The Black List (30 page)

Lisette took another look around, asking, “You said something about people willing to pay?”

“I did. There are those who have managed to earn or steal or be given money who will circumvent the system in place, moving to the head of the line, as you would say. That would not be here. I have heard rumors only of where it might be, where one could obtain legitimate identification. There is a thriving black market within the confines of one of the other camps. I could direct you there, but I wouldn’t recommend it, as it isn’t safe. Especially for a woman.”

“Where would that be?” Donovan asked.

He gave them directions. “But the camps are very large and the distance between them vast. You would need to drive.”

“Could one hire a driver?”

“If you have money, yes. But it is, as I said, dangerous.”

He spoke in sharp guttural tones to a boy of about ten who was sitting on a bench near the tent’s entrance. The boy nodded and ran out. “He will fetch Ali. You can trust him.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure you will think so once you get there.”

Donovan and Lisette walked out, moving off to one side, away from the long line of mostly women and children who waited their turns to be seen by the doctors. Many sat in the dirt, their clothes and skin coated with red dust.

Donovan and Lisette informed Tex of where they were going. By the time they returned, the boy who had left was bringing with him a man dressed in gray pants and an orange shirt, his feet and plastic sandals the same color as the dirt.

The man, Ali, smiled at them and said in broken English, “You hire my truck?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “You pay?”

Donovan held up several bills and the man’s eyes widened.

“This way. This way.”

They followed Ali past one of the few brick buildings, to where a rusted white pickup was parked. A late-model Datsun, which put it circa 1980s.

It was as the doctor said, a long drive through the camp past corrugated shanties and tents that lined either side of the dirt roads. The driver was an expert at dodging pedestrians or navigating obstacles, honking every few seconds at a goat herder urging his livestock across an intersection or women rolling jerry cans filled with water through the dust as chickens scurried past. Then they arrived at what looked like a marketplace, where a group of men sat around on logs chewing what Donovan assumed was khat.

“There,” Ali said. A few cinder-block buildings with tin roofs came into view and he slowed the vehicle, pointing. “There. The place you ask for is the second one. You be careful.”

Donovan saw several men milling about the front of the buildings. They looked up, their dark gazes watching the trio. “You’ll wait?” Donovan asked.

The man seemed to think about it.

“I’ll double the pay.”

“If you hurry. Dangerous.”

Donovan and Lisette exited the vehicle, walked toward the building and the men who seemed to be following their every move.

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea,” she said.

“Probably not. But apparently the evidence we need to shut down A
.
D
.
E. is here.”

They walked into the building, stepping past several men who stared at them as they entered. The structure was stuffy and dim. A man in a blue plaid shirt and gray slacks sat at a desk. He looked up, said something in Somali.

“Do you speak English?” Donovan asked.

He pursed his lips as though thinking about it, got up, opened a door and called out to someone. An older man walked in, a white skull cap covering his gray hair, his beard dyed red with henna. He wore all white with no trace of red dust, as though he never stepped foot outside. Donovan asked him if he spoke English.

He nodded but didn’t answer.

“We’re looking for a book of names.”

The man’s gaze flicked to the desk toward a ledger, then back, as he said, “No books. No names.”

“We’ll pay.”

“No books. No names.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Donovan glanced at Lisette, who raised her brows, whispering, “Money talks.”

Donovan reserved enough cash to pay their driver, and held up several bills. The man at the desk glanced back at the door his partner had left through, then handed the ledger to Donovan. He opened it, saw names and dates, realizing what he needed was in the middle of the book. The time period between when Yusuf had escaped from prison and when he was suspected of leaving the country. Four pages. Donovan tore them from the book, handed it back to the man along with the money. He folded the pages, stuffed them in his boot and said, “Almost too easy. Let’s go.”

They stepped out the door, only to find their driver and the white truck gone and the three men who’d been loitering out front all holding very large knives as though Donovan and Lisette were turkeys to be carved.

Had that been all there was, Donovan wouldn’t have worried.

It was the other ten men, also armed, suddenly stepping out from between the buildings, that set the hairs prickling on the back of his neck.

And then Lisette, saying, “I think the proper term is, ‘Oh shit.’ ”

50

Donovan held his hand
up and out about waist high, thinking he might have a chance of taking out three or four, assuming he could get to his gun before they threw their knives. “You want money?” he asked.

One of them yelled at him, pointing to the ground. He didn’t know Somali or Swahili, but knew enough Arabic to ask once again if they wanted his money. The men raised their knives higher.

The sound of a revving engine caught their attention, and as one every person there turned to look. The little white pickup sped toward them, a large cloud of dirt flying out behind it like a demon from hell. The pirates stared momentarily, then scattered as they realized the truck was aiming straight for them. As Ali hit the brakes, the back end fishtailed out, spraying the men with gravel. Donovan grabbed Lisette’s hand, pulled her onto the tailgate and into the back as Ali hit the gas, racing out of there, honking every few feet until he was a safe distance away. He slowed then and looked back through the window, saying, “Like NASCAR!”

“You, my friend, have earned a very, very large tip.”

“No tip! Money, yes?”

“Lots of money,” Donovan said as Ali sped out of there.

When they reached safety, Donovan paid Ali, and then he and Lisette joined the others at the compound restaurant for a meal of goat and rice. Micah decided it was not one he was about to try again soon. “I don’t know how people live on this,” he said.

“I’m not sure there’s much choice,” Eve said.

“It’s too damned hot to eat.” Micah pushed his plate away. “I think I need a nap.”

“I’ll walk you to your room,” Eve offered.

Donovan drank from a bottle of Tusker beer, grateful to have it after the hellish adventure he and Lisette had been through. Though from what Tex had told them, his might have been a close second, having to follow a clueless Micah around while he played UN ambassador. Sure, the guy was right in that there wasn’t enough attention on the plight of the refugees, but offering the pipe dream to resettle the entire camp to America was doing no one any good. Plus, letting in the crooks and terrorists with them was even less incentive. Once Eve left with Micah, Donovan brought out the logbook pages. Lisette photographed them with her cell phone as he called McNiel to tell him what they’d found.

“Nice work,” McNiel said. “But is there any way to connect the names to photos?”

“We could run them against the records at reception,” Donovan said. “They have photographs of every person who’s come in.”

“Sounds good,” McNiel said. “We also need to connect the names each of these men came into the camp with, and the names they left with. The more info we have, the better.”

“We’ll get on it,” Donovan said, then repeated McNiel’s request as Eve returned and took a seat.

“The repatriation records,” she suggested. “Someone there might be able to run it for us. We can check that, while you and Lisette check the other.”

“But would they do it,” Lisette asked, “knowing what we’re looking for? Especially if one of them is guilty of assisting getting these illegals into the U.S.?”

Tex said, “I’m going to guess that the corrupt individuals won’t be stepping forward. There was, however, a lovely young woman who was infatuated with Micah, and thinks what he is doing is nothing short of a miracle.”

“Slow down,” Donovan said as Tex reached for the documents. “Let Lisette get confirmation that McNiel received her photos of the things before we go waving them around anywhere. We almost got mugged getting it. Don’t want to get mugged trying to figure out what’s on it.”

Once Lisette received word, Eve and Tex walked out to get a ride back to the camp to find the woman they hoped would help them. Donovan thought about ordering another beer, but as they sat there in the shade of the gazebo, he noticed Hussein, the man who had driven them from the airstrip, talking to another man who seemed sketchy. An exchange of money went down, he was sure of it, then the pair left, walking after Tex and Eve.

“Something’s up,” Donovan said, sliding his chair back. “I don’t like the way that looks.”

When they got
to the compound gate, Donovan saw Tex and Eve getting into a vehicle—not with the driver who had brought them here, but with the man he seemed to be paying off.

“Is it just me,” Lisette said, “or does Hussein seem a bit too eager to leave?”

“Exactly what I thought,” Donovan replied, and quickened his pace. He caught up with Hussein. “Hey!” he said as the man opened the door of another car.

Hussein looked back at him and practically jumped into the vehicle.

Donovan ran up, grabbed the door before he could close it. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I saw you paying that man.”

“Because your friend wanted a ride, nothing more.”

“Good. Then give us a ride to where they’re going.”

“I have someplace I need to be.”

“Change your plans.”

He looked from Donovan to Lisette. “As you wish.”

“Take the front,” Donovan told Lisette as he climbed into the backseat, to keep a better eye on the road and Hussein, who started the car, then pulled out. Donovan was alarmed to see how much farther the other car had driven. “Faster.”

“Too dusty. It is not safe,” Hussein replied, slowing even more, and hell if he didn’t look a little nervous. No, not nervous. Scared to death. Like it really wasn’t safe. But not because of any dust. More because of what was happening on the other side of the vast brown cloud. And then, surprising Donovan even more, Hussein abruptly stopped the vehicle, saying, “Something’s wrong with the car. The gas. I’ll check.”

He reached down, pulled the hood release, popping it open, then got out of the car and walked toward the front end.

Donovan casually reached into his camera bag and drew a pistol that had been hidden near the top. He passed it to Lisette, then jumped out of the Jeep.

“What’s going on?”

“Fuel line leak.”

“Bullshit.” He walked up. “You’re stalling so we don’t meet up with the others. Why?”

Hussein lunged at Donovan, fist first. Donovan tried to sidestep, but the blow glanced off his chin. He threw a punch in the man’s gut, his breath coming out in a loud gasp as Hussein fell forward into him. Donovan grabbed him by his arms, swung him around, then threw him against the side of the Jeep, bringing his arm up in a twist lock, forcing his face down until it was mere inches from the hot engine. “Listen very carefully. Where are they taking them?”

“Please. They’ll kill me.”

“I’ll kill you, and I’m a helluva lot closer. Now what the hell is going on?”

He refused to talk.

With one hand still holding Hussein in a wrist lock, Donovan reached up with the other, grasped his head and pressed it down toward the engine, feeling the heat singeing his fingers. Hussein screamed.

“Talk.”

“Please!”

Donovan lifted him up just enough to keep from burning.

“Kidnappers!” Hussein said. “They’re going to hold them for ransom. They won’t hurt the man. He is very famous. Valuable.”

Except they had the wrong man. Micah might be valuable, but what would happen when they discovered Tex instead? He looked at Lisette before asking, “
Where
are they taking them?”

“I don’t know.”

He shoved the man’s face toward the engine again.

“A village near the Somalian border.”

“Which village?”

“Liboi.”

51

The SUV kicked up
a mass of dust behind it. Tex glanced behind him, thinking they were heading in the wrong direction, but with three massive camps covering so much ground, he wasn’t sure. “Isn’t the camp we want the other way?”

“No, no. This way. Shortcut.”

Another vehicle was heading in their direction. White. Probably another UN worker. But when the two vehicles met up, stopped, the man who got out was not wearing the insignia of a UN worker. He did, however, have the universal sign of a pirate: an assault weapon pointed right at them.

They were ordered out at gunpoint, and Tex looked around, hoping someone might notice, maybe a patrol in the area. No one. Next thing he knew, he and Eve were cuffed with plastic ties behind their backs and escorted into the other vehicle, placed in the backseat and ordered to lie down.

He understood very little of the language, Somali, but it didn’t really matter. He knew what was going on. They were going to be held for ransom. The only problem was that the track record of Somali kidnappers letting their victims go alive was about nil.

Donovan steered the
Jeep he’d commandeered from Hussein down the two-lane road that cut through the sand and scrub stretching as far as the eye could see, while Lisette studied the satellite map in comparison to the coordinates sent to them. “How far?” he asked.

She shuffled through some papers. “Maybe thirty-forty kilometers to go.”