really wouldn't make any difference who won the battle for the city. Nwoso had friends on both sides. His casino venture would be safe. He would be safe. People still needed weapons, whiskey, drugs, sex, and entertainment. He and Bolington could supply them all, for a price. Business would go on as usual regardless of who won the war.

Now to get this job done and get back to business as usual.

* * * * *

Rhino Oil had booked a large hotel suite for Decker and his friends. Once they were settled in those rooms and rested a bit, the three of them went to the dining room for dinner. It was while they were finishing dinner that Ayo suddenly tensed and grasped Decker's arm.

He looked at her. Was surprised to see that the color seemed completely drained from her face. "What is it, Ayo?" he asked.

"He is coming," she whispered.

# Chapter 50

"He is coming." There would be no mistaking who Ayo was referring to.

Decker put his lips close to her ear. "Here?"

"Yes."

Both he and Skyla looked cautiously around the dining room, but didn't see Dakarai Nwoso or anyone they recognized. "Is he close by?" Decker asked.

"I cannot tell exactly where he is. I can only tell that he is coming ever closer and closer, and that he now is very near to us. His evil is very powerful. We must be watchful."

* * * * *

They quickly finished eating and returned to their room. "I gather you could sense Dakarai Nwoso's presence?" Decker questioned Ayo.

"Yes. He is approaching us even now. He wishes to destroy all of us. I . . . ." She hesitated. Started to say something else. Then thought better of it.

Decker waited. When Ayo didn't continue, he asked her what she had been about to say.

She turned from Decker to Skyla, and back to Decker. Neither spoke. Ayo hesitated a moment longer, then began: "There . . . There is something about me that I should tell you."

"Okay."

"I would have told you long ago, but I was afraid you'd not understand. And some people . . . well, some people have made fun of me when I talk about this."

"We won't make fun of you," Skyla said.

Ayo hesitated, still a little unsure if she should continue.

"Go ahead," Decker urged. "We won't make fun of you. What is it you wish to tell us?"

"My mother," Ayo began, "like her mother before her, that is my grandmother, was a healer." She hesitated. "Do you know what that means?"

"In a general way, yes."

"She was a Christian," Ayo continued, "and she was as close to a medical doctor as my village ever had. Because she was a devote Christian, she could lay her hands on sick people and pray over them, and often God would heal them. She also understood herbs and the medicines she could make from them. Sometimes she made potions or recommended certain foods for illnesses."

"Yes?" Decker encouraged her.

"Please don't think she was a witch doctor. She did not use the devil's power."

"We understand that," Skyla reassured her.

"Even the few people in our village who could afford to come to the big city and visit a medical doctor usually preferred to see my mother when they were sick."

Decker knew this to be true in many of the rural villages in Africa. And he'd heard remarkable stories of healing. He would try to understand what Ayo wanted to tell them. What she was getting at.

"I will try to explain what this has to do with my sensing Nwoso's nearby presence."

"Okay."

"Sometimes the daughrter of a healer is born with a healer's abilities. My mother was. I was not. However, my mother taught me some basic things about the causes of illness and bad behaviors. Some, she believed, were caused by an evil spirit. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"She could sense when she was in the presence of evil, that is, in the presence of an evil spirit. When she sensed such evil in a patient, she would pray God's protection from that spirit and ask Him to drive it out of the sick person. I saw it happen."

"We understand."

"I, too, am able to detect evil spirits. That is something my mother taught me--to be sensitive to evil. Tonight, as we were eating, I felt a tremendous evil force begin to search us out, to surround us--the same evil I sensed in my classroom in Begwa when that evil man stormed in. It could be only one man, Dakarai Nwoso."

"So, he is here in Harare?"

"Yes, here now--or coming this way. Once I began to sense the evil force, it slowly increased, swirling around us just like a breeze turning into a wind. Perhaps he is even now in the hotel."

Decker thought over the things Ayo had told them. "Will you pray against him?" he asked.

"Yes, I will pray aginst him, but his evil is very strong. I will pray that my faith is strong enough to repel the evil--and that God will help me. Then, too, we must remember that God works in strange ways sometimes." Ayo hesitated, obviously uncertain about how to express what she wanted them to understand, but then continued. "This may not make sense to you, but . . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"What is it, Ayo?"

"I don't want to alarm you, but when I pray deeply as I now must, it is as though I am in a trance. I will not be able to communicate with you, and I may speak out loud in a strange language that only God and I can understand."

"It's okay."

"Let us join hands."

Decker, Ayo, and Skyla joined hands as Ayo bowed her head.

Ayo prayed for God's power to restrain the evil spirit and to keep them safe from harm. "If we should die by Dakarai Nwoso's hand," she concluded, "please take the three of us directly to Heaven."

* * * * *

Five hundred United States dollars bought Dakarai Nwoso the room number in which Decker, Ayo, and Skyla were staying. Another five hundred dollars bought him a passkey to that room. Now he just had to wait until they were deep in sleep.

# Chapter 51

"If Ayo says Dakarai Nwoso is near, that's good enough for me," Decker responded, "and we're not going to wait for him to find us."

"What then?" Skyla asked.

"This hotel room is not a good place for us to confront him. I've got a plan. Let's get out of here. Right now."

They quickly gathered their luggage, scouted the hall and stairway to be sure they were clear, left the hotel by a side entrance, and hastily made their way to the car Rhino Oil had provided for them when they arrived at the airport.

"He may be able to follow us," Ayo whispered as they drove away from the hotel.

"Do you think he can?"

"The evil spirit is very powerful and will search for us. I can still sense it. Nwoso is near, but I will pray that God will restrain the evil spirit and help us escape."

Ayo prayed. "God will help us," she said.

"I want to get both of you out of here, completely out of Nwoso's reach," Decker said.

"How?"

Decker didn't answer. Headlights had appeared in the rearview mirror. Was someone tailing them? His paranoia kicked in and he drove an evasive pattern around several blocks until he was sure they were not being followed.

Once they were in the clear, Decker drove directly to the airport.

The Rhino Oil Company helicopter that brought them to Harare was parked where they'd landed. Decker parked the car nearby.

"We're going to take the helicopter?" Skyla asked.

"Yes. Let's get our stuff and get in."

"Can you--"

"Yes, I can fly it."

By the time they had their luggage loaded and were seated, Decker had the engine running. Moments later, they lifted off.

He had not taken time to do a proper preflight inspection, but he knew that the Rhino Oil Company helicopters were well maintained. A quick glance at the fuel gauge told him it was full of fuel--enough to get them to Tadjoura, Zharra, and the safety of the British Consulate.

* * * * *

No one heard the faint metallic "snick" of a passkey being inserted into the lock on the hotel room door. That "snick" was followed by a faint metallic "click" as the key turned in the lock, pushing the tumblers aside as it did so.

The bedside clock indicated three o'clock in the morning. Every precaution had been taken to ensure that no one saw the intruder. Even the hall light had been removed to insure there was no light behind Nwoso as he opened the door.

The door moved almost silently on its newly oiled hinges as it swung open. Evil sneaked into the room with the intruder like a bitter incense, swirling around the three beds, seeking to witness the destruction of the occupants of that room.

"Yes! Yes! Kill them all! Y-e-s-s-s! Kill them now!" The demon urged Nwoso.

* * * * *

Dakarai Nwoso almost laughed at how easily he'd gained his advantage over his sleeping enemies. He studied them for a moment by the illumination from a street light that faintly lightened the room through the window curtains. Then he raised the silenced pistol.

"Kill them now!"

But wait! Nwoso's eyes narrowed. It wouldn't be any sport to kill them in their sleep. Bolington wouldn't understand, but there was a thrill to be sought out when killing someone. It was the thrill that came from seeing the reaction in your victim, knowing he or she or someone they loved was going to die. It was the thrill that came when the bullets blasted them all to hell. The thrill that came when they screamed and died. Nwoso craved that thrill. Ever since he'd killed a dog with the demon's encouragement when he was fifteen years old, he'd lived to kill and kill again and again! Tonight he would kill three people!

He surveyed the unsuspecting sleepers again. It was dark, but he could tell exactly where they were by the way the bed clothes were rumpled. Nwoso practiced moving the pistol quickly from one to the other. They were all sleeping peacefully. Soon they'd be sleeping forever.

Three quick shots! Three kills! But where was the thrill in that? The demon within him voiced the question.

He'd awaken them. Let them know they were doing to die. Revel in the look of terror on their faces as he killed them one by one. The girl would be first.

Dakarai Nwoso held the gun on the bed where he was certain Ayo was sleeping. He threw back his head and laughed.

* * * * *

"Ha! Ha! Ha-a-a-a-a!" Nwoso's harsh mocking laugh filled the room. Yet nobody stirred in their bed.

What the hell? Dakarai Nwoso breathed heavily as he strode directly to the bed he presumed was occupied by Ayo. WHISH! He tossed the bed clothes aside. Nothing! No one was there! Nwoso cursed under his breath as he realized what had happened.

Ayo was gone! So were the others! All three beds had been rumpled and arranged to look as if they were occupied. But the three people Nwoso expected to find in that room were not there.

Where the hell were they? Nwoso turned on the lights and hurriedly searched the room. He found nothing to indicate where they'd gone.

Nwoso cursed under his breath as he retreated to the hall. "E-e-i-i-i-i-e-e!" The demon howled his displeasure at this unexpected turn of events as the unfulfilled lust for blood raged through Nwoso's entire body!

Dakarai Nwoso quickly left the hotel and made his way to his car. Anger continued to well up inside of him as he sat behind the steering wheel. Where in the hell were they?

The airport? He'd seen them leave Kwekwe in the Rhino Oil Company helicopter. They'd been on their way to Harare. He'd traced them to their hotel, to their room. Had someone tipped them off to his presence? To what he intended to do? He'd kill whoever tipped them off. Torture them until they died. Make them sorry they'd ever done so.

The airport. He'd check the airport first. See if that damned helicopter was still there.

No. Wait. His mind was clearing now. The presence or absence of the helicopter wouldn't mean much. Others might have flown it away. He'd call Bolington. See if he could trace their whereabouts. Dakarai Nwoso began to dial Bolington's private number.

JING! JING! JING! Before he could completely dial Bolington's night-number, however, Nwoso's cell phone rang. JING! JING! JING! The pre-arranged tone indicated that an important text message was coming through.

# Chapter 52

Lawrence Tredor met the Rhino Oil Company helicopter at the Tadjoura airport. He'd made arrangements for Skyla and Ayo to board a commercial flight that would take them to the United States--and safety. He'd also arranged for the helicopter to be serviced before Decker flew it back to Harare, Mabutto, later that day.

It was with mixed emotions that Decker saw Ayo and Skyla board an airplane destined for the United States. Still, it was, he tried to assure himself, in their best intersts. He wouldn't have to worry about their safety, and Ayo would be enrolled in school. Yet he knew he would miss them both. Hopefully, he'd be alive to join them later.

Later that day, Decker brought Tredor up to date on his pursuit of Dakarai Nwoso. He told him about the casino Nwoso had built with the aid of the Mabutto government, about the unmarked helicopter and James Bolington's presence in Kwekwe, and about Ayo's sense that Nwoso was pursuing them.

When he finished, Tredor rocked back in his chair--an indication, Decker had learned, that the man had something for him. He was not to be disappointed.

"I've learned something that we may wish to check out before you go back to Mabutto," Tredor began. "It's something that someone with your training might do better than anyone on my immediate staff. Of course, we'll back you up."

Decker sensed Tredor's excitement. "What's that you've discovered?"

Tredor smiled. "Do you remember Nthanda's story about a 'mountain of money,' to use her term, reportedly stashed away in a warehouse in Itsanii?"

"Yes."

"It was rumored to be stashed in one of the warehouses owned by Dakarai Nwoso."

"Yes. I've always assumed it would be in the one into which the Davey Jones' Locker nightclub is built." Decker shrugged his shoulders. "Or maybe it's in the one where The Green Whale is located."

Tredor smiled and shook his head. "No. Neither one."

"Still another one?"

"Yes. It would be Nwoso's third warehouse, at least the third one that we know of so far. This one sits half a mile away from Davey Jones' Locker, in the waterfront district." Tredor withdrew a map from his desk drawer and pointed out the location of the warehouse.

"He didn't sell this particular warehouse to Gebhuza?"

"No, we don't think so, and speaking of the nightclubs he owned, I believe Nwoso still maintains some degree of ownership, perhaps a partnership arrangement with Gebhuza. They converse regularly. Off the record, you understand, we're monitoring their conversations."

Decker nodded his understanding. "Anyway, about this third warehouse?"

"One of my informants passed along several interesting bits of information regarding what went on there."

Decker waited.

"My informant works for both Gebhuza and Nwoso. One day while he was working in that third warehouse, who should appear but James Bolington and Dakarai Nwoso. A little later one of the overhead doors opened and a van drove into the warehouse. Under Bolington's direction, my informant and another man assisted the driver in loading several wooden crates into the van. The lid on one of the crates wasn't sealed very well, and he got a quick look at the contents. Want to guess what was inside?"

"Cash?"

"Yep. Good ole United States currency. Fifty and one hundred dollar bills packaged into bricks. That's what he could see at a glance, anyway."

"I'm not surprised."

"He got a good look around inside that part of the warehouse where he's been warned to stay out of unless he's directed to go there," Tredor continued. "It's partitioned off and he now believes the story about a mountain of money hidden there. Says there's a huge pile of something in one of the back rooms that looked to him like piles of cash covered up with a tarp. He couldn't get close enough to be sure what it was."

"So you want me to go inside that warehouse and take a look?" Decker asked, correctly reading the unspoken request.

Tredor smiled. "Yes, but there is more that you should be aware of."

"More?"

"There may be a graveyard within that warehouse."

"A graveyard?"

"Yes, and this is something that may interest the United Nations, if not the local government."

Decker shrugged. He'd seen the interest the local officials had in murder. They'd have even less interest in a graveyard, even if it were filled with murder victims.

Tredor caught Decker's shrug and added, "And believe it or not, Ethan, there are some honest cops here who will pursue any leads we may come up with."

Decker wouldn't argue. "What do you expect to find?"

"According to my informant, there's a corner section in the warehouse where the concrete floor has been torn up. There's a small backhoe sitting nearby." He turned to Decker. "Do you know what a backhoe is?"

"Yes."

"My informant has seen holes dug in the dirt floor that remind him of open graves--about six feet long by three feet wide and as deep as the backhoe will dig them. One day he'll be in the warehouse and there will be a big hole dug in the dirt. Maybe a week later, it's been filled in. At first he thought they were burying precious metals, maybe gold or silver. But they don't deal much in gold or silver, at least to his knowledge. As you well know, people disappear around here, and it's possible that some of them are buried there." Decker had the decided feeling that Tredor was absolutely certain that there were bodies buried in that warehouse--and knew who at least some of them were.

"Any ideas as to who might be buried there?"

"My guess is that rival drug lords and gangsters are buried there. And that may also be a burial site for political prisoners who die from torture at the hands of the government. That's why I said the United Nations might be interested."

Decker watched Tredor carefully as he talked. From his body language, Decker deduced that Tredor indeed knew much more about the grave yard than he was telling. He'd guess that Tredor knew exactly who was buried there--and that the bodies would in fact be of interest to the United Nations.

"Have you got a plan?"

"I'm developing one, but I want you to take a look at that warehouse before we finalize a plan."

"Do you wish to involve any of the local law enforcement?" The answer to that question would determine Decker's response.

Tredor chuckled. "Not for now. I figure a share of them are on Nwoso's payroll. We'll go in covertly. That's why I thought of you for the job. What you find will determine our response."

"And if there's really a mountain of money?"

Tredor smiled.

"What kind of locks are there on the walk-in doors?"

"Huge padlocks." Tredor chuckled. "However, our man got the maker's name and the serial numbers from those locks. We've requested keys."

* * * * *

"Homecoming in two weeks." The coded text message on Dakarai Nwoso's phone only served to excite his lust for killing. It was from the commander of the rebel forces in Zaharra. The term "Homecoming" let him know that the rebels planned a raid on yet another small village--a killing raid! And he was invited to participate! The phrase "two weeks" let him know when the raid would take place.

To kill again! Yes! Two weeks would give him time to oversee the grand opening of his new casino in Kwekwe, make certain it was operating smoothly, and then gather the equipment he'd need for the raid. This time there wouldn't be any survivors. The screams! The blood! The bodies flying through the air! Oh, yes! Yes! Yes! Y-e-e-s-s-s-s-s! The demon within Dakarai Nwoso screamed his pleasure.

"Yes." Nwoso typed his rely, knowing the rebel commander would send a plane or helicopter to pick him up as he usually did. The demon screamed again and again until Nwoso quieted himself and the demon, and turned his attention to the tasks at hand.

In two weeks he'd have things to celebrate and the raid would serve as a way to memorialize not only the opening of his casino, but the death of the three people who could link him with that massacre at Begwa. They would not escape him the next time. In less than two weeks they'd all be dead. Dead! Dead! Dead! The screams! The blood! The bodies . . . .

First, though, he had to find out exactly where they went. As soon as his exhilaration waned a bit and the demonic screams died away, he placed a call to the man who would know exactly where they went--James Bolington.

* * * * *

Once Skyla and Ayo were on their way to the United States and the helicopter was serviced, Decker would fly it back to Harare. He then would drive back to Itsanii. And once Tredor obtained and delivered those keys to him, he'd take a look inside that warehouse.

Or maybe he wouldn't need any keys. He could get inside almost any building without keys. Then he'd see what he could find out about the graveyard. See what James Bolington was doing there, too. What kind of fortune he'd stashed there. He owed that guy one for the way he'd tried to block his locating Dakarai Nwoso, and if he could link him to a money-laundering scheme or a graveyard for political prisoners, payback would be sweet indeed. Then, once he was assured that Ayo and Skyla were in the United States and completely out of harms way, he'd go after Dakarai Nwoso.

* * * * *

Ayo and Skyla were not to have a routine flight to the United States, however. Skyla alerted Tredor to the first delay when their airplane experienced mechanical difficulties shortly after takeoff and returned to the Tadjoura airport. Passengers were escorted to the terminal, and then almost immediately directed to board another plane.

A second call from Skyla to Tredor was cut short. Tredor's attempts to return her call were unsuccessful. That puzzled him, but he had no reason to suspect that anything was wrong. His call to the airport confirmed what Skyla had told him about the delay, but he was assured that the second--back up--plane had departed only 30 minutes after the first one returned.

* * * * *

The horrible news was relayed to Decker while he was in flight back to Harare. "I'm sorry," Tredor said, "but I thought you should know right away. The airplane carrying Ayo and Skyla has disappeared over the ocean."

# Chapter 53

Upon his return to Kwekwe, Dakarai Nwoso immediately placed an encrypted call to the commander of the rebels who were attacking that city, asking him to withdraw temporarily his troops and allow the government to restore order in order for him to proceed with the grand opening of his casino. Because Nwoso had provided a good many arms and supplies to the rebel forces and promised them even more advanced weapons in the future, their commander readily agreed. Furthermore, the commander of the rebels operating in northern Mabutto was a friend of the rebel commander in Zaharra, the one who regularly invited Dakarai Nwoso on raids. Both leaders knew that a share of their supplies would be cut off if they angered this man. Neither leader could afford to anger Dakarai Nwoso.

* * * * *

The grand opening of the casino drew tremendous crowds despite the previously perceived threat from the rebels--the threat that, because of Dakarai Nwoso's timely intervention, did not materialize. In fact, two large cruise ships that were in the area docked and their captains brought the passengers to the casino for a round of free drinks and prizes. Nwoso and the government officials present at the grand opening made a special welcome to the tourists, hopeful that many of them would return and bring their friends with them.

Dakara Nwoso had selected his casino staff well. Not only did they provide the greatest in hospitality to the visitors, but they let those who were seeking something out of the ordinary know that their desires could and would be met, without any interference from the police. Ah, yes. Nwoso and his indwelling demon knew all about the dark desires of the human heart, and he was willing and able to satisfy those desires--for a price.

His own dark desires were about to be fulfilled as well. Once the grand opening was over and the casino was operating smoothly, Dakarai Nwoso would pack a variety of supplies and be ready when the small plane came to take him to the rebel's camp in Zaharra. Included in those supplies was a quantity of excellent whiskey for the men who would take part in the raid with him. Nwoso could afford to be generous with the men. After all, he was the beneficiary of their invitation. The demon within him licked his lips at the thought of the exhilarating massacre and the uninhibited celebration that would follow.

* * * *

Decker almost turned the helicopter around and returned to Itsanii when he received Tredor's message, then realized that there was nothing he could do there. Tredor assured him that search parties were on their way to the site where the plane disappeared and that he would keep him informed of any news pertaining to the disaster.

What could have gone wrong? Decker asked himself over and over if the plane's disappearance might have been sabotage. If it might have been sabotaged because of Ayo or Skyla being on board. Or if someone might have thought he was on board.

Well, there was absolutely nothing he could do to assist in the search for them. But there was something he could do about the man who'd murdered his friends. And that bastard Bolington. Still, vengeance would have to wait. He owed Tredor. Owed him big time. He'd look at that warehouse.

Let the crisis push you up, not pull you down. That's the way Decker had been taught to deal with discouragement. Focus on what remains, not what is lost. He could do that. Damn that Nwoso! Damn that Bolington! Their turn would come.

* * * * *

While Dakarai Nwoso waited for his opportunity to join the rebels and participate in a killing raid with them, he concentrated on setting up his money laundering operation through his new casino. Even though the local governments would not give him any trouble if they suspected he was laundering money or engaging in other questionable activities, he did not wish to be found out. And he knew that Bolington would not be pleased if those activities came to light, especially because he would easily be linked to Nwoso's business activities.

He had not forgotten Decker or his friends. Once he returned from the raid, they would die--screaming in agony! He would see to that. The demon demanded blood!

It was while Dakarai Nwoso was enjoying the pleasures of calculating the profits from his casino one evening that he received an expected text message on his secure phone: "We're finished with her."

Nwoso smiled, and responded: "Day after tomorrow."

* * * * *

Decker located Dakarai Nwoso's third warehouse without any trouble. Taking special care to ensure that he was not observed, he drove through the streets around it, sizing up the area, and paying special attention to the large building itself.

There was nothing about the warehouse that particularly distinguished it from the others in the area. From the street, it appeared to be but one of several and not conspicuous for any particular reason. As Tredor had mentioned, the walk-in doors were secured by huge padlocks, but then so were the doors on most other nearby warehouses. The two overhead doors most likely were locked from the inside.

Decker found a place where he could park and unobtrusively monitor the activity around the warehouse district through his binoculars. For the next 24 hours he recorded the traffic patterns in his notebook.

Although there was relatively normal and expected traffic in and out of most of the other warehouses during the daylight hours, there was none at night. By contrast, no one approached the warehouse he was observing during the day. Shortly after sunset, however, a small van approached that warehouse. A passenger Decker did not recognize got out, unlocked one of the walk-in doors, and went inside. Moments later, one of the large overhead doors opened and the van drove inside. Decker photographed the activity using a telephoto lens.

The same pattern was followed the following night: Just after sunset a small van was driven inside the warehouse, to emerge twenty minutes later. There was no activity around that building for the rest of the night.

He wouldn't need those keys Tredor had requested in order to enter the warehouse. In fact, Decker didn't want them. To unlock those locks and go in through those doors would mean that someone would have to come by and re-lock the padlocks. Otherwise, anyone who watched the warehouse or came up to those doors would know that an unauthorized person was inside.

No. Decker wouldn't need those keys. Those walk-in and overhead doors could stay closed and locked. He would go in through one of the skylights in the roof. It wouldn't be hard for him to reach the roof.

* * * * *

Decker followed the search for the missing aircraft on each newscast with an agonizing, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, knowing he'd lost Ayo and Skyla for good. What he wanted to know now was why that plane went down. If Dakarai Nwoso or James Bolington had a hand in its disappearance, he'd kill both of them in the most cruel manner he could devise.

It had been determined that the plane was flying directly toward a storm-front when it disappeared. The pilot should have had ample warning about the storm, however, and standard procedure for commercial pilots was to fly around such storms. Why hadn't he done so?

Military divers from several nations were on the scene, searching the waters for clues as to what happened, but the ocean was quite deep at the point where the plane disappeared and continuing storms were hampering the search. Someone had found a flotation device from the aircraft, but that was all.

None of the information provided a bit of comfort to Decker. If he had to guess, he'd think that the airspeed indicators on the plane, or some of the other instrumets, were not functioning properly as they approached the storm. Unless there had been gross errors on the part of the pilots and assuming there hadn't been a bomb on board, or that a missile hadn't brought the plane down. He pushed the possibilities from his mind as best he could.

* * * * *

We're finished with her. They damned well should be finished with her, Dakarai Nwoso grumbled to himself. They'd kept the girl long enough to have gotten every bit of information she could provide them, and he knew for certain that she had none to give them. He knew what they would do to her, information or none. Knew what they really wanted her for. He didn't care.

He'd set her up as the one supporting the rebels. Let the secret police have their fun. His only regret was that he hadn't been there to see what the did to her. Day after tomorrow she'd be his and his alone--and then she'd be dead. Dead and buried where she'd never be found. The demon chortled as Nwoso planned her death.

* * * * *

Decker conferred with Tredor and showed him the photos he'd taken of the warehouse. Tredor arranged for some of his people to tail the van that seemed to be paying regular visits to the building. He'd find out what that van was doing there.

Tredor easily obtained keys to the locks securing the wareouse directly from the lock manufacture. Decker told him about his plans to enter the building through a skylight instead.

"I want a lookout posted where I've been observing the warehouse," Decker told Tredor. "He can text-message me if anyone approaches the building while I'm inside. My phone will be set to receive only text messges, and to vibrate when it does so."

Tredor agreed. He himself would oversee the surveillance.

"I'll also need someone to drop me off near the warehouse and pick me up when I'm finished," Decker added. "Depending on what I find, we may need a truck ready to haul out something. What we take away will be your choice."

"Agreed. When do you want to go in?"

"Tomorrow night."

# Chapter 54

Decker skillfully scaled the shadowy side of the warehouse wall in less than one minute using a grappling hook and climbing rope, then made his way to the closest skylight. Directly below that skylight was a narrow catwalk that led to a ladder secured to the warehouse wall.

In addition to the skylights in the roof, there was a door that opened into a stairway leading down into the warehouse. It was likely designed for and used by maintenance personnel coming to the rooftop to service the air conditioning units located there, as well as to repair the roof whenever necessary.

Decker had considered using that door as he entrance to the warehouse. It would have been an easier entrance, but a more dangerous one because it might be connected to an alarm of some sort. If he could check out that door from inside the building, it could be a convenient entry point in the future. Or perhaps an exit later that night.

The skylight yielded to the tools he'd brought along. Moments later, after assuring himself that no one was immediately visible in the building below, Decker lowered himself through the skylight and to the catwalk. From there he'd make his way to the ladder that led to the warehouse floor. So far, so good.

From his vantage point high above the warehouse floor, Decker surveyed the entire layout with his night-vision binoculars, orienting himself to the cavernous space below. There were no lights visible and no sounds of human activity.

No security cameras were visible. That troubled Decker. He'd have to assume that they had installed tiny security cameras that were easily hidden from view or incorporated into common items such as clocks or light fixtures. Where they might be monitored he could not know.

Tredor was keeping an eye on the warehouse from the outside. He would alert Decker if anyone came to the building, as they might if he tripped an alarm or was caught on a security camera. He'd take his chances on having time to get away.

It was time to explore the building and its contents. Decker cautiously climbed the ladder to the warehouse floor, paused and listened intently, but heard no sounds. He'd worn gloves that night, not wanting to leave any fingerprints inside that building.

He'd brought two flashlights. One was a powerful tactical light, capable of temporarily blinding an opponent as well as illuminating a large space. The second was smaller and its light could be concentrated on a small area without being seen from a distance. Both had their place.

To Decker's left was a partitioned-off portion of the warehouse, an area of primary interest to Tredor and himself. The door was locked, but Decker picked the lock without any difficulty, using his small flashlight for illumination. What he saw when the opened the door almost made him gasp. Within that room was indeed what could only be described as a "mountain of money." Brick upon brick of United States currency was stacked in the room! A huge tarp was stretched over the top of the currency, likely as a protective shelter in case the roof leaked. Decker had never seen so much cash in one place in his life.

There was likely more currency here than most of the local banks combined had available. Decker almost had to laugh. The "mountain" showed which currency the criminal element preferred. They didn't just prefer United States currency, they insisted on it! In fact, much of the local currency was nearly worthless because of out-of-control inflation as well as the constantly changing governments. Just try to buy a supply of drugs or military hardware with the local currency!

Decker stepped off the size of the "mountain of money," calculating three feet for each measured step he took. The "mountain" measured approximately twenty feet long by fifteen feet wide by eight to nine feet tall. The "bricks" appeared to contain mostly 100 dollar bills with a few bricks consisting of 50 dollar bills. Decker noted the dimensions of the "mountain" in his pocket notebook. Given the measurements of the hoard, Tredor could calculate the approximate amount of cash that was stashed there if he wished.

It was tempting to lift a brick or two of the cash as a souvenir, but Decker refrained. That wasn't why he was here. He did, however, take several representative bills. If Tredor didn't claim the currency that night, he could at least check out the serial numbers and get an idea of where some of the hoard came from.

Behind the cash and in a corner of the room was a small upright safe. Decker tried the handle. To his surprise, its door was unlocked. After carefully inspecting the safe to be sure the unlocked door wasn't booby trapped or rigged with an alarm, Decker hooked a length of rope to the handle, backed away, and slowly pulled open the door.

Inside that safe were four large wooden boxes filled with diamonds. Decker studied two of the diamonds for a moment, then dropped them back into the box where he'd found them. Before he closed the door, he took several photographs of the safe's contents with his camera.

Decker closed and relocked the door to the room containing the money and the diamonds, then studied the rest of the interior of the warehouse with his night-vision binoculars. There were no windows, so he wasn't concerned about anyone seeing a light in the building. But somehow he preferred to work in the near-dark except when he needed localized illumination.

Small wooden crates were stacked in one corner of the warehouse. Decker had seen similar crates before. They most likely contained military rifles. He'd check the lettering on the crates to determine the exact content. Similar boxes filled with ammo for those rifles were stacked nearby. Decker photographed the boxes, making sure to record the information stenciled on them. Tredor could trace those weapons. Determine where they came from. Perhaps determine how they got there.

Another corner of the cavernous warehouse indeed resembled the graveyard Tredor had described. Decker could see where the concrete floor had been ripped up, exposing the dirt below. A backhoe sat nearby. A freshly dug hole in the earth measuring about six feet by three feet and several feet deep indeed resembled an open grave. Other parts of the area had been disturbed. Fresh dirt would suggest five to seven relatively recent graves.

Something about the interior dimensions of that building didn't quite compute. As Decker studied the warehouse interior, it seemed that it was not as wide as it should have been, considering the exterior dimensions. As he examined the exterior walls, it became obvious that one of them was false. That second wall, designed to look like an exterior wall, had been built of concrete blocks. It was parallel to the real exterior wall, leaving a space Decker estimated at ten to fifteen feet wide between it and the exterior, and almost as long as the warehouse.

His advance was going too smoothly. That worried Decker. As he set about searching along that wall for an entrance to the concealed portion of the warehouse, his telephone vibrated. Tredor was the only one who had his number that night.

The text message read: "People are approaching the warehouse walk-in doors. Two men. One woman. You'll recognize them."

# Chapter 55

Decker immediately switched off his flashlight, slipped the silenced .45 Colt from his pack, and hunkered down behind a sturdy concrete pillar to watch the walk-in doors. He didn't have long to wait.

The door squeaked a little on its hinges as it was shoved open. The first person inside the warehouse switched on a row of overhead lights.

That person was Dakarai Nwoso. Behind him was James Bolington, shoving a young woman in front of him.

Decker almost didn't recognize the woman. And then, with a start, he did! It was Makena! Makena Nwoso!

How could it be Makena? He'd seen her dead body. Oh, no, he hadn't. He'd seen a woman's body. Nobody had ever positively identified that body as Makena. The clothing had been similar to hers, but . . . .

Makena looked like she'd been through hell. Her face was bruised and drawn, and she'd obviously lost weight. Wrinkled, dirty clothing hung about her gaunt frame, and her unbrushed hair stuck out around her head.

As the three came further inside the warehouse, Decker could see that Makena's hands were handcuffed behind her back, and that there was a wide strip of tape across her mouth.

Once Bolington closed the door behind them, Nwoso spun around to face Makena. With one quick motion, he ripped the tape from her mouth!

The moment she could speak, Makena challenged him--her voice quavering and hollow, but surprisingly strong. "How could you--my brother, Dakarai\--do such terrible things? You killed those little children! You--"

"Shut up!" he snarled.

"I won't shut up," she rasped. "I want to know how you--OOOFF!" Makena's words were cut off abruptly as Nwoso drove his fist into her stomach! She doubled over in pain! With a horrible gasping moan, Makena crumpled to the floor.

Nwoso motioned to Bolington and pointed toward the graveyard, toward the open grave. "Bring her over here." He laughed harshly, as did the demon within him, then added, " We'll rape her before we kill her!"

"Come on, bitch! Get up!" Bolington grabbed Makena by the hair with the intent of dragging her to her feet.

By this time, however, Decker had the purple dot from the Colt's laser-sight positioned on Bolington's right ear. As he pulled her hair and Makena struggled to get up, Decker squeezed the trigger. WHUMP! Bolington's head exploded!

"What the--" Nwoso spun around, startled! Then, suddenly, he clutched at his eyes as the intense beam of light from Decker's tactical flashlight blinded him.

Decker had the Colt's sights on Nwoso's crotch.

WHUMP! Decker's shot ripped away his genitals. Nwoso screamed! And kept on screaming! Decker felt it was a fitting blow to a man who planned to rape and kill his own sister.

Nwoso roared curses at both Decker and Makena. He collapsed to the floor, clutching at his crotch and thrashing about in agony.

While keeping his gun trained on Nwoso, Decker hastily sent a text message to Tredor: "We're okay." Having received an acknowledgment, Decker stepped out from behind the pillar and walked toward Nwoso, covering him with his pistol, making sure the man didn't have a weapon in his hand.

As he approached Nwoso, Decker uncapped the little bottle of acid he'd carried with him ever since he learned the identify of the man who'd blinded Ayo and the little children. "This is how it feels," he hissed, as he threw the contents directly into Nwoso's face.

"AAEEIII-I-I-I-I!" Nwoso screamed and cursed anew.

Still keeping his gun on Nwoso, Decker hurried to Makena's side. Much as he wanted to take her in his arms, there wasn't time for that now. "Who has the key to your handcuffs?" he asked.

"Bolington."

Decker searched Bolington's pockets, found a .380 auto, and tucked the gun into his waistband. He found the key in another pocket, unlocked the handcuffs, and slipped them into his pack. Then he lifted Makena to her feet and gave her a quick hug.

His cell phone vibrated. "Want transportation?"

He turned to Makena. "Do you want Tredor's men to pick you up? Get you out of here?"

"No way. I'm staying with you."

There was no point in arguing with her. He messaged Tredor: "Not now."

Makena clung to Decker for a moment, looked over at Nwoso, and hissed, "Kill him, Ethan! Kill him now!"

"It's too easy," Decker protested. "Let him suffer."

"Kill him! Otherwise, we'll never be sure."

She was right, of course. If he didn't kill Dakarai Nwoso and they left the warehouse while he was still alive, they'd never be certain where he was or what had happened to him. They'd never be completely safe from his reach.

"Okay." Without another thought, Decker pumped two bullets into Nwoso's head.

Turning back to Makena, he handed her the gun he'd taken from Bolington's body. "Do you know how to use this?" he asked.

"Yes." She checked to be sure it was loaded, then worked the safety with her thumb, showing him that she knew how to use it.

"Good. If you stay with me, you may have to use it."

"I know." She tucked the gun into a pocket on her tattered skirt.

A quick search of Nwoso's pockets turned up yet another .380 auto-pistol and a money-clip stuffed with cash. Decker stuffed the gun and the cash into his pack.

* * * * *

The demon wailed softly as it exited Nwoso's lifeless body--his dwelling place for many happy years. Never mind, he was immortal, and he'd find another "host" soon. Throughout history, there had been plenty of men like Nwoso around--ready to serve him in his lust for blood and torture and death.

* * * * *

"Are you sure you want to stay with me?" Decker asked Makena.

She clung to him. "Yes."

Decker messaged Tredor: "Lock the walk-in doors from the outside." If those doors were found to be unlocked, it would be certain to any of Nwoso's team that someone was inside. They might think it was Nwoso or Bolingon, but Decker didn't want any surprises.

Before he called Tredor to bring a truck or van into the warehouse, he wanted to look into the space behind the fake exterior wall. And he would look at the small room which had been constructed in the other corner of the building--an office, perhaps.

He switched off the overhead lights, then turned to Makena. "Come on," he whispered, "and stick with me like glue."

* * * * *

Gebhuza observed Nwoso's death on the monitor on his desk. He'd had the miniature security cameras installed in that warehouse when he'd agreed to a partnership with Dakarai Nwoso some time ago--a man he mistrusted from years gone by.

He wouldn't miss Dakarai Nwoso in the least, nor would he miss Bolington. This man Decker had done him a good service when he killed them.

But now he, too, must die.

# Chapter 56

Using only his small flashlight for light, Decker led Makena to where Bolington and Nwoso lay. He checked them carefully for signs of life. There were none. Ayo, wherever she was, and those four little girls who were murdered in her classroom were avenged to the extent he could avenge them. He'd bury the bodies later, if he had time and if Tredor thought it appropriate. Nwoso hadn't wasted his time burying those kids he'd killed, but in this case the grave, perhaps intended for Makena, was already dug.

The relatively small room that likely had been used as an office was situated in a corner of the warehouse. Windows that once existed there had been covered with shutters and secured with sturdy iron bars, and the door appeared to be made of solid steel. The office had the looks of a fortress. Decker could only guess at what could be inside.

Decker positioned himself near the door and checked to see if he could detect any surveillance devices, such as a video camera or a high-tech listening device that might be aimed at that door--any such device that might be monitored from outside the building. There didn't appear to be any.

He tried the door. No surprise there. It was locked.

He examined the two locks and selected the picks he'd need, then went to work. Those were good locks and it took him some time, but twenty minutes later, the door swung open.

Decker caught and held the door from swinging further open while he checked around the frame for any kind of an alarm that he might have triggered. To his surprise, he didn't find an alarm. His advance was going much too smoothly.

Cautiously swinging the door open, Decker beamed his high-intensity flashlight around the room. Two desks, each of which held a computer, were visible, as were a number of large accounting journals, each filed neatly on the shelves behind those desks. A large safe occupied one corner of the room. Curiously, the office smelled faintly of incense.

And then, as he and Makena entered the office, Decker saw the shrine. It was fashioned upon an ornately carved table placed between and behind the two desks, and against the wall. A small raised altar containing incense sat upon a black cloth with occult symbols in white lettering. To the left and right of the altar sat human skulls. Decker judged them to be genuine.

A yellow candle was melted on the right skull, a black candle on the left. What those symbols meant, Decker could only guess. Evil of some sort, most likely. Guardians of the journals? If Ayo were there, she might have been able to tell them.

Tredor had assured Decker that he had assembled a professional task force of honest government officials and policemen who were interested in cleaning up the criminal activity in Zaharra. A brief perusal of one of the account journals suggested to Decker that these were the kind of records that Tredor and his aids would want.

There was another heavy steel door at the back of the office. Perhaps it would allow access into the space between the exterior wall and the more recently constructed concrete wall. What could be in that space was anybody's guess.

As Decker stooped to examine the lock on that door, Makena suddenly clutched at his shoulder. She'd head a faint metallic click and . . . "Ethan! Something is--"

That door swung forcefully open! WHAM! It hit and knocked Decker off balance! A shadowy figure towered above him! A glistening sword was raised high! "You die!" Gebhuza snarled, swinging the heavy weapon as he charged.

Decker rolled to his left, lost his footing, went down, and clutched for his gun. Gebhuza loomed over him, swinging the sword! As he fell, Decker threw the flashlight right at Gebhuza's face!

The hurled flashlight hit Gebhuza's right eye! That blow momentarily distracted him. The flashlight clatttered to the floor.

Decker pushed a chair in Gebhuza's path. Despite the distractions, Gebhuza's razor-sharp blade came right at Decker. It missed his head by inches, shattered the arm of the chair Decker had pushed in Gebhuza's path. CRUNCH! With a sickening crunch the blade slashed into Decker's shoulder.

Decker managed to roll away, blood streaming from his wound. Gebhuza kicked the chair aside and lifted the heavy sword once again. The flashlight had fallen in such a way as to illuminate Decker yet cast Gebhuza into the shadows, clearly an advantage for the swordsman. This time he would not miss.

CRACK!

Gebhuza's eyes widened as the bullet hit him! He immediately turned to confront Makena, screaming curses and swinging the heavy sword her way as he did so.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! The pistol in Makena's hand barked three more times, sending hot slugs into Gebhuza! The sword he'd been wielding clattered to the floor! Gebhuza cursed, clutched at his wounds, and started to turn back through the doorway.

Too late. CRACK! Another bullet ended Gebhuza's escape attempt. He tumbled to the floor--very, very dead.

Makena cradled Decker's head in her lap as she used his phone to update Tredor and ask for help--which came to them fast. They'd heard the shots. Even as she ripped Decker's shirt into strips of bandages and wrapped his wounded shoulder against the rapidly flowing blood, Tredor's special forces burst into the warehouse. For Decker and Makena, the nightmare that began when he'd rescued Ayo was over.

# Chapter 57

The French government sent search submarines to aid in the search for the missing aircraft. Within the next few days, they found the wreckage of the airplane that apparently carried Ayo and Skyla to their deaths and not to the freedom Decker had envisioned for them. There had been no survivors. Bodies of the crew and all but two of the passengers were brought up and identified.

The wreckage was carefully studied to determine the cause of the crash. There was no evidence of sabotage. Pilot error was thought to be the cause. Still, it would be some time--if ever--before the exact cause of the crash would be known.

Two things about the plane crash especially troubled both Decker and Tredor. First, was that aborted telephone call from Skyla. What was the message she was trying to convey, and why was it interrupted? Furthermore, while Skyla's body was found and identified, Ayo's was not.

* * * * *

From her chair next to Decker's hospital bed, Makena described to him and Tredor what had happened to her after she'd left the British Consulate with the hope of seeing her long-lost brother in that hospital in Zimbabwe.

All had gone well until they'd reached that desolate site where Decker and Nthanda had found their car. That was where they'd been ambushed. The car had been disabled. Livingston had been shot, but managed to stop the car. Masked men had surrounded the car and forced her out of it at gunpoint. She'd been taken prisoner, handcuffed and blindfolded, and forced into another car. As she was being driven away, she heard more gunshots. She had no idea who the woman in the second body bag was.

To her horror, Makena quickly discovered that her brother, Dakarai, had personally delivered her to the Zaharra secret police--the ones who'd interrogated her once before. He had been paid well. In fact, she overheard them discussing the payoff. She didn't know why he'd done such a thing to her or what they hoped to gain from her kidnapping.

That "why" soon became painfully obvious. They'd tortured her for information about the rebels, information she simply didn't have. And then, when they discovered she could tell them nothing, that she had been set up by her brother, she was thrown into prison, to be abused still more. Only the day before had she been returned to her brother, who apparently planned to rape and kill her. "I still can't believe that my brother would actually find pleasure in hurting people," she told them. "It's almost as if he is possessed by a demon--as some believe him to be!"

* * * * *

Bhekizitha called to inform Decker that the government had successfully suppressed the rebels, at least temporarily, and that it was safe for him to return to Mabutto. Decker, of course, would not be able to return until he left the hospital and his shoulder had healed. As he contemplated resuming the search for oil in Mabutto, Decker turned to Makena with the question that had been uppermost on his mind for the past several days: "Will you go with me?"

Makena did not hesitate. "What now seems like a lifetime ago," she responded, "we agreed to be partners, you and me. Knowing full well what those men did to me while I was imprisoned, do you still want me?"

Decker's smile and the best embrace he could manage from his hospital bed answered any doubts she might have had. Before they would leave the hospital in Tadjoura, Zaharra, for their return to Mabutto and the search for oil, Ethan and Makena exchanged wedding vows.

* * * * *

The man seated in a black BMW watched as Decker and Makena left the hospital together. He followed them to the airport and then watched as the Rhino Oil Company helicopter lifted off. "They're on their way," he reported.

"Yes! Yes! Ye-e-s-s-s-s!" The demon who once resided in Dakarai Nwoso shrieked his pleasure at the news that Decker and Makena were coming to Mabutto together. He'd found his latest partner in a Colonel within the Mabutto Secret Police. How he looked forward to being a part of the torture and murder regularly enacted by his new host. With Ayo dead, there would be no one to sense his presence, no one to warn potential victims that he was near. "Ye-s-s-s-s! life was good!"

* * * * *

One day after Decker and Makena arrived in Mabutto, Tredor called them. "I've got some very good news!" he exclaimed.

# Chapter 58

"Very good news? What's that?" Decker responded.

"Ayo is alive!"

Decker sat down. Turning to Makena, he called out, "Ayo is alive!"

"Where is she?" Decker inquired, not quite believing what he'd just heard.

"She's right here in my office. Hold on. I'll let her talk to you." Tredor handed the telephone to Ayo.

"Ethan? Is it really you?" Ayo's voice was weak.

"Yes. I'm so glad to hear your voice. How are you?"

"I . . . I . . . I love you, Ethan!"

"I love you, too, Ayo, and Makena says to tell you she loves you, too."

"I so tired. Mr. Tredor take good care of me. I . . . I was afraid I'd never . . . never see you or Makena again!" With that, Ayo burst into tears.

Tredor gently took the phone from Ayo's hand. "She's exhausted, but we wanted to let you know she's safe before Doc gives her something to help her sleep," Tredor explained. "By the way, Doc's keeping an eye on her. Says he isn't going to let her out of his care, not for a few days, anyway."

"What's been happening? Where's she been? When can we see her?" Decker's questions tumbled out.

"Doc wants to keep Ayo here for a few days," Tredor repeated. "She's been through quite an ordeal and she needs a bit of care. Then you can pick her up. Come see her anytime, of course. Now as to what's been happening with Ayo, I'll tell you the details when I see you, but just to hit the high points:

"Ayo obviously was not aboard the plane that crashed. When her body wasn't among those recovered, I got to checking into what went on at the airport the day when she and Skyla were scheduled to fly out of here. To make a long story short, it seems as if airport security men detained several people including Ayo at the very last minute. Skyla objected, but they ordered her to stay in her seat, and took Ayo off the plane at gunpoint, claiming she was sympathetic with the rebels, and therefore was a traitor who might blow up the plane--something like that. I think that Skyla tried to alert me with that second call, and someone ripped the phone out of her hand. I have a witness to that.

"At any rate, they held Ayo in jail some place for several days, and then just took her to a street corner and released her. She asked someone on the street to call me. They did, and I picked her up.

"Oh, and by the way, there were some well-placed government officials on that plane. That may explain why security was jittery. Of course, the officials perished when the plane crashed, and I personally don't rule out the possibility of sabotage."

"Did Ayo's captors abuse her?"

"Held a gun to her head. Scared her half to death. Slapped her around. Treated her like a criminal. Questioned her for hours under a bright light. That was about it. Some of the men wanted to do more to her, but others objected, so they locked her up with a bunch of other people. Kept her several days. Almost forgot to feed her. Still, they saved her life."

"Do you know who was behind this business? Who fingered Ayo as a terrorist? Or sympathetic to the rebels? Or whatever?"

Tredor sighed. "We may never know, but I'm looking into it. It'll take some time."

"Makena and I both want to see Ayo as soon as possible. When can we see her?"

Tredor conferred with the doctor. "Doc says to come on over at your earliest convenience, but give him a couple of days with her to make sure she's okay and thriving before you take her away."

"Is Ayo ill?"

"Doc doesn't think so, but he wants to be sure. She got some bad food in the jail, and she said that some of the people locked up with her had bad coughs, so he wants to be sure she's okay. Sanitation wasn't so good, either. You know how all that goes."

Decker had no hesitation. "We'll be on our way to see you and Ayo in the morning," he told Tredor.

* * * * *

Decker, Makena, and Ayo would soon return to Mabutto--together as a family, at long last. Decker would resume his search for oil and natural gas for the Rhino Oil Company.

The demon who now "partnered" with an official within the Mabutto Secret Police found his new host to be every bit as sadistic as Dakarai Nwoso. With the demon's enouragement, the officer covertly made contact with the rebels who were working to overthrow the government. Just as Nwoso had profited from dealing with both the rebels and the national government, so would the demon's newest partner.

"Yes! Yes! Ye-e-s-s-s-s!" screamed the demon. Life would be good in Mabutto!

* * * * *

Upon her arrival in Mabutto, Ayo immediately sensed the presence of the evil spirit that once resided in Dakarai Nwoso. "He is here!" she whispered to Decker, "but our God is with us. He will protect us."

"O-o-o-o-o-w-w-w-w-h-h-h-h-h!" The demon howled his displeasure upon sensing Ayo's presence in Mabutto. He'd thought she was dead. She and the others would have been dead had not Ayo warned them of Dakarai's coming for them. It had been his bad luck that his previous partner had not killed her long ago. Ayo's God was very powerful and protective of His own, that the demon knew.

The demon also knew that the day was coming when God would cast the Devil and his host of demons into Hell. The Bible said so, and he was very familiar with the Bible. Therefore, it was absolutely essential that he and the other demons make the most of their time on earth.

The demon's new partner was known to be a bloodthirsty killer. They would encourage each other. And Decker and his family would be leaving the country soon. "Yes! Ye-e-s-s-s-s! Life would be good!"

The End

# # #
