The Ares Decision

31

Any hope that their arrest had been a simple matter of the army’s coincidentally showing up at the worst possible moment could now be safely discarded. The situation they found themselves in exceeded even the worst-case scenarios Smith had come up with on the ride there. And he was a man whose life could pretty much be summed up as one worst-case scenario after another.

There had been no calls to the embassy, no lawyers, and no questions asked or answered. The windowless room they were in was made entirely of crumbling concrete, with a rusty steel door that looked like it had been salvaged from a battleship. The air was hot and increasingly unsuitable for breathing as the carbon dioxide from their breath slowly built up.

Furniture consisted of three chairs, each bolted down and each equipped with sturdy leather straps on the arms and legs. Much worse, though, were the streams of dried blood leading from beneath them to a drain in the floor.

Sarie was feeling around the jamb, slipping her shaking fingers into the gaps and pulling futilely when she managed to get a grip. Howell had nodded off on the floor shortly after he’d satisfied himself that there was no way they were getting through the door, past the guards posted outside, and out of the dilapidated military base beyond. Saving energy and air to fight another day.

Smith crossed the room and put a hand on Sarie’s shoulder. They’d been trapped there for eight hours, and probably half of that she’d spent pacing like a trapped animal.

“Why don’t you take a piece of floor next to Peter and get some rest. Let me work on the door for a while.”

She looked back at him, obviously trying to control her fear but still looking a little wild-eyed. “We have to get out of here, Jon. This isn’t America. The government can do whatever it wants to you. They can—”

A quiet grinding became audible, and he grabbed her arm, pulling her behind him as he backed away. Howell was immediately on his feet and skirting the wall to take a position in a corner to the side of the door that was now slowly opening.

Five heavily armed soldiers poured in, taking up positions that made any thought of escape impossible. Howell folded his arms casually in front of his chest with no fewer than three guns lined up on him.

The next man who entered was easily recognizable. He was well over six feet, with spindly legs that didn’t look sturdy enough to support his bulky torso or the countless medals splashed across his uniform.

Charles Sembutu. The president of Uganda.

He’d enjoyed iron-fisted control over the country for years now, but that control was slipping. It was widely believed that he’d tolerated Bahame’s rise, using the man’s brutality to drum up fear that allowed him to consolidate ever-more power in order to “fight terrorism.” But he’d gotten greedy and given Bahame too long a leash, leaving Kampala in danger of being overrun from the north.

A leather-backed chair and a desk with the presidential seal laid into it were rolled in, and Sembutu sat, spreading their passports out on the blotter. “Dr. van Keuren’s reputation precedes her,” he said, appraising Smith coolly. “And despite his fake passport, I’m sorry to say that Mr. Howell’s does as well. But you…You are a mystery.”

“My name is Dr. Jon Smith. I’m a microbiologist with—”

“The American army,” Sembutu said, finishing his sentence. “With a fairly varied background, yes? Special forces, Military Intelligence. And I’m told you’re quite capable with a knife.”

“That was—”

“You’ll speak only when I ask you a direct question,” Sembutu said, slapping a massive hand down on the desktop. “What are you doing in my country?”

“I’m on a leave of absence from the army. I’m a virologist by training, but I’ve been spending some time on parasites lately. I had an opportunity to come on this expedition with Sarie and I took it.”

“And you brought along a former SAS man?”

“It seemed wise, Mr. President. I have some military training, but in the end I’m just a medical doctor—”

“You think my country is unsafe? That I cannot control it?”

This was probably a good time to dust off the little he knew about diplomacy. The purpose of the room was very clear, and spending the next few days strapped into one of those chairs freshening the stains on the floor wasn’t how he wanted to end his life.

“Not at all, sir. I’m fully aware of the strides Uganda has made since you became president. But I also know how hard it is to implement reforms in remote rural areas, so I decided to err on the side of caution.”

A humorless smile spread across Sembutu’s face. “I am not a simpleton, Doctor. I think you’ll find I’m not so easily handled.”

“It wasn’t my intention, sir. I—”

“Why were you at the hospital?”

Smith had spent much of the time they’d been imprisoned there considering every reason they could have been arrested, but their visit to the hospital had run a distant second to their side trip to see Peter’s arms dealer.

“We found some research on a parasite that infects humans and wanted to ask Dr. Lwanga if he was familiar with it. We—”

“And then you described something very much like Caleb Bahame’s attacks on villages in the North.”

Smith let his expression go blank. “Caleb Bahame? The terrorist? I don’t understand, sir. This is a parasite that causes insanity and blood loss. What would that have to do with Bahame?”

Sembutu examined him carefully, but it was impossible to discern if he was buying the completely plausible lie. Americans tended not to pay much attention to the various skirmishes going on in Africa. Why would an army doctor know the details of Bahame’s attacks?

“It doesn’t matter if you understand what this has to do with Bahame, Colonel. He is a psychotic who fills children with methamphetamines, paints them with blood, and convinces them to kill their own families. The uneducated people in the rural areas believe it is magic, and this is how he spreads misery in my country. If it becomes public that there is an American army doctor taking an interest in him, it will only serve to strengthen his legend and people’s belief in his power.”

“But we didn’t intend—”

“I don’t care what you did or did not intend!” Sembutu shouted. “If Bahame succeeds, he will kill every living thing in Uganda and then move on to other countries. America cares little about this, but I have a responsibility to the people of my country. To my subjects.”

“Mr. President,” Sarie cut in, her voice displaying a calm Smith knew she didn’t feel. “We’re not experts on politics or war. We’re just scientists…”

Sembutu glanced in her direction for a moment and then back to Howell and Smith. “All evidence to the contrary.”

“Our main objective is a parasite that affects ants,” she continued. “This was just something interesting that came up when we were doing research. We’d already discarded the idea of looking for it because we concluded that if Dr. Lwanga hasn’t heard of it, it probably doesn’t exist.”

“An ant…,” Sembutu said skeptically.

“Yes, sir. I do a lot of work with ants.”

The room went silent for a few moments before Sembutu spoke again. “I have to tell you that if it weren’t for Dr. van Keuren, you may well have found yourselves residents of one of our prisons. But her work with malaria has been a great help to people throughout Africa and I am indeed aware of her work with insects.”

He held their passports out across the desk. “I’ve included a card with my personal phone number. If you encounter any problems, you have my permission to use it. And as military men, if you should come across any information on Bahame and his army, I would very much appreciate you passing it on to me. I understand that your government and many others question my legitimacy and methods. But I believe that you are realistic men who understand the way the world works. And as such, you understand that, while I may not be perfect in the eyes of the West, I am the lesser of the evils in this situation.”

Smith didn’t immediately move, a bit stunned by the sudden, almost schizophrenic turnaround. Was Sembutu saying they were free to go in return for the remote possibility of them passing him some minor intelligence?

“That’s very gracious of you, Mr. President,” Sarie said, snatching up the passports before the man changed his mind.

Sembutu nodded. “We are most grateful for your work, Doctor, and wish you continued success. Good day.”

Charles Sembutu watched the three whites being escorted out of the room and sat alone as their footsteps faded. Despite the fact that they were lying, they would be taken back to their hotel, and when they checked out they would find their bill taken care of by the Ugandan government.

Smith worked at Fort Detrick and had been involved with stopping the Hades virus that killed so many in the West. Only an idiot would believe that one of America’s foremost bioweapons experts would take a leave of absence to study Ugandan insects. And Sembutu hadn’t become one of the most powerful men in Africa by being an idiot.

It was an impossibly dangerous situation that seemed to get more out of control every day. The Americans could normally be counted on to take a hands-off approach in all things African as long as their own interests weren’t threatened. If they were, though, that apathy could turn. The lion must not be awakened.

His phone began to ring and he immediately picked up. “I am here.”

“What did you learn?”

Mehrak Omidi’s voice was low, as though he was trying to hide his conversation from those around him — something that was almost certainly the case.

“Smith says he’s on a leave of absence, studying a parasite that affects ants in the North.”

“Ants,” Omidi replied in disgust. “Do they have so little respect for you that they would expect you to believe such a story?”

Sembutu bristled. Dealing with the Iranians was even more unpleasant than dealing with the Americans. For all their talk of Western arrogance, the Iranians’ unshakable belief that they were God’s chosen people was both insufferable and dangerous. Right now, though, they were in a position to give him what he desperately needed. The Americans were not.

“I want them dealt with,” Omidi continued.

“And what does this mean — dealt with?”

“I think you understand me perfectly, Mr. President. I want them questioned and then I want them killed.”

“Killing American and British military men wasn’t part of our agreement.”

“The Ugandan north country is a very remote and very dangerous place, Mr. President. People disappear here every day.”