ECLIPSE (49 page)

Hill navigated the jeep along a narrow road. As they turned onto the main thoroughfare, a four-lane highway, the world of Petrol Island materialized around them—the refinery to one side, the compound to the other. They headed toward the compound, passing a white man with a woman passenger, likely a prostitute from Hooker Village. Their headlights caught a jeep filled with soldiers coming toward them in the opposite lane. Over his shoulder, Hill snapped at Marissa, “Duck.”

She curled sideways, head pressed to the seat. As the jeep came closer, Hill gave the driver a careless wave. When the man waved back, Pierce felt his eyes close.

“Nearly there,” Hill murmured.

No one spoke. There was no more traffic on the road. Moments later, Hill turned down a side road. Beyond a field of grass, Pierce saw four small planes sitting on the tarmac. The airstrip was dark. “I closed it down,” Hill said. “Bad weather coming. There shouldn’t be anyone here.”

The road ended at the tarmac. Hill got out, then Pierce and Marissa. They followed him toward a propeller plane at the far end, shrouded in darkness by the lowering clouds. “It’s small but stable,” Hill observed. “I’ve flown these all over Africa.”

He stopped abruptly. A split second after Hill, Pierce saw the jeep parked beside a wing of the plane. “Going for a spin?” a thick voice asked.

Pierce froze; he knew the voice at once. From the shadow of the plane stepped Roos Van Daan, two young Luandian soldiers at his side. As they approached, the soldiers aimed their handguns at Trevor Hill. “You shouldn’t have checked on available planes,” Van Daan told Hill. “Why ask when you’ve closed the airstrip?”

“Who’s paying you?” Pierce demanded.

Van Daan’s teeth flashed. “That, Counselor, is your last question. And I object.” Glancing at the soldiers, he said, “They were trying to escape. Shoot them all.”

Pierce reached for Marissa’s hand. One of the soldiers looked from Van Daan to Hill. Calmly, Hill spoke to him in a native dialect. As Van Daan turned to the soldier, puzzled, the man put his gun to Van Daan’s temple and fired.

Eyes wide with shock, Van Daan sagged to the ground, blood spurting from his shattered skull. Gazing down at him, Hill said laconically, “I paid them.”

Fighting shock, Pierce turned to Marissa. She began to tremble. He gripped her shoulders. “Listen,” he said. “Trevor’s flying you to Accra. You’re to go to the American embassy. They’ll get you home from there.”

“Home?” She stared at him in confusion. “What about Bobby?”

Pierce felt the first heavy drop of rain on his face. “PetroGlobal’s brokering a plan. But Bobby won’t go along until you’re safe.”

Her eyes filled with doubt and worry. Pierce could read her thoughts: she was trying to imagine a bargain that her husband would agree to. “You’ve trusted me this far,” Pierce said. “It’s way too late to stop. Now go.”

Marissa blinked at the rain spattering her face. “You’re not coming with me?”

“I’m staying here.” He tried to sound reassuring. “I need to make sure this goes the way it should. I’ll see you on the other side.”

He glanced at Hill. A look of empathy passed through Hill’s eyes: he had just heard Pierce lie about her husband and himself, knowing they both might die. But then so might Hill and Marissa, shot down by Luandian pilots.

Hill spoke to the soldiers in dialect. Each taking a leg, they dragged Van Daan’s body toward the grass. “They worked for Van Daan,” Hill told Pierce, “providing security for Petrol Island—it seems they learned to hate him. They have no idea what’s happening. But they’ll get you back to Port George.”

The first flash of lightning split the night sky. Thunder followed, then sheets of rain. “We’ve got to get up,” Hill shouted.

Pierce turned to Marissa. “Call me from the embassy,” he said quickly. “Please, hurry.”

Swiftly, she kissed him, then ran after Hill with her head down against the rain. Pierce watched until she vanished inside the plane.

P
IERCE’S RETURN TO
P
ORT
G
EORGE WAS FILLED WITH FOREBODING
and regret, a deep sadness for that already lost, and that which would be lost. For nearly two hours, he and the soldiers retraced Hill’s route in the open boat, soaked by a driving rain that obscured the lights of Port George. Flashes of lightning struck the water, one frighteningly close, followed by thunder so awesome and enveloping that it evoked God’s judgment. Constantly Pierce thought of Marissa, buffeted by these brutal skies above the trackless reaches of the delta. Now and then they saw the streaks of beam lights from a patrol boat; once they hid among the floating mass of oil tankers moored offshore. By the time they reached the harbor at Port George, clothes clinging to their bodies, Pierce felt spent. With a residue of good manners, he shook the two men’s hands and gave them money from his wallet. Then he climbed a ladder and stood on the dock, alone. It was just past two
A.M.

Rain pelted him like bullets. He could not return to the Okaris’ compound; but he felt a primal need for shelter, a place to rest and to think. Above the waterfront, the red neon words
HOTEL PRESIDENT
blinked like a mirage through the sheets of water. Passing between two looming cranes, Pierce headed for the sign.

The hotel was four stories, sterile in its modernity. Pierce paused at its glass entrance. He had nowhere else to go, yet was safe from detection only in the rain. But he could do no good unless he acted—with whatever misgivings—as he would have before Marissa’s escape. He walked into
the lobby, drawing the silent stare of a security guard, then went to the front desk and hit a bell for service.

A frail old man appeared; after a flicker of astonishment he pretended there was nothing remarkable about a rain-soaked
oyibo,
without luggage, appearing like a fugitive to request a room. Eyes downcast, he asked to see Pierce’s passport and a credit card. Pierce had no choice but to comply, knowing that one phone call might bring soldiers to arrest him. Taking a room key, he slipped the old man some cash.

The third-floor room was small and shabby. With the drapes closed, Pierce stripped off his shirt and removed his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans. When he pressed the power button, the phone came on.

He lay back on the bed. His first call was to Rachel Rahv. Hearing her voice mail, he left a terse message: Leave Luandia at once, and take the others with you. Then he called Grayson Caraway.

For a second night, despite the hour, the ambassador was awake. “It’s Damon,” Pierce began. “Tell your friend in Accra to expect a visitor.”

Caraway sounded mildly astounded. “You managed it?”

“So far. It may not work out quite so well for me . . .”

“Where are you?”

“Still in Port George. What do you hear about Okari?”

“Rumors. Two hours ago I called the foreign minister at home. Adu had clearly been drinking, I think out of dread. Ajukwa’s been arrested, he said.”

Pierce sat up. “What does that mean?”

“That something you said stuck with Karama. Though who knows what or why, or how it relates to Okari. But Ajukwa may already be dead: aides who vanish in the middle of the night tend not to reappear.”

For an instant, Pierce absorbed that he might have caused a death without fully comprehending the reason. He pushed the thought aside. “I told Okimbo that Bobby was considering Karama’s offer. Once they learn she’s gone, that’s done. If there’s anything else you can do to save him, now’s the time.”

“I’ve been trying to reach the president. But he’s still focused on the troops.” Pausing, Caraway spoke more softly: “It’s a strange night. There’s more than Ajukwa, I’m afraid. Adu heard that a hangman has been called to Port George. I’m not sure there’s anything else I can do.”

Pierce felt anxiety overcome him. “What can I do, dammit? I’ve got no way of reaching anyone except by a cell phone that needs recharging.”

The ambassador spoke softly. “Assuming the worst, what does a lawyer usually do in these circumstances? Provide hope, I suppose. Or at least what comfort you can—”

“I’m not a priest,” Pierce snapped.

“Surely not. But you knew what Okari’s prospects were, and stayed.” The ambassador’s tone mixed apology and compassion. “I’ll pass along any messages you need me to. But I may be of more use if you’re arrested. After all, you’re an American.”

This touch of weary irony left Pierce with nothing to say. “Good luck,” the ambassador said. “If I hear anything more, I’ll call. Please know, Damon, that I’m sorrier than I can say.”

Pierce thanked him, and got off.

Lying back on the bed, he considered his situation. He had no e-mail, no way of reaching out, nothing but a cell phone and this room. It made him think of Bobby Okari—facing so much worse, alone.

He lay there, envisioning Bobby’s cell. For a time he debated whether to turn off his phone, preserving power, or keep it on for Caraway and Marissa. It was just past four o’clock. The battery had perhaps five hours to go; by then, all of this might be done. He kept the phone on.

No one called. No one came for him.

A little before five, Pierce forced himself to get up, shower, and put on his damp clothes. Then he went to the lobby and out into the street.

The rain had stopped. A young cabbie waited outside, no doubt hoping for an early fare to the airport. Getting in, Pierce said tersely, “Take me to the barracks.”

H
E ARRIVED THERE
in the first thin light of morning, before the pollution that fouled the air had tinged the dawn with orange. Pierce presented himself to the sentries and asked for Major Bangida.

In moments Bangida appeared, crisply dressed and fully awake. In a sardonic tone, he said, “We’ve been looking for you. Okimbo wasn’t expecting a visit.”

Pierce felt his last hope die; from Bangida’s manner, they knew about Marissa. Fighting back his fear, he followed the major into the courtyard.

Involuntarily, Pierce stopped at what he saw there. A thick rope dangled from the gallows; a man in a red silk gown, no doubt the hangman, was stationed on the platform. The Black Maria that had taken Bobby to and from the trial was parked with its rear door open, revealing a steel coffin.

Stunned, Pierce turned to Bangida. Nodding, the major said, “This is the day.” There was no pleasure in his voice, no emotion at all. “Come—Okimbo is waiting for you.”

Pierce made his mind go blank. Mechanically, he followed Bangida inside the prison.

Okimbo was leaning against the stone wall, arms folded. “The houseboy Edo told us,” he said in a conversational tone. “Did you think us too foolish to have spies?”

Pierce said nothing. Okimbo nodded curtly to Bangida, dismissing him. “Enabling a treasonous Luandian citizen to escape,” he told Pierce, “is punishable by death. It’s no help now that you’re American, or a lawyer. Though I suppose you can represent yourself to the same effect as you did Okari. Consider this morning a preview.”

Pierce felt loathing overtake his fear. “I came to see Okari. You can amuse yourself later.”

Okimbo seemed to weigh his choices. Then Bangida returned. Solemnly, he said, “President Karama is calling.”

Okimbo’s eye widened in surprise. Squaring his shoulders, he headed to his office. Quietly, Bangida told Pierce, “Go to Okari.”

Gathering himself, Pierce climbed the steps to Bobby’s cell.

Bobby sat on a stool, his hands manacled behind his back. With an air of resignation, Bobby turned at the sound of Pierce’s footsteps. Seeing Pierce, he seemed to relax. “Damon,” he said softly. “You never fail to surprise.”

Pierce gazed at him through the bars. “I wanted you to know about Marissa. She’s out.”

“Out?”

“Gone.” Pierce repressed his own worry. “Soon she’ll be at our embassy in Accra. Once she’s there, she’ll call me.”

“And yet you’re here.”

Though Bobby’s voice was filled with wonder, Pierce was not sure what lay behind this comment; nor did he wish Bobby to die with Pierce’s
fate on his conscience. At length he said, “I’m your lawyer, Bobby. I wanted to be with you.”

For a long while, Bobby studied him. Gently, he asked, “Aren’t you still in love with her?”

Surprised, Pierce weighed his answer. “There’s been no time to think of that. It hardly matters now.”

It was a kindness, Pierce thought, that Bobby did not know the literal truth of his last statement. Bobby shook his head. “I think it will, in time. Marissa’s sacrificed far too much, in some ways more than I. I’d like the comfort of knowing that you care for her, as I think she does for you.”

Pierce absorbed Bobby Okari’s grace, his desire to die in peace. “Yes,” he said at last, “I’m in love with her.”

Perhaps it was true; at that moment, gripped by a sense of loss Bobby could not perceive, Pierce felt that it was. But he might never know.

Bobby watched his face. “I can see how sad you are, Damon. But you’ve lightened my conscience, and allowed me to die with dignity. What more could one man do for another?”

Pierce heard footsteps on the stone. Turning, he saw Bangida. “It’s time,” the major said. “Do you want to be there with him?”

“Yes.”

“Then go to the courtyard and wait.”

Pierce faced Bobby again. Eyes moist, Bobby tried to smile; for a moment, Pierce smiled in return. Then he followed Bangida outside.

In the morning light, Pierce saw a soldier with a video camera, aimed at the gallows. Only when Pierce heard it whirring did he see what the man was filming.

Okimbo hung from the gallows, his face suffused with agony. Someone had removed his eye patch; the stray eye, exposed, stared crookedly at nothing. His left foot gave a final twitch, then was still.

“It seems I’m now a colonel,” Bangida said.

His flesh crawling, Pierce watched the hangman give the rope a tug, confirming that Okimbo had become dead weight. “I have a message from President Karama,” Bangida went on. “When we’re done here, you must leave Luandia at once—if you want to live. A man of honor, he said to tell you, repays his friends.”

Pierce struggled to absorb what had happened. But there was no time. Flanked by two soldiers, Bobby Okari emerged from the prison. As
they led him to the steps of the gallows, Bobby gazed up at Okimbo, less with surprise than what seemed a weary recognition of their common fate. Karama, and Luandia, would consume them both.