The Summoner: (31 page)

“It would be unthinkable for a babalawo to entrust such knowledge to a woman. Nevertheless,” he wheezed, “I’ve had her residence watched at night.”

Grey swallowed his next question. “What?”

“I was personally there to observe your lovemaking.”

Grey’s face reddened.

“Ignore him,” Viktor said. “He’s dying.”

“Not fast enough. “So what’re they blackmailing you with?”

Fangwa gave another of his soundless laughs that Grey found so disturbing. “They think because they have my son I’ll do their bidding. I would gladly sacrifice my son for the books. I would sacrifice him myself. With the
Awon Iwe
I would have come back and turned the prime minister and his family into my slaves—then we will see who does the bidding of whom.”

Grey listened with revulsion. Viktor leaned into Fangwa and held his head close. “What happens inside the circle? How does he do it?”

“Ah,” Fangwa giggled, eyes rolling in pain. “We keep our secrets, until death and beyond.”

Viktor gave a low laugh of his own. “They’re not your secrets. They’re his. You don’t know, do you? His Juju is stronger than yours. He has the favor of Esu.”

Fangwa’s mouth curled. “The secrets drive you, don’t they? You’ve stared into the darkness and found nothing.
You don’t know where to look
.”

“What happens to the victims?” Viktor said. “If we’re to help Nya, we need to know.”

“The
N’anga
prefers to perform the two hundred cuts on his victims. He did so with his own father before he killed him.”

Grey grew very still. “What did you just say?”

Fangwa tried to raise up, but couldn’t. He extended a gaunt finger, motioning for Grey to draw closer, until their faces were inches apart. “With Nya, there is something else he will do. It’s what I would do. It’s why you must find her for me, before he has a chance to do this thing.

“What thing?”

“He will make her his
iko-awo
.”

Click-clack
.

Grey looked back and forth between the two. “What does that mean?”

Viktor avoided his eyes.

“This mustn’t happen,” Fangwa said. “He must not have her.”

“Whatever he’s planning on doing to her… how long will these rituals take?”

His voice wavered and dropped even lower. “”Three days from when she was taken. No more.”

“You miserable skeleton.” Grey took him by the collar of his robes. “Where are they! Where’s he keeping her?”

Fangwa spit a word out of his foaming mouth.

“Lucky?” Grey asked. “What about him? Does he know?”

Viktor emptied his bottle into Fangwa’s throat, and let it clang to the floor. Grey knew this was the last reprieve. The darkness was coming into Fangwa’s eyes.

“Lucky knows nothing. The
N’anga
uses him as do I, for unpleasant tasks. I would have used Lucky to find the
N’anga
.”

“How?”

“A ceremony. Tomorrow night. Lucky will help prepare.”

The Doctor sagged in Grey’s grasp, a limp scarecrow.

“Where’s the ceremony! Will Nya be there?”

The Doctor’s neck went slack. Grey held his head up. “Where is she?”

“The
igbo-awo
,” Fangwa said, a feverish sheen glazing his dying eyes. “She mustn’t die with him.”

“Do you know where it is?
Please
.”

Fangwa’s eyes closed, his skeletal face relaxing as much as the taut skin would allow, and his last, whispered, truthful no struck Grey harder than any blow. Doctor’s Fangwa’s hands fluttered, the last act his frail, ghoulish body could manage, and he died.

49

G
rey cradled his burnt arm, but that pain was nothing next to the knowledge lancing through his veins, hotter than any fire. He couldn’t believe the madness he had just heard.
Nya
. He felt drunk, reeling, a marionette to his emotions.

He worked to steady his breathing. She needed him calm, in control. He looked at the boy; he was staring at Doctor Fangwa’s body with heavy-lidded eyes.

“I fear the drugs have affected his frontal lobe,” Viktor said. “I’ll arrange for him to be transported to an orphanage in Nigeria.” Viktor turned to the boy. “Where does Fangwa keep medical supplies?”

The boy led Viktor to one of the shelves. Viktor grabbed a box of gauze and a roll of medical tape. The boy followed them out of the dungeon and back into the ground level of Fangwa’s townhouse, where the trap door exited behind the stairwell in the foyer.

Grey walked to the bathroom and ran cool water over his burns, and Viktor wrapped his forearm loosely in gauze. The pain had subsided to a tolerable level.

“How’d you find me?” Grey said.

“Our departed doctor wasn’t the only one spying. I was watching from across the street when you were brought in. Lucky and his men didn’t try very hard to conceal their actions. I had to wait until they left before I came in, which was just before I found you.”

They stood in front of the door to Fangwa’s bedroom. Viktor eased the door open, but Grey put a hand on his arm. “Thanks. You saved my life.”

Fangwa’s bedroom didn’t look any more lived in than the last time, and left Grey wondering if the Doctor hadn’t slept on the gurney in the basement, surrounded by the ghosts of his victims.

They searched the room again, and Grey found himself staring at the closet, where three of the Doctor’s white linen suits hung from a bar. They moved to the nightstand and Grey withdrew the sole contents, which hadn’t been there the night before: a manila folder.

The folder contained a single photo stapled to the inside cover. The eyes of the ebony man in the grainy photo bored outward, fierce and bright, alight with pride and confidence. He was a robust, youthful man, although drops of silver flecked his cropped hair. A red tunic covered his body, and a busy African street surrounded him, crowded with fruit sellers and businessmen, beggars and hawkers.

Grey held the photo for a long time, both memorizing the
N’anga’s
features and trying to steady the anger boiling within him. His hand shook at the thought of Nya in this devil’s grasp, alone and frightened.

“You think Fangwa was telling the truth?” he asked Viktor in a harsh voice, to mask the tremble.

“I believe his perverse concern for Nya was genuine.”

“What did he mean by-”

Viktor held a hand up. “We can talk later. Let’s finish searching the house.”

“I’ve already searched it.”

Grey led Viktor to the secret door in the hallway, and exposed the gruesome contents of the room. Viktor surveyed Doctor Fangwa’s workshop with a grim satisfaction. “Remarkable. But the Doctor’s exposure to the world will have to wait. We don’t know if the
N’anga
was aware of Doctor Fangwa, and we can’t risk alerting him. We’ll need every advantage we can get.”

“Agreed. The Doctor can rot in his own basement until after we find Nya.”

Grey meant the statement to be a positive affirmation, but an uncomfortable silence ensued.

“When did you last see her?” Viktor said finally.

“Early yesterday morning.”

“Then we need to assume she has no more than forty-eight hours. Fangwa said the ceremony is tomorrow night. Do you know how to find Lucky?”

“His club, but it won’t open until tonight.”

“I need a few hours to take care of the boy, and a few other things. Then there are items we need to discuss. Shall we say the Meikles at two?”

“I’ll be early.”

• • •

Grey left Viktor with the boy. If Doctor Fangwa could reduce another human being to such a state, then what would the
N’anga
do to Nya? Was she still even alive? Fangwa had given them a sliver of hope, albeit for his own twisted purpose, and Grey clung to that sliver. He made a silent vow: Lucky would lead them to that ceremony whether he wanted to or not.

Grey squinted in the morning sunlight, and jogged the twenty minutes from Belgravia to the Embassy. The physical exertion helped sedate his battered nerves. He had to tell Harris he wouldn’t be around for a few days, and he had a question to pose to the Ambassador. One he wasn’t going to like.

Harris’s secretary informed him that Harris wouldn’t be arriving for at least twenty minutes. Grey realized it was not yet nine, and then took in his ragged appearance. He hadn’t showered or had any real sleep in two days, and in the meantime had been waylaid, dragged off to Fangwa’s house, and tortured in his dungeon. He apologized to the secretary, who continued staring at his bandaged arm as Grey backed into the hallway.

He walked to the end of the floor and then darted up the stairs to the top level. The Ambassador typically arrived at eight. Harris would never forgive him for leapfrogging the bureaucratic hierarchy, but Grey didn’t give a damn. He had to make sure no potential landmines impeded his search for Nya.

He opened the door to the Ambassador’s reception area, and encountered the raised eyebrows and jutting briefcase jaw of Mr. Gregory.

“I need an audience with the Ambassador.”

Gregory reached for his coffee. “Mr. Grey, I’ll have to check the calendar, I’m not sure we can-”

Grey slammed his hands on the desk. “Take a look at me, genius. It’s an
emergency
.”

The buzzer sounded.

• • •

Grey found the Ambassador behind his desk, pen in hand. “I apologize for the intrusion,” Grey said.

“You found something, and you look like you haven’t slept. Since you’re here without Harris, there’s a reason you wanted to tell me directly.”

“I’m here without Harris because he’s not in yet, and what I have to say can’t wait.”

“Then go ahead and—Dominic, what happened to your
arm
?”

He fumbled. “I burnt myself.”

The Ambassador pulled his eyes away, and Grey said, “What does the CIA have to do with this?”

“Where did you get this information?”

“A man named Nigel. He’s an ex-mercenary.”

“And how in the hell does he know?”

“I’m not sure. I apologize for my impertinence, Mr. Ambassador, but there’re lives at stake. Is our government involved in any way with Addison’s disappearance? I need to understand what I’m getting into.”

“Do you think I’d have let you run slipshod into the CIA?”

“Probably not, but I have to be sure.”

“They have nothing to do with this. Yes, William kept in contact with certain members of the MDC. He ran messages between them and the CIA on occasion. I thought he’d phased that out. He was retired, for Christ’s sake.”

Grey took in the information. “Ever heard the name Jeremiah Mashumba?”

“Isn’t that the same last name as your liaison with the Ministry?”

“It’s her father. He was involved with the MDC. He was murdered eight months ago.”

“I’ve never heard the name before. Dominic, I needn’t tell you that the information about William is confidential.”

“Of course,” Grey murmured. If the CIA link was a dead end, then Grey didn’t understand what William Addison had to do with any of this. Had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time?

“Is that it?” The Ambassador said tersely. “What about progress on William-”

Grey heard the door open, and turned to see Harris’s dour face. Mr. Gregory stood behind him, out of the Ambassador’s line of sight. The bastard must have called Harris.

“Mr. Ambassador,” Harris said, “my utmost apologies. I had no idea he was here.”

The Ambassador seemed weary. “Yes, yes. We were just discussing the progress on William.”

“Well,” Harris said, nodding at Grey, “continue.”

Grey tensed. He might as well get it over with now. “I needed to tell you I’ll be out of the office for a few days.”

“We’re in the middle of an investigation!” Harris’s eyes added the implied, o
f the Ambassador’s best friend.

“It concerns the investigation,” Grey said.

They were both staring at him, waiting. God, how to phrase this? It even sounded ridiculous to Grey. “I believe the
N’anga
kidnapped William. And now he’s kidnapped Ms. Mashumba. I have very good reason to believe her life’s in danger. I have days, if not hours, to find her.”

Harris started to speak, but the Ambassador cut him off with a gesture. “The who? Where’s this person now?”

“I’m unsure.”

“Then how do you propose to find him?”

“There’s a man I think will lead us to them. I need to find him and follow him.”

“His name?”

“Lucky. He owns a club downtown.”

Harris guffawed, and the Ambassador looked at him. “You know him?”

“I’ve been to his club,” he mumbled.

The Ambassador addressed Grey again. “Do you have proof of the involvement of either of these men with William’s disappearance?”

“The last place Addison was seen was at the ceremony, and other people at these ceremonies have disappeared—”

“I said
proof
, son.”

The words seeped out of him. “Not hard evidence, no.”

“But you think William is to be found with this… person you mentioned?”

“If he’s alive, yes.”

“Do you think he’s alive?”

Grey hesitated. “There’s a chance.”

The Ambassador considered that. “Have you reported Ms. Mashumba’s kidnapping to the Ministry?”

“Yes. Nothing will be done for days.”

“Have you requested a different liaison?”

“Same issue. There’s no time.”

The Ambassador blew out a long breath. “So what do you have? And don’t waste my time with speculation. You have no idea what kind of a leash we’re on here.”

Grey could point them to Doctor Fangwa’s house, but there was nothing there that would implicate the
N’anga
or Lucky, or that made mention of Nya or William Addison. The gruesome scene would only raise uncomfortable questions Grey didn’t have time to answer.

Grey pulled the note Lucky’s emissary had given him and showed it to the Ambassador. He knew what the outcome would be, but he had to try every angle that might help. Harris crowded in to take a look.

A slow flush spread across the Ambassador’s face. “An unsigned, typed note that reads like a riddle? I assume you have more.”