Fever (11 page)

“What’s the matter, Ninja, afraid I’ll bite?”

Zak’s glare said she didn’t see the humor. “We’ve got work to do before nightfall.”

They set up the camp stove and a small wood-burning boiler for heating bath water. Ben stuffed the unit with wood and started a fire, then filled a container on top with water so it could heat while they were in Talek.

The main road was actually closer to camp than Sara imagined, just a few hundred yards beyond a small incline. Like the other paths she’d seen that served as roads, this one was a narrow, rutty stretch of loosely packed dirt. As they drove toward town, small concrete dwellings with tin roofs sprang up periodically in the middle of nowhere. Children stood in bare yards wearing scant or no clothing, waving and shouting words the dust clouds of their vehicle absorbed. Older folks averted their gazes or merely ignored them.

Farther down the road, a group of people gathered around an animal carcass. Some were on cell phones while others slashed off portions of the animal’s flesh with large knives and machetes. “What are they doing?” Sara asked, trying not to look at the carnage.

“A car probably hit and killed the cow,” Zak explained. “Everybody in the area comes to get the meat. If they leave it here, the meat goes bad quickly in the heat. They don’t have refrigeration. So they call their friends and relatives and everybody eats well tonight.”

The crimson hands, slabs of raw meat, and rusty sick smell of fresh blood made Sara queasy. The metallic taste of last evening’s delicacy returned as she stifled a dry heave and turned her attention to something less evocative.

She needed desperately to talk about anything except the sight she’d just witnessed. A line of old telegraph poles stood like bent soldiers, some holding their ground, others bowing toward earth. Wires hung from their tops and danced on the slightest breeze. “What happened to the telegraph poles?”

“Elephants used them as scratching posts.” The image made Sara smile. As they approached a strip of tin shanties along the road, Zak announced, “We’re here.”

Sara studied the crude brightly painted buildings and tried to imagine them as stores. “This is the town?”

“Yep, think of it as a yard sale or thrifty market.”

Ben nodded toward some men lingering in the doorways of several of the shops. “I will ask for workers.”

“Stay with me, please,” Zak instructed Sara as they exited. While Zak checked every building in the strip for another sleeping enclosure, Sara tried to identify what they were selling and for how much. The conversion from Kenyan shillings to dollars made her head hurt. They both finally gave up and headed back just as Ben returned.

“They will spread the word,” he said as they climbed back in the truck. “Materials arrive tomorrow and work begins. Last day of rest.” As Ben drove, he started singing a lively African song and Zak, to Sara’s amazement, helped out.
“Jambo, jambo bwana. Habari gani? Hakuna matata.”
After the first verse, Zak quickly translated for Sara. “Hello, greetings, sir. What’s new? There are no problems.”

She watched the interaction between Zak and Ben and marveled at the difference between this woman and the one she’d met on the plane. She was much more relaxed and animated. The human shell was filled with vitality and emotion, and she was glowing from the inside out. How easy it would be to care about this Zak Chambers. As the two friends continued to sing, the catchy tune and lyrics enticed Sara to join in. Soon they were all belting out the words, laughing and bouncing through another African massage.

When they reached the top of the incline near their destination, they stopped mid-song. Their small encampment beside the river bank was a hub of activity. Several vehicles had parked around the tents, and blue-clad police officers rifled through their supplies. Boxes had been emptied onto the ground, and their clothes littered nearby bushes like scarecrows.

Zak bolted from the truck, running full-tilt toward the officers and yelling in Swahili.

“Not good,” Ben muttered.

The Kenyan police officers turned their AK-47s on Zak and ordered her to stop. She froze, realizing they were serious and would have no problem filling her full of holes.

“On your knees, hands behind your head. Now!”

Zak complied, an image of her father in the same position flashing through her mind. She scanned the officers for Wachira and, not finding him, felt a little less threatened. “What are you doing here? We just arrived. We haven’t done anything wrong.” In her peripheral vision she saw Ben and Sara approaching and wanted to warn them off. Sara’s expression was a combination of horror and outrage.

“Silence.” The lieutenant of the group stepped forward. “We know who you are and when you arrived. And we do not need a reason to be here. You are on
our
land.”

Not breaking eye contact with the man, Zak forced her voice to reflect a composure she didn’t feel. African authoritarians didn’t like having their power questioned. Deference was the better tack and she needed to calm the situation before Sara launched into one of her rants on social injustice and oppression. “You’re right, sir. But why did you go through our things?”

The man’s face never changed, but he motioned for his men to lower their weapons. “We were searching for identification to verify your papers and purpose.”

“If I may, Lieutenant. Sorry, I don’t know your name.”

“You call me Lieutenant.”

Neither the police force nor the military wore name tags, another method, Zak surmised, by which they could deny complaints. “Yes, Lieutenant, if I may get up, I’ll produce my identification, as will my friends.” She indicated that Ben and Sara should do the same. The look on Sara’s face said she wanted to do more than show her ID, but Zak gave her a cautionary stare.

“Do so,” he responded.

As Zak rose, she assessed their situation more fully. The lieutenant was a huge man in height and weight, his mass appearing entirely muscle. His skin was so dark it seemed to absorb the ebbing sunlight around him. Dark close-set eyes that showed no signs of life topped a wide nose and broad lips. This man had to be one of Wachira’s henchmen. They shared the same lack of respect and human courtesy. He was accompanied by six more officers, all heavily armed. This was more than a simple document check. They were here to make a statement.

When Zak and the others offered their passports, three officers took them and retreated to their vehicles. The lieutenant addressed Sara. “So you are the Ambrosini woman who wishes to build a school for our poor, underprivileged children?” The fact that he knew this without looking at her credentials concerned Zak even more.

Sara’s chest rose and fell as she took a deep breath and released a shaky sigh. Zak started to answer for her, but Sara waved her off. “Yes, sir. I’ve visited your country many times over the years and wanted to help. What better way than to educate the children, don’t you agree, Lieutenant?”

His gaze swept boldly over Sara’s body before he answered. “Yes, indeed, children.” A few minutes of strained silence passed before his men returned with their passports and the group moved away from them, whispering among themselves. One of the officers waved a passport in Zak’s direction and the lieutenant stabbed her with his lifeless glare. Then he spoke to Sara again. “It seems we have a small problem.”

“I wonder what that could be,” Zak asked, no longer concerned about her tone or its implication.

Several of the lieutenant’s men edged closer to her, their posture more aggressive. “I was addressing Ms. Ambrosini.” The lieutenant remained focused on Sara. “We have no building permit or architectural plans on file for your school and no record that you paid the fees to begin work.”

Zak started to move closer to the lieutenant but his men immediately surrounded her. “I get it, more cash.” This had Wachira’s money-grubbing signature all over it. If he could make a few extra bucks and irritate her at the same time, he’d consider it a good day.

Sara touched Zak’s arm, her eyes pleading with her to be quiet. “Lieutenant, I paid the fees and filed the necessary paperwork, but I understand that things get lost. May I retrieve the copies from my luggage? I certainly want to comply with the law.”

Her voice was smooth and silky like she was asking the man to dinner, not for permission to look for documents. And it seemed to be working, because the corners of the lieutenant’s mouth actually turned up in a small grin. “We do not accept copies, only originals, and they seem to be missing from the office.”

“Then may I please have some time to rectify the problem? I’ll take care of it first thing in the morning.”

“We do not wish to be unreasonable.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sara replied.

With a nod from their leader the officers returned to their vehicles. The lieutenant slapped the side of the jeep in which he was a passenger as they drove away, and it stopped abruptly. He pointed at Zak but directed his comments to Sara. “Get a new guide, Ms. Ambrosini. This one is a liability to you and your school.” The caravan was swallowed in a swirl of dust.

As the vehicles topped the hill and disappeared from view, Sara glared at her, hands on her hips. Zak imagined one of her probing questions or long tirades perched on the tip of her tongue, but she wasn’t in the mood to listen. “I tried to tell you this wasn’t a good idea.” She started retrieving their supplies and clothes, which were scattered across the ground. Sara followed.

“Leave it alone,” Zak said over her shoulder, “and stay away from him. I’ll take care of the permit and the fee tomorrow.”

“I don’t take orders from you, Zak.” Her tone was neither angry nor critical but held the same tolerance and control she’d demonstrated with the lieutenant. How could a woman who was normally verbose and emotional be so calm? She had every reason to be furious with her. Zak placed her and the project in jeopardy and talked to her like she was an unruly teenager.

She didn’t want to see the questions or accusations in Sara’s eyes, but had no choice but to face her. Instead of the recriminations she’d expected, there was only concern. Her usual defensive remarks stalled as she realized the untenable position she’d placed Sara in. “You’re right, but you agreed to do as I say.”

“That was before I realized what we’re up against.”

“You still have no idea.”

“Then school me. I deserve that.” She followed Zak as they gathered their belongings.

“Corruption is everywhere, Sara. Just let me handle it.”

Sara grabbed Zak’s arm and forced her to make eye contact again. “If you won’t tell me what’s going on, I can’t trust you or your ability to handle anything for me. For all I know you’re just a white female version of the lieutenant and Wachira.”

The comment pierced Zak’s heart like a spear. Of all the insults Sara could use, she’d chosen the ones that inflicted the most damage. Having her abilities and her loyalty questioned was hurtful enough, but being compared with those two vile men ripped at her like an injured animal. She pulled from Sara’s grasp and walked toward the mess tent.

When Zak entered the cooking area, Ben was making arrangements for dinner. “Did they damage anything?” she asked.

“No.”

The lack of further comment was unlike her friend. Ben usually stated his opinion, and he was certainly in hearing range of her conversation with Sara. Right now, Zak needed an objective view. Her feelings about this place, about Wachira, about Sara were clouding her judgment.

“Go ahead and say whatever’s on your mind. You think she’s right, don’t you? Do you think I should tell her everything and let her make her own decision?”

“Grief and anger blind. You forget how to be with people.” Ben’s stance was tall and erect, his eyes never leaving Zak’s. This was his preferred method of delivering what he considered unpleasant news, with honesty and respect. “Tell her. She can help.”

“I’m afraid. What if she gets hurt? I couldn’t live with another loss like—”

Sara entered the tent and approached Zak, her brown eyes watery with tears. “I’m so sorry for what I said. It was cruel and thoughtless. Please forgive me.”

Zak could hardly bear to see her in such distress. Sara’s remark had hurt, but Sara’s regret and plea for forgiveness touched Zak’s heart. She was the one who should be asking for Sara’s forgiveness, telling her the truth about her past with Wachira and the potential impact on the school project. She should be finding another guide and removing herself from this assignment. But something inside her refused to let logic and reason lead her. “No problem. Let’s forget it. Help me gather some firewood?”

As they left, Ben said, “This one is strong,” and Zak knew he wasn’t talking about her.

It was almost dark by the time the wood was collected, the camp secured with the wire-mesh consistency of thorn bushes, and a fire blazed in the center of their space. They sat on canvas chairs, ate the vegetable medley Ben had prepared, and watched stars populate the pitch-black sky. No one spoke as the baboons grunted and settled down for the night and a Maasai herdsman drove his cattle to the riverbed to drink. Zak heard lions in the distance, taking down their prey. She’d almost forgotten how quickly things could go from peaceful to deadly in this country. The reality had always been invigorating, but now it was daunting in a way that threatened her professional and personal stability.