Fever (34 page)

“Brilliant. Did you bring her phone?” When Sara nodded, Estelle said, “Let’s go to my room. We’ll need more privacy for this call.”

Estelle closed the door behind them and took the phone from Sara. She scrolled through the incoming and outgoing call list. “Here it is, Stewart, Zak’s boss in the Company.” She stopped as though she’d misspoken.

“It’s all right. Zak told me about her work. But how do you know her boss? I thought she shielded you from that part of her life.”

“My daughter isn’t the only one with friends in high places. You’re okay with all this?”

“It’s a process, but right now I just want her back.”

Estelle pushed Redial, waited for a connection, punched in a code, and waited again. “I’ll put this on speaker, but let me do the talking.”

“Ebony?” Stewart hesitated when there was no immediate reply.

Estelle’s voice was calm and confident. “Close.”

“Estelle, why are you calling? What has happened?”

“I’m assuming this is still a secure line?”

“Yes, speak freely.”

“Ebony was arrested for the murder of Titus Wachira and has disappeared.”

Several seconds passed before Stewart responded. “By disappeared I assume you mean that you can’t find her in any government-sanctioned holding facility.”

“Correct. That’s why I need your help.”

A longer pause ensued. Sara was about to launch into a scathing sermon about the responsibilities of an organization to its employees when she remembered this wasn’t just another corporate entity. Human casualties probably weren’t even a concern for Stewart. “I’m not sure I can do that, Estelle. You understand the position I’m in here.”

“I understand that my daughter has risked her life for you on too many occasions to count, not to mention giving up anything resembling a normal future for this work. And now that she needs help, you are denying her?” Estelle’s French-accented voice remained matter-of-fact but her tone held an edge.

“Are you sure she didn’t kill Wachira? She certainly hated the man enough.”

Estelle’s brief hesitation spoke to the uncertainty inside Sara. Even her mother had doubts. “That is not my concern at this point. My daughter’s life is. Are you going to help me or not, Captain?”

“My sincerest apologies, but I can’t. It would be seen as interference in Africa’s political and judicial processes. And if we divulge a connection between Ebony and the Company, it places her and us at great risk. The cost is too high.”

Sara started to speak but Estelle waved her off. “Very well, then prepare for what happens next. Like you, I must do what I feel is right.”

“Is that some kind of threat?”

Without further explanation, Estelle said, “Good day, Captain.” The emphasis on her final word sounded like a curse. She put the phone down and walked to the balcony where she stood for several minutes in silence. When she turned back to Sara, her face was again beaming with purpose. “It’s time to call in some favors. How long will it take Ben to get to Nairobi?”

“Six hours.”

“We need him first thing in the morning with the evidence. Turn on the TV and let’s catch a broadcast of your campaign. And make a big pot of coffee. We’ll need it.”

Sara made the call and the coffee while Estelle worked the phone. Her first contact was the Director of the FBI. Sara listened in amazement as she explained the situation and that she needed technological and forensic assistance. An agent would arrive in the morning with instructions to do whatever she asked. Her second call was to President Kibaki’s office. The response was not as swift, but she was eventually connected to the president. Again, Estelle told the story of Zak’s arrest and that they held evidence to support her innocence. After a tougher sell, he agreed to meet with them and at least have his people review the evidence. The meeting was scheduled for two the next afternoon.

“You’re amazing,” Sara said when she hung up. “How do you know these people?”

“My husband and I were personal friends of the director and his wife. Kibaki respected Frank’s work with the children of this country. He still calls me every year on the day my husband died. He questions that Zak killed Wachira and will try to help us locate her. He suspects a deeper political connection aimed at discrediting his administration.”

Sara considered her next question, wondering if she really wanted to know the answer. “And what about you, Estelle, do you think Zak did it?”

“I think we are of like mind. My daughter believed she could do such a thing at one time, but I never did. Before I left, I gave her evidence that Wachira was not responsible for her father’s death. If she read the reports, she had to release some of the anger she felt toward him. It’s hard to hold on to hatred, especially when it isn’t deserved. And it has taken so much from her that I’m sure she’s ready to let it go. And you?”

“Zak’s not a killer. I love her, you know.”

Estelle hugged Sara and cradled her head on her shoulder. “I know and she loves you. I realized it the minute I saw the two of you together. She’s never had such a look in her eyes before. Don’t worry, cheri, we’ll find our girl.”

*

By Zak’s account, she’d been in this stinkhole for three weeks, every day the same as the one before. It was easy to disappear in this country and much too easy to cover up a long absence. If Ben or Sara or her mother had tried to find her, she doubted they received much cooperation from the government. Besides, no one would look this far from Nairobi. The Somali border area was entirely too dangerous a place to ask questions. Every day she considered her situation and how she might escape as her strength returned.

The food barely qualified as edible, but she forced herself to eat what she could to stay alive. She used half of her daily two-bottle ration of water to irrigate her wounds and keep them from becoming infected. They had healed nicely, considering the conditions, leaving matching red scars on both sides. It could have been much worse if not for Ben and Imani. She thought of them and the time she spent in the bush as a child. It had proved invaluable to keeping her sane during the confinement.

She’d managed to squirrel away some helpful items during her daily outings in the small gated yard. The guards either didn’t notice or didn’t care that she gathered a few leaves and twigs from the plants with each visit. They served well as tissues and toothbrushes, and she’d begun to fashion a makeshift glove from the remnants to use as a weapon. During the night while everyone slept, Zak slowly rebuilt strength in her arms and torso by exercising against the thick metal bars. Being physically idle during the daylight hours gave her time to think about her situation.

She replayed the information she’d gathered on Wachira and decided that it might be helpful in her defense after all. The man she’d taped and photographed talking to the minister of education after Wachira left that last night had asked about an assignment. The minister had put him off with a prediction that at some later time he could solve two problems for him at once. What if those two problems were Wachira and her?

It would make sense to get rid of Wachira if he was getting greedy or had become a liability. And her vendetta against the police commander was widely known, as was her association with the Ambrosini school project. Who better to take the fall for Wachira’s murder? She wondered if Ben had gotten the information to President Kibaki, and if so, whether this mystery man would be of any interest to them. How could they link him to Wachira’s death? The connection was the minister of education, but she worried that Kibaki might not want to explore that option and the ties to his vice president.

The Company with its resources could easily identify the man and uncover any other connections between him and the minister of education. But Zak wasn’t sure she could depend on Stewart for help. As far as she knew, he had made no effort to intervene on her behalf. While she understood the policy on plausible deniability, the reality sucked. But something else about Stewart bothered her, something buried in the back of her mind.

That night while Zak hung from the steel bars of her cell in the middle of her workout ritual, the memory became clear. She lost her grip and almost fell to the hard dirt-packed floor. Stewart had been the one who told her about her father’s death. Zak was on assignment in Venice at the time and had been pulled out immediately. On her flight back to Kenya to meet her mother, Stewart had briefed her on the details. Everything she knew about her father’s case came by word of mouth from the Company. She never saw any written documentation, not even an autopsy report.

Stewart told her about Wachira’s involvement in the incident. He commanded the police unit that converged on the group of workers and gave the order to fire into the crowd. According to their intelligence, Titus Wachira was directly responsible for Frank Chambers’s death. And Zak believed it, all of it. Even after the training she’d received about double-checking facts and never taking anything at face value, she’d failed in the most important case of her life.

Zak fell to her knees over the long drop and threw up, purging the rage and hatred from her system until her throat was raw. She was so grief-stricken and desperate for someone to blame that she hadn’t asked to see the evidence. Stewart had lied to her and perpetuated her rage, keeping her captive to her misguided emotions. She’d heard him say many times that the only good agent was one who had something to gain or lose. And Zak was driven by her need for revenge.

Suddenly her past behavior seemed callous and shameful. No wonder she hadn’t been able to initiate and sustain a loving relationship. Her heart had been too full of negativity and doubt. Her gut must have known that something was wrong because she’d simply buried herself deeper in her work instead of trying to establish a real life. The fear she’d seen in Sara’s eyes on more than one occasion now made sense. Her spiteful grudge against Wachira had taken over her life and replaced it with blind fury. A heart as full and damaged as hers had no room for love.

Oh, Sara, I am so sorry, my love.
Her hostility had marred even their single night of lovemaking. But Sara calmed her and showed her that another way existed inside her. She prayed for a second chance to make it right, to shower Sara with the feelings that were suddenly free inside her. Sara filled her heart and she missed her fiery red hair, her chocolate brown eyes, the sprinkle of freckles across her upturned nose, and her luscious lips. But she longed most desperately to be held in her arms, to feel the love and compassion that seemed to ooze from her as effortlessly as breathing. The intimacy she’d experienced during their brief time together would have to sustain her until she was free again. And if that never happened, she would die knowing that she’d been loved and was capable of love.

Her dreams of Sara were halted as the dark African night gave way to another gray dawn. But this one was different. Soldiers were talking in hushed tones in the outer office and there was more activity than a normal day required. Before she could fully focus on their voices, two guards entered the cell area and headed toward her. They motioned her to the back of her cell and unlocked the door. With a wide sweep of his hands one of the men spoke in broken English. “Today you leave Africa. Come.”

She was hurried to the showers and provided a relatively clean change of clothes. In three hours’ time she’d had a substantial breakfast and was on a plane out of the country. The only information she received from her escort to the airport was a message from President Kibaki. She had been released with a full pardon but was to leave the country immediately without contacting anyone, especially Sara Ambrosini.

As Sara’s corporate jet skidded to a halt at Charles De Gaulle Airport, she wondered why she’d accepted Estelle’s invitation for a visit. The school was nearly completed after several delays that seemed as much failures on her part as not being able to find Zak. Fortunately, Imani was handling the hiring of teachers, but they still had a lot to do before classes could begin. But Estelle had insisted that she take a break, and Sara hated to disappoint her further.

It was a difficult and a joyous time to have her mother’s final wish realized. Sara had grown so much since the project began. And she finally understood what her mother was trying to tell her with all the caveats to her will. Sara realized that she loved teaching and that it was possible for her to both build schools and participate in the education process. The manual construction had also taught her that she was stronger than she imagined, bodily and mentally.

But it hadn’t been easy to overcome the obstacles in transforming the dream to reality. She thought of Zak and pain shot through her. Was the effort worth the cost? Her connection to Zak was so strong that she didn’t dare think of it often. When she did, she became physically and emotionally weak. The atrocities the jeshi could have inflicted upon Zak during captivity or her eventual death tormented Sara nightly. Only work and trying to locate Zak kept her somewhat distracted. Since Zak’s disappearance a month ago, Sara had worked tirelessly to find news of her, but none of the tips she received from the publicity blitz panned out. The private investigators had also come up empty. She seemed to have vanished. Even President Kibaki had failed to provide anything useful.

Estelle and Sara met with Kibaki and turned the evidence on Wachira over, but received no further communication from him. Fortunately, Estelle’s FBI contact had made copies of the documentation as a backup in case it was needed later. They also identified the man who met with the minister of education as a known assassin for the African resistance. His bank records in an offshore account led directly to the minister of education.