ECLIPSE (27 page)

“What about the payments to Okimbo? It’s funny to me that Van Daan ships Okimbo weapons before Asari Day but doesn’t make his monthly payment. Seems like Okimbo would double-bill for a massacre.”

Briefly, Pierce laughed. “That’s why I love you, Rachel—you’ve got a lawyer’s view of human nature. Of course, your
kids
are screwed.”

“Warped for life. What do you make of Ajukwa’s role as Van Daan’s godfather?”

Pierce shrugged. “Maybe it’s nothing, another piece of Luandian weird-ness. But it’s interesting that Ajukwa may own freighters used to transport bunkered oil, and then tells Hill that bunkering is hard to get at. Kind of makes you wonder about Van Daan. But we’ll probably never know how that relates to Bobby.”

Rachel finished her drink. “Oh, well,” she said. “Bedtime in Luandia.”

“How are you liking it?”

“The drive from the airport was memorable,” she answered dryly. “Other than that, all I’ve seen is this fucking hotel.”

Once again, Pierce thought of Marissa. “Safer that way,” he answered.

B
EFORE GOING TO
bed, Pierce checked his e-mail. He opened the one from Bara, expecting to find an account of his and Marissa’s efforts to turn up leads for Bobby’s defense. Instead, Bara wrote, “I’m forwarding an e-mail from ‘Jomo.’ The man no one knows—General Freedom’s phantom superior, the supposed leader of FREE.”

Unsettled, Pierce scrolled through Bara’s attachment. “Mr. Pierce,” it began. “No one who matters wants Okari to live. You come here with a lawyer’s paper sword, prating about ‘due process.’ But Luandia is a Gor-dian knot—you need a machete to cut it.”

At once, Pierce e-mailed Bara: “What the hell is this?”

Within moments, Bara responded: “It’s what he does. Don’t know what he knows, or how he got my e-mail address. Should I send him yours?”

Pierce considered this. “Yes,” he typed. “And tell him my name is God.”

Pierce sat back, enveloped by a feeling of disquiet. Then he e-mailed Dave Rubin: “What do you know about Roos Van Daan and Ugwo Ajukwa?”

B
Y THE NEXT
morning, Pierce had heard from Rubin.

Pierce, Hamilton, Vasquez, and the court reporter had reassembled around the table in PGL’s glass-walled conference room, mugs of coffee in front of them. The only new presence was Roos Van Daan.

Van Daan placed both arms on the table, as though to establish his territory. He was a fleshy Afrikaner in his forties, with gray-blond hair and a creased young-old face from which shrewd eyes, a startling light blue, regarded Pierce with indifference. Answering Pierce’s preliminary questions in a monotone, Van Daan allowed that he had been a major in the South African military; had left once Mandela ended apartheid; and since had served as a “military adviser” in numerous African wars. Sitting on either side of the witness, Hamilton and Vasquez had the alert but contented look of lawyers who expected no harm.

“In Angola,” Pierce said, “you served with the anti-communist forces?”

“Yes,” Van Daan answered. “Those are my principles.”

“At that time, were you also under contract to the CIA?”

Hamilton’s eyes froze—the question, obviously a surprise, warned him against complacency. Van Daan’s eyes changed as well, indifference vanishing in a look of reappraisal. “Yes,” he said at last.

“Is Angola where you first met Ugwo Ajukwa?”

Touching the witness’s arm, Hamilton intervened. “Mr. Van Daan is barred from answering by certain confidentiality agreements unrelated to his service with PGL. If you want an answer, you’ll have to go to Judge Taylor.”

“I’ll do that.” Turning to Van Daan, Pierce said, “Did you meet Ajukwa in connection with your employment by the CIA?”

“Yes. And that is all I can tell you.”

For the moment, Pierce knew this to be a dead end. “Did Ajukwa recommend you for your current job as PGL’s director of security?”

“Yes.”

From Van Daan’s monosyllabic answers, Pierce already knew what was to come: indifferent to Pierce and the impression he made, Van Daan would volunteer nothing. “For what reason did Ajukwa suggest you to Gladstone?”

Van Daan took a swallow of coffee, then moved his heavy shoulders in a shrug. “Perhaps he thought my skills were suited to the delta. Ask
him
.”

Van Daan’s faint smile betrayed his knowledge that no Luandian official would submit to questioning. “How did you first meet Okimbo?” Pierce asked.

“I don’t recall.”

“Was it before or after your employment by PGL?”

Eyes veiled, Van Daan seemed to consider the implications of the question. “After, I believe.”

“But before the London meeting with Ajukwa and Karama?”

The slits of Van Daan’s eyes opened slightly. “I believe so, yes.”

“Did you meet through Ajukwa?”

The smile had vanished. “I recall nothing of the circumstances.”

“Yet, at that meeting, Okimbo asked to work with you directly.”

“Yes.”

“For what reason?”

“Again, ask him.” A trace of sarcasm entered Van Daan’s voice. “Perhaps he would say that, as I was director of security, he wished to work with me on matters of security.”

“Were you familiar with Okimbo’s reputation?”

“Only what he said,” Van Daan answered dismissively. “It is plainly for effect, an African thing. Not even I know two hundred ways to kill a man.”

Pierce kept watching his face. “According to Mr. Hill, Okimbo was reported to have ordered the murder of unarmed civilians in Lana. In fact, Gladstone asked you to investigate that matter.”

Van Daan shrugged again, eyes focused on Pierce. “West Africa is full of such stories. Some are true, some are not. Okimbo denied this one.”

“Surprising. What other inquiries did you make?”

“I really don’t recall.”

Pierce stared at the witness. “What importance did you attach to the prospect that PGL’s chief military protector might have butchered civilians?”

“I thought the reputation helpful,” Van Daan said with indifference.
“My job was to find means of protecting PGL’s employees in a dangerous place. Hanging is not a pretty death, and those who did it meant to frighten our people. If Okimbo frightened them in return—or
anyone
who threatened us—that was good.”

“Did Okimbo frighten FREE, Mr. Van Daan?”

“How would
I
know? Ask FREE.”

“How did you and Okimbo plan to control them?”

As Van Daan contemplated the question, Pierce had the familiar impression of a witness fabricating an answer. “We had plans, which I decline to broadcast.” His tone became flinty. “Our first priority was dealing with Okari and the Asari who overran our facility and murdered three workers. FREE could wait.”

“Did ‘dealing’ with the Asari include providing Okimbo with guns, armaments, tear gas, and grenades—two weeks
before
Asari Day?”

“We supplied the army,” Van Daan responded coolly. “We did not specify its targets. That was Okimbo’s department.”

“Did you discuss with Okimbo PGL’s policy on human rights?”

“Yes. I even gave Okimbo his own copy.” Van Daan’s voice was flat. “In Africa, what exists on paper often stops there. Our only influence was in trying to engage the military to protect PGL in an appropriate way.”

Pausing, Pierce decided to shift gears. “Did that involve paying them?”

Disdain stole back into Van Daan’s ice-blue eyes. “They lacked funding,” he answered. “You speak of bullets. There was also food, medical care, payments to the soldiers who guard our compound or PGL executives, and payments to officers like Okimbo. Anything required to make us less than wholly defenseless.”

“Did you also pay Okimbo in advance of specific operations?”

Van Daan was momentarily silent. “I could have.”

“Did you ever pay him for an operation
after
it occurred?”

Van Daan’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall that.”

With the trace of a smile, Pierce asked, “Do you have some rule against it?”

Van Daan’s eyes locked on Pierce’s. “About payments, there were no rules.”

“Then let’s take a specific example—the so-called arrest of Bobby Okari. Did you discuss that with Okimbo in advance?”

Van Daan settled back in his chair, putting more distance between himself and Pierce. “In general terms. He assured me that he would only use such force as necessary.”

“Did you ask what that might mean?”

“How could I know? I was more concerned that the Asari stop killing our people.”

“When Okimbo told you of his plan to arrest Okari, did he solicit payment?”

Van Daan’s face closed. “I don’t recall.”

“Did you pay him for the Goro operation after it occurred?”

“I may have paid him after it occurred. That’s different than paying
for
something. As I told you, I don’t recall having made such payments.”

Pierce glanced at Hamilton. “But if you did, you kept scrupulous records.”

Van Daan delayed answering. “Sometimes. My practices aren’t consistent.”

Pierce turned to Hamilton. “Are there records of such payments to Okimbo?”

Hamilton glanced at Vasquez. “We haven’t had time to look further,” she said.

“Please do.” Turning to Van Daan, Pierce asked, “You
did
keep records of payments to Bobby’s lieutenants—Eric Aboh, Ubuke Odola, John Kipari, and Ala Sisune?”

“Yes. They each received fifty thousand dollars U.S.”

“For what purpose?”

“Okimbo hoped to persuade them to abandon Okari.” Van Daan’s tone became pointed. “After Okari murdered our workers, that was not difficult.”

“Still, you paid them. And then they signed an agreement calling for an end to demonstrations against PGL.”

Van Daan leaned forward. “Yes. Isolating Okari was an effort to save lives—theirs and ours. Better cash than bullets.”

“And yet two days later, the operation at Goro occurred. Where were you?”

“Somewhere in the field, on the way to Port George. I can’t be more specific.”

“What was the purpose of the trip?”

“To check some broken pipeline, near the village of Olala.”

“Were you alone?”

“No. I travel with at least two officers from the mobile police.”

“What were their names?”

Van Daan’s eyes glinted. “I forget. They were new.”

Pierce kept firing questions. “When did you first hear of Okari’s arrest?”

“When I reached our compound at Port George. Okimbo called me. He said that his people had been shot at, but they’d arrested Okari.”

Pierce gave him an incredulous look. “According to your intelligence, were the villagers of Goro armed?”

Van Daan crossed his arms. “I had no way of knowing.”

“Did Okimbo mention civilian casualties?”

“He said there were a few, at most. The rest fled into the creeklands.”

“You’ve seen many wars, Mr. Van Daan. Did you believe that?”

“Why is it my business to believe or disbelieve?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Pierce said sharply. “Maybe because PGL personnel were involved in the operation.”

Van Daan stared at him. “I don’t believe that.”

“Then how did it happen that PGL’s equipment was used?”

“After the murders, Okimbo requisitioned helicopters and sea trucks. The Asari had occupied our platform and pumping station. The colonel said our equipment might be useful.”

“Did he also mention Goro?”

“I don’t recall.”

Stymied, Pierce searched for his next question, and then a sudden instinct yielded one. Carefully watching Van Daan’s eyes, he asked, “On the night of Asari Day, when Okari spoke at the rally in Goro, did you fly a helicopter over the village?”

Van Daan hesitated, lips parted, as though trying to discover the source of Pierce’s question. “Do you need the question read back?” Pierce asked.

“No.” Van Daan’s voice lowered. “Yes, I flew the helicopter.”

“For what reason?”

“Intimidation.” Van Daan’s smile was sour. “Apparently it didn’t work.”

“When did you find out about those workers?”

“That they were dead? From Okimbo. I first knew they were missing
an hour or so before.” Van Daan’s tone dripped irony. “One of the men hadn’t shown up at his son’s soccer game. So his wife called.”

“Where were you?”

“Near Goro. Preparing to fly the helicopter.”

“Who was with you?”

“A couple of Okimbo’s soldiers. And, no, I
don’t
know who they were.”

Van Daan’s anxiety, faint but palpable, suggested that this area of questioning unsettled him. “Did you go to see the corpses?” Pierce asked.

“No. I returned to Port George.”

Pierce cocked his head. “How do you know Okimbo didn’t kill the three workers?”

“Why in hell would he do that?”

“You tell me, Mr. Van Daan.”

“I can’t.”

“Then what’s the evidence against Okari?”

Van Daan seemed preternaturally watchful now. “I don’t know the specifics. All Okimbo has told me is that there are witnesses.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know.”

Pierce sat back, looking from Hamilton to Vasquez and back to Van Daan. “In connection with the prosecution of Bobby Okari, have you given Okimbo money?”

A brief silence ensued, in which Hamilton glanced sharply at the witness. “Any payments to Okimbo,” Van Daan said, “were for the usual security services.”

“Not for witnesses?”

“No.”

“How do you know that?”

“Objection,” Hamilton cut in. “No foundation. Once Van Daan pays Colonel Okimbo, he can’t know where the money goes.”

Pierce turned to Van Daan. “You may answer.”

Van Daan shrugged. “My counsel just did. I know nothing about Okimbo paying witnesses.”

There was something wrong here, Pierce felt certain. But there was no way to probe it. “After I depose Hill,” he told Hamilton, “I want Mr. Van Daan back again.”

“Not without a reason,” Hamilton snapped. “If you ever get one, let me know.”

B
ACK AT THE
hotel, Pierce hastily checked his e-mail. “Eleven days to trial,” Jomo had noted, “and no defense. Would you like one?”

Staring at the screen, Pierce felt paranoia overwhelm him. His correspondent knew too much, and his inquiry smelled of deception—or, worse, entrapment. What might follow could destroy Bobby’s hopes and, quite possibly, Pierce’s career.