Blood Covenant (28 page)

ONE

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 3:11 P.M.
KASILI OUTDOOR MARKET

Natalie Sinclair fingered the blue-and-yellow fabric that hung neatly folded on a wooden rod among dozens of other brightly colored pieces, barely noticing the plump Mama who stood beside her in hopeful anticipation. Instead she gazed out at the shops that lined the winding, narrow paths of the market, forming an intricate maze the size of a football field. The vendors sold everything from vegetables and live animals to piles of secondhand clothing that had been shipped across the ocean from charities in the States.

Natalie stepped across a puddle and turned to glance beneath the wooden overhang at the stream of people passing by. Even with the weekend over, the outdoor market was crowded with shoppers. Hip-hop-style music played in the background, lending a festive feel to the sultry day. But she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Someone was following her.

She quickened her steps and searched for anything that looked out of place. A young man weaved his bicycle through the crowded walkway, forcing those on foot to step aside. A little girl wearing a tattered dress clung to the skirt of her mother, who carried a sleeping infant, secured with a length of material, against her back. An old man with thick glasses shuffled past a shop that sold eggs and sugar, then stopped to examine a pile of spark plugs.

Natalie’s sandal stuck in a patch of mud, and she wiggled her foot to pull it out. Perhaps the foreboding sensation was nothing more than the upcoming elections that had her on edge. All American citizens had been warned to stay on high alert due to the volatile political situation. Violence was on the rise. Already a number of joint military-police peacekeeping patrols had been deployed onto the streets, and there were rumors of a curfew.

Not that life in the Republic of Dhambizao was ever considered safe by the embassy, but neither was downtown Portland. It was all a matter of perspective.

And leaving wasn’t an option. Not with the hepatitis E outbreak spreading from the city into the surrounding villages. Already, three health zones north of the town of Kasili where she lived were threatened with an outbreak. She’d spent the previous two weeks sharing information about the disease’s symptoms with the staff of the local government clinics, as well as conducting awareness campaigns to inform the public on the importance of proper hygiene to prevent an epidemic.

In search of candles for tonight’s party, Natalie turned sharply to her left and hurried up the muddy path past wooden tables piled high with leafy greens for stew, bright red tomatoes, and fresh fish. Rows of women sat on wooden stools and fanned their wares to discourage the flies that swarmed around the pungent odor of the morning’s catch.

Someone bumped into her from behind, and she pulled her bag closer. Petty theft might be a constant concern, but she knew her escalated fears were out of line. Being the only pale foreigner in a sea of ebony-skinned Africans always caused heads to turn, if not for the novelty, then for the hope that she’d toss them one or two extra coins for their supper.

Her cell phone jingled in her pocket, and she reached to answer it.

“When are you coming back to the office?” Stephen’s to-the-point greeting was predictable.

“I’m not. I’m throwing a birthday party for you tonight, remember? You let me off early.” A pile of taper candles caught her eye in a shop across the path, and she skirted the edge of a puddle that, thanks to the runoff, was rapidly becoming the size of a small lake.

Stephen groaned. “Patrick’s here at the office, and he’s asking questions.”

She pulled a handful of coins from her pocket to pay for the candles. “Then give him some answers.”

“I can’t.”

Natalie thrust the package the seller had wrapped in newspaper into her bag and frowned. Patrick Seko, the former head of security for the president, now led some sort of specialized task force for the government. Lately, his primary concern seemed to revolve around some demographic research for the Kasili region she’d been compiling for the minister of health, whose office she worked for. Her expertise might be the prevention and control of communicable diseases, but demographics had always interested her. Why her research interested Patrick was a question she’d yet to figure out.

The line crackled. Maybe she’d get out of dealing with Patrick and his insistent questions after all.

“Stephen, you’re breaking up.”

All she heard was a garbled response. She flipped the phone shut and shoved it back into her pocket. They’d have to finish their conversation at the party.

“Natalie?”

She spun around at the sound of her name. “Rachel, it’s good to see you.”

Her friend shot her a broad smile. “I’m sorry if I startled you.”

Natalie wanted to kick herself for the uncharacteristic agitation that had her looking behind every shadow. “I’m just a bit jumpy today.”

“I understand completely.” Rachel pushed a handful of thin braids behind her shoulder and smiled. “I think everyone is a bit on edge, even though with the UN’s presence the elections are supposed to pass without any major problems. No one has forgotten President Tau’s bloody takeover.”

Natalie had only heard stories from friends about the current president’s takeover seventeen years ago. Two elections had taken place since then and were assumed by all to have been rigged. But with increasing pressure from the United States, the European Union, and the African Union, President Tau had promised a fair election this time no matter the results. And despite random incidences of pre-election violence, even the United Nations was predicting a fair turnover under their supervision — something that, to her mind, remained to be seen.

Natalie took a step back to avoid a group of uniformed students making their way through the market and smiled at her friend. After eighteen months of working together, Rachel had moved back to the capital to take a job with the minister of health, which meant Natalie rarely saw her anymore. Something they both missed. “What are you doing in Kasili?”

“I’m heading back to Bogama tomorrow, but I’m in town because Patrick has been meeting with my parents to work out the
labola.”

“Really? That’s wonderful.” Her sentiment was genuine, even though she happened to find Patrick overbearing and controlling — as no doubt he would be in deciding on a bride price. She hugged her friend. “When’s the wedding ceremony?”

Rachel’s white teeth gleamed against her dark skin, but Natalie didn’t miss the shadow that crossed her expression. “We’re still discussing details with our families, but soon. Very soon.”

“Then I’ll expect an invitation.”

“Of course.” Rachel’s laugh competed with the buzz of the crowd that filed past them. “And by the way, I don’t know if Patrick mentioned it to you, but Stephen invited us to the birthday party you’re throwing for him tonight. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind.” Natalie suppressed a frown. Stephen had invited Patrick to the party? She cleared her throat. “Stephen just called to tell me Patrick was looking for me, but it had something to do with my demographic reports. Apparently he has more questions.”

“Patrick can be a bit … persistent.” Rachel flashed another broad smile, but Natalie caught something else in her eyes she couldn’t read. Hesitation? Fear? “I’ll tell him to wait until they are compiled.
Then
he can look at them.”

Natalie laughed. “Well, you know I’m thrilled you’re coming.”

She would enjoy catching up with Rachel, and she had already prepared enough food to feed a small army. It was Patrick and his antagonistic political views she dreaded. She’d probably end up spending the whole evening trying to avoid them both.

“I’m looking forward to it as well.” Rachel shifted the bag on her shoulder. “But I do need to hurry off. I’m meeting Patrick now, but I’ll see you tonight.”

Natalie watched until her friend disappeared into the crowd, wondering what she’d seen in her friend’s gaze. It was probably nothing. Rachel had been right. Her own frayed nerves were simply a reaction of the tension everyone felt. By next week the election would be over and things would be back to normal.

A rooster brushed her legs, and she skirted to the left to avoid stepping on the squawking bird. The owner managed to catch it and mumbled a string of apologies before shoving it back in its cage.

Natalie laughed at the cackling bird, realizing that this was as normal as life was going to get.

Spotting a woman selling spices and baskets of fruit two shops down, she slipped into the tiny stall, determined to enjoy the rest of the day. She had nothing to worry about. Just like the UN predicted, the week would pass without any major incidents. And in the meantime, she had enough on her hands.

She picked up a tiny sack of cloves, held it up to her nose, and took in a deep breath. With the holiday season around the corner, she’d buy some extra. Her mother had sent a care package last week filled with canned pumpkin, chocolate chips, French-fried onions, and marshmallows. This year Natalie planned to invite a few friends over for a real Thanksgiving dinner. Turkey, mashed potatoes, green-bean casserole, pumpkin pie —

Fingers grasped her arm from behind. Natalie screamed and struggled to keep her balance as someone pulled her into the shadows.

TWO

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 3:34 P.M.
KASILI OUTDOOR MARKET

Natalie’s heart pounded in her ears. She jerked her arm free from her attacker and fell hard against a wooden post supporting the shop’s tin roof. Tiny splinters pricked her forearm as she scraped against the rough wood. Rubbing the tender spot, she peered into the darkened corner behind a fat basket overflowing with ripe mangos to where a young boy hovered in the shadows.

Natalie paused. There was something familiar about his face. High cheekbones, broad nose, and a scar that jetted across his chin before fading at the jawline. He couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. She dug through the recesses of her mind. She knew this boy.

He took a tentative step forward. “It’s me, ma’am. Joseph Komboli.”

Natalie shook her head. “Joseph?”

“From Maponi. I worked for you.”

One of my translators.

Joseph Komboli had helped her communicate with a dozen remote villages in the mountains until someone in the government insisted she focus her efforts on the more densely populated segments of the country.

The whites of his eyes stood out against his dark face as he looked up at her. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Natalie reached out her hand to greet him, then noticed a bandage tied haphazardly around his forehead. She tugged him out from the shadows to where light filtered through holes in the tin roof. The cloth was stained with dried blood. “Joseph, what happened?”

“I … I fell.” He picked up a handful of cinnamon sticks and rubbed them between his fingers, all the time keeping his gaze on her face. Slivers of brown bark crumbled and scattered to the ground.

“Hey! You will pay for that — ”

Natalie retrieved a handful of coins from her front pocket and thrust them at the angry shopkeeper who’d appeared from out front. Worries of pre-election violence vanished. “You need to see a doctor.”

“No … I can’t.” He made his way toward the edge of the shop and paused. Raindrops pinged against the metal roof. If they didn’t leave now, they’d be caught in an afternoon downpour. “You don’t … understand.” His voice cracked. “They are gone. All of them.” The patter of rain intensified, as if trying to drown out his voice. “The Ghost Soldiers came … I managed to escape.”

The words hit Natalie harder than a punch to her gut. She’d heard the rumors. Entire villages vanishing overnight, their inhabitants spirited away to work in slave labor camps that confined them to isolated mines in the mountains. All of which contradicted the government’s assertion that such rumors were false.

Joseph looked around and took a step toward her, ignoring the stares of the shopkeeper who scrambled to secure her wares from the impending downpour. “They took my family—everyone able to work — and dragged them out of the village. Aina is only seven, and my father …”

Natalie shuddered at the thought of what a man could do to a seven-year-old girl. But Ghost Soldiers were supposed to be nothing more than rumors … like stories whispered at summer camp about the boogeyman or other fabled monsters that hid under her bed and in her closet while she slept. And while she wasn’t so naïve to think that human atrocities didn’t exist here as they did in places like Sudan and Rwanda, the government had told her they had proof the Ghost Soldiers did not exist. Hadn’t Stephen tried to convince her of the very same thing?

“But the demographic numbers don’t add up, Stephen. What if the rumors are true and people are disappearing from their villages? Hundreds … Thousands …”

No. Natalie worked to steady her ragged breathing. Stephen’s calm assurances had been correct.
“This is Africa. The government census is an estimate at best. No one verifies the numbers or expects them to be one hundred percent accurate.”

The numbers didn’t have to add up. There was no such thing as Ghost Soldiers.

But the gnawing thought in the back of her mind remained. Hundreds of people lived isolated in the mountains never to be counted by the government. If they disappeared, no one would know. Their nomadic existence among the mountainous forests did nothing to prove the existence of the Ghost Soldiers. Or disprove it.

“Ma’am?”

“I’m sorry.” Natalie pressed her hand against her forehead. “I parked my car in front of the market. Let’s get out of here before we get completely drenched.”

“But I can’t — ”

“I’m taking you to a doctor, Joseph. Period. Then we’ll talk.”

Natalie grasped Joseph’s elbow and steered him through the market, past vendors busy securing plastic tarps over their goods and leaky roofs. She didn’t want to admit the fear she’d seen in Joseph’s eyes. She’d known him as a bright young man, eager to work and sympathetic to the people she’d come to help. Today a haunted look hovered behind his gaze.

A wave of panic swelled in her chest as she unlocked the passenger door of her car just before the heavens let forth their fury. Conversing while driving was impossible. So was calming her imagination. Instead she wove through the muddied streets and focused on getting Joseph the medical care he needed. The front tire of her car hit a pothole as she turned the corner, sending a splash of water toward the row of vendors that edged the street. The windshield wipers clicked each passing second with a steady thump that matched her quickened heartbeat.

By the time Natalie reached the clinic, the deluge had ended, leaving behind an eerie silence as the sun poked its yellow rays through the darkened clouds once again. She’d have Joseph’s wound stitched up, then take him to a café she knew that served cold soft drinks and decent pastries. She might get home later than planned, but everything, including the food, was pretty much ready for the party.

She glanced at her passenger, praying she’d find a way to make sense of his rambling about Ghost Soldiers.