Blood Ransom (3 page)

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 3:58 P.M.

KASILI HEALTH CENTER

Chad Talcott checked the drip of the peripheral IV line that contained a dose of diazepam for the young woman who lay motionless on the mattress. Barely ninety pounds, Hanna’s body suffered from a high fever and repeated muscle spasms. He’d diagnosed her with tetanus, caused by the dirty knife used to cut the umbilical cord. It had taken her relatives eight hours to carry her to the clinic and another six for her premature baby to succumb to the disease. And if his fears were correct, Hanna didn’t have long. This was the part he hated: death that stole mothers from their families and pushed babies into the grave before they had a chance to live.

He crossed the tiled floor and scrubbed his hands in the stainless-steel sink that hung at the end of a row of ten uniform beds. Three other wards, mirroring this one, comprised the majority of the compound funded by Volunteers for Hope International. Temporarily recruited doctors and nurses from the States, Europe, and Australia worked alongside national staff to make a difference.

Except sometimes a difference wasn’t enough.

The remote rural areas, in particular, were problematic. There, women gave birth on reed mats on mud floors with no means of sanitation. Tetanus was far too common when traditional midwives
had to cope without sterile instruments. Attempts to ensure all childbearing women were vaccinated against the disease had improved the situation over the past five years, but there were still too many women living in outlying areas, often inaccessible to aid workers’ help.

Chad watched Hanna’s chest rise and fall beneath the worn sheet and prayed that she’d make it. The typical Dhambizan woman had ten pregnancies during her fertile years and was fortunate if a third of her children survived. One out of every twenty mothers didn’t survive childbirth. If that wasn’t enough, malaria and diarrhea were widespread. Water sources ran contaminated when drinking and washing sources doubled as latrines. The list—and suffering—went on and on.

His glance shifted to the woman next to Hanna, and he reminded himself that there was another side.

Malaika wouldn’t have survived her difficult delivery lying on a mud floor. At the moment, though, she rested peacefully while her two-day-old baby nursed contentedly at her side. Tomorrow they would both go home.

Chad rubbed his eyes before returning his gaze to Hanna. His father, always the optimist, had seen hope for this country and had stayed twenty years to prove it. But hope wouldn’t keep this mother of three alive or tell a grandmother that her only living child was going to die.

Sometimes there was simply nothing anyone could do.

His stomach growled, and he glanced at the lopsided clock hanging on the wall. All he’d found time to eat today was two bananas and a handful of peanuts—not enough to sustain him through seven surgeries and eight hours on his feet.

He nodded to the nurse on the other side of the room. “I’m going to take a five-minute break.”

His twelve years living in the country as a missionary kid, along with all his medical training and two years in one of Portland’s
emergency rooms, hadn’t prepared him for work in the Republic of Dhambizao. Just like five minutes of fresh air wouldn’t erase the heaviness he felt in his heart or change Hanna’s situation. But it would clear his head and help him finish the day.

He slipped through the front door and let the wooden frame slam shut behind him. Beyond the green lawn, bougainvillea covered the eight-foot cement wall surrounding the two-acre compound, splashing orange, pink, and purple against the gray mortar. A breeze brushed against his face but did little to lessen the heavy humidity in the air.

At the side of the building the generator clicked and he turned to look. The power was off…again. But conditions could be worse. One of his friends worked in a field hospital in Sudan comprised only of inflatable tents. At least the clinic here in Kasili could boast of solid cement walls and a handful of ceiling fans.

As he lounged against the wall, an attractive white woman, her hand at the back of a young African boy, swept across the sidewalk from the small parking area and up the stairs toward the clinic. Chad tugged on the bottom of his navy-blue scrub top. He’d enjoyed few moments of quiet since his arrival eight weeks ago, and the one he’d just found was obviously over considering he was the only doctor on duty at the moment. “Can I help you?”

The woman stopped at the edge of the sidewalk. “This is Joseph. I think he might need stitch—” She stopped on the top stair and took a hard look at him. “Chad…Chad Talcott?”

“Yes?” He stared into her toffee-brown eyes and his hand automatically reached for the ID badge above his left pocket. Then he remembered he’d left it behind in the States along with Dr. Pepper, Doritos, and the Thanksgiving dinner he’d miss next week. “Do I know you?”

“Natalie Sinclair.” She held out her hand. “If I’m not mistaken, we went to the same high school back in Portland.”

“You went to Central High? Wow. That was a long time ago.”

Worry lines etching her mouth softened. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

Natalie Sinclair. He tried to place the name as he shook her hand, but the only image that came to mind was a short, awkward teenager with unruly hair and braces. The woman standing before him was neither short nor gangly. Light makeup, shapely brows, subtle curves beneath her bright yellow sundress…

Chad cleared his throat. “I remember the name…You helped lead our academic decathlon team to the state championship.”

“You have a good memory.” She smiled. “And I remember that you were quite the athlete back then.”

“‘
Back then
’ being the key words.” Chad laughed. “That was a long time ago. Back home I still manage to run five miles a day and dabble in martial arts, but football’s a thing of the past.”

She pushed back the lock of damp, coppery hair that had tumbled across her eyes and glanced at the boy. Her smile faded. “Would you mind looking at his wound?”

Chad greeted Joseph in Dha, which brought a look of surprise to the boy’s face. He mumbled a response in return.

Eyeing the bloody wrap that covered a wound, Chad motioned them both inside. “Do you speak English, Joseph?”

The boy nodded.

“Well, you happened to catch me during my one free moment all day. Come in and I’ll take a look at what you’ve done to yourself. When did this happen?”

The boy stared at the floor and shrugged. “This morning.”

Chad led them inside a small room and had the boy sit on the end of the examination table before pulling on a pair of surgical gloves. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Joseph’s chin dipped to the tiled floor. “No.”

Chad glanced at Natalie, wondering if the boy could speak anything beyond monosyllables. He unwrapped the cloth so he could
assess the injury, thankful when he realized it wasn’t too serious. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I…fell outside my village.”

“How’d you get here?”

“I got a ride.”

“Well, that’s a start.” Chad pulled out what he needed from the supply tray. “I’m going to numb the spot, but the stitches still might sting a bit.”

Chad worked quickly, assessing the boy’s behavior as he cleaned the wound and began stitching. The boy never flinched a muscle, staring straight ahead at a poster about polio that hung on the white wall.

“There you go,” Chad said once he had finished. “Are you feeling any dizziness?”

“A little.”

He checked the boy’s pupils. “What about a headache?”

“Yes.”

Chad dropped his penlight into his front pocket. “You’ve got a slight concussion, which means you need to rest for the next twenty-four hours.”

Joseph reached up and touched the spot with his fingertips. Chad handed him a mirror.

“Not a bad job if I do say so myself.” Chad pulled off his gloves, then squeezed some liquid soap onto his hands before turning on the water to wash up.

Joseph jumped down from the table, grabbing the edge to catch his balance. “Can I go?”

“Hey, slow down.” Chad poured some water into a plastic cup and handed it to him. “This is more than just a bump on the head, isn’t it? You look like a boy with a problem. I’m a doctor and am used to listening and seeing what I can do to fix things. Maybe I can help you.” He shot the boy a broad smile as he urged him back onto the table.

Joseph shook his head. “You can’t.”

Can’t or won’t let me? You’ve got to talk to me
,
boy
,
so I can help.
“Why do you think I can’t help you?”

The young man shrugged.

Chad glanced at Natalie. “Do you know what happened?”

“You’re right. Joseph didn’t just hurt his head.” She paused, pressing her lips together. “There’s a lot more involved.”

Chad caught the panicked look Joseph shot Natalie as he picked up a thermometer from the tray. He placed it under Joseph’s tongue for a reading. “Will you do something for me? Stay still until this beeps. I need to talk to Natalie in private, but I’ll be right back.”

Halfway down the narrow, empty hallway, he leaned against a rough section of the chipped cement wall. Three volunteers from Houston were arriving in two weeks to paint the buildings and do general repairs. He was already looking forward to the spruced-up work environment, some spiritual encouragement, and perhaps a few Snickers bars.

Natalie glanced up at him. “You’ve got great bedside manners.”

“I learned from the best. If you remember, my father was a doctor.”

Natalie smiled. “I remember seeing him at school functions. He always had a handful of root-beer candies in his pocket and wore that handlebar mustache.”

Chad laughed at the memories. “He died seven years ago. I still miss him.”

“I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

It might be nice to reminisce together one day, but at the moment he had a feeling the boy in the exam room needed more than a few stitches. “What about Joseph? Do you know how he hurt his head?”

She stood with her arms folded around her waist, her smile vanishing. “He told me he was returning to his village when it was attacked by Ghost Soldiers.”

“Ghost Soldiers?” Chad pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger and closed his eyes for a second. “There have been rumors
of Ghost Soldiers for years, Natalie, but their existence has never been proven.”

“Joseph says he has pictures.”

“Did you see them?”

She shook her head. “He told me he dropped the camera while trying to get away.”

“So there’s really no evidence of what happened.”

Her voice rose a notch. “The evidence is that he watched his mother and father and sister being forced from their village by gunpoint, and those who weren’t strong enough to work were murdered. He’s got a concussion from the butt of a rifle from one of the soldiers. Isn’t that enough evidence?”

“From the reports I’ve heard, no one has ever been able to substantiate the existence of any kind of hidden, modern-day slave trade in this country.”

“All it would take would be a few well-placed bribes and the truth vanishes.” She gnawed on the edge of her lip. “But what about this? For the past seven months I’ve been doing some demographic work for the minister of health and asking a few questions. While I can’t confirm anything yet, my research points to the fact that entire villages have vanished.”

“Many of these people are nomadic—”

“I know. And that’s the official response from the government. But you and I both know that the country’s potential for wealth is enormous. With its vast quantities of gold, diamonds, and other natural resources ready to be taken by the highest bidder…” She paused for a moment. “I know this is hard to believe, even for me, but what if he’s telling the truth, Chad?”

He still wasn’t convinced. “The government’s financial motivation to exploit its people is valid, but I’ve followed the politics of this country for the past decade. The president seems to have finally realized that it’s in his interest to go along with the United Nations.
Following the rules of the game brings in millions in extra aid relief for his people.”

“Or gives him another place to skim off a large portion for himself.” She pointed at the room where Joseph waited. “You’re the doctor. You saw him. The boy’s traumatized.”

He held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong. I’ve seen enough horror in this country to last me a lifetime. Little girls raped by their uncles, kids missing limbs because of landmines, women forced to sell themselves to feed their children…and that’s just the beginning. You can add AIDS, polio, and other outbreaks.”

She jutted out her jaw and took on a determined stance. “Then what’s so hard about believing in the Ghost Soldiers?”

“Do you really believe in them?”

“I wasn’t sure until today. Joseph’s a bright young man. He has no reason to lie.”

“But with no proof…” Chad looked away, trying to make sense of it all.

There was another, more realistic, possibility.

He lowered his voice to ensure Joseph couldn’t hear him. “Have you considered that he might think you’re his ticket out of here?”

Natalie’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I grew up here, and I’ve seen it dozens of times. Joseph speaks English, which means he’s educated. He meets you, a compassionate foreigner with the financial means to buy his way out of here to something better. What Dhambizan doesn’t dream of living in Chicago or Dallas with a decent job and enough food on his table for his family?”

Natalie threw up her arms. “He’s not after me for a handout. He didn’t even want me to bring him here.”

“I’m not saying that he’s lying.” He clenched his jaw. He hadn’t wanted to start an argument, but it was a possibility that had to be addressed. “But what if he took advantage of an opportunity?”

“He told me about his sister, Aina. They dragged her away, Chad.
Along with his mother and father. They shot and murdered his grandfather—”

“Just consider the possibility. A story like his could go a long way in helping him receive political asylum in the States.”