Cross Country

Chapter 79

SO FAR, ADANNE’S connections were very good, and I was impressed by how quickly and efficiently she got things done.

It took her only one brief conversation on the tarmac, and then one radio call, before the African Union sergeant in charge allowed us to board the C-130 freighter the following morning.

We were in the air by six, the only civilian passengers on a plane carrying millet, sorghum, and cooking oil to Darfur.

The murder investigation continued, and now it was airborne and seemed to have more purpose than ever.

I borrowed a situation map from one of the flight crew and saw that Darfur was about the size of Texas. If I was going to get anywhere, I had to run with a few assumptions – one, that the Tiger had been in Nyala at the time of the massacre of the Shol family, and two, that Adanne’s information was correct, and he might still be culling boys from camps for displaced persons in the area.

Given all of that, how far would he have gotten in the past eighteen hours? That was the next question that had to be answered.

During the flight, Adanne patiently told me much about Darfur and Sudan, and though she spoke in a low-key manner, there was no disguising the horrors – especially against women and children, thousands of whom were raped, then branded to increase their humiliation.

“Rape has become such a cruel weapon in this civil war. Americans have no idea, Alex. They couldn’t possibly.

“Sometimes the Janjaweed will break a woman’s legs first so she can’t possibly escape and will be an invalid for the rest of her life. They like to flog victims; to break fingers one by one; to pull out fingernails,” Adanne said in a voice that barely got above a whisper.

“Even some of the ‘peacekeepers’ are guilty of rape, and of using the refugees as prostitutes. What’s worse, the government of Sudan is behind much of it. You won’t believe what you will see here, Alex.”

“I want to see it,” I told her. “I made a promise to a man in Sierra Leone that I would tell Americans what was happening here.”

Chapter 80

“THIS IS KALMA.” She pointed at a yellow triangle on the map. “It’s one of the largest camps in Darfur. I’d wager that the Tiger knows it well. Everyone around here does.”

“What are the other colors?” I asked.

There were more than a hundred camps in all, Adanne explained. Green meant inaccessible during rainy season, and blue was closed to nonmilitary aid organizations, based on current fighting conditions. Kalma’s yellow meant open.

That’s where we would start our Tiger hunt.

“And these?” I ran a finger over a line of red flame icons. There were dozens of them.

Adanne sighed before answering my question.

“Red is for villages that are confirmed destroyed. The Janjaweed burn everything they can – food stores, livestock. They put human and animal carcasses down the wells, too.

Anything to ensure that no one comes back. In Arabic, Janjaweed means‘man with a gun on horseback!”

These were the Arab militias, widely believed to be supported by the current government in a vicious campaign to make life as unsafe as possible for black Africans in the region. An unthinkable two million people had already fled their homes and more than two hundred thousand had died. Two hundred thousand that we knew of.

It was Rwanda all over again. In fact, it was worse. This time the whole world was watching and doing almost nothing to help.

I looked out my porthole window at the Sahel landscape twelve thousand feet below.

It was actually quite beautiful from up here – no civil war, no genocide, no corruption. Just an endless, peaceful stretch of tan, sculpted earth.

Which was a lie, of course.

A beautiful, very diabolical lie.

Because we were about to land in hell.

Chapter 81

AT THE BASE in Nyala, we secured a ride out to the Kalma Camp with a five-truck convoy carrying sacks of grain and crates of F75 and F100 baby formula. Adanne seemed to know everyone here, and I found it interesting to watch her work. Her gracious smile, not her attractiveness, seemed to be her secret. I saw it succeed again and again with people who were overworked and stressed to their limits.

Camp seemed like the wrong word once I actually saw Kalma.

Yes, there were tents and lean-tos and stick-straw huts, but they stretched for miles and miles. One hundred and fifty thousand people lived here. That’s a city. And one that was overflowing with unbearable suffering and heartbreak and death by everything from Janjaweed attacks, to dysentery, to childbirth without drugs, and usually without a doctor or midwife.

Around the camp’s center were some signs of permanence, at least. A small open-air school was in session, and there were a few walled buildings with corrugated tin roofs, where limited food supplies were still available.

Adanne knew exactly where we should go first. She took me to the United Nations’ Commission on Refugees tent, where a young soldier agreed to do some translating for us, although many of the refugees knew bits of English.

The soldier’s name was Emmanuel, and he had the same kind of sinewy height, dark skin, and deep-set eyes I’d seen on many of the so-called Lost Boys who had emigrated to DC over the years. Emmanuel spoke English, Arabic, and Dinka.

“Most of the people here are Fur,” he told us as we started down a long dirt avenue. “And eighty percent are abused women.

“Most of their men are dead, or looking for work, or for resettlement,” added Adanne. “This is the most vulnerable city in the world, Alex. No exception. You will find out for yourself.”

It was easy to see what Adanne and Emmanuel were talking about. Most of the people we found to speak with were women who were working outside their shelters. They reminded me of Moses and his friends, because of how eager they were to share their terrible stories with someone from the outside.

One woman, Madina, cried as she wove a straw mat and told us about coming to Kalma. The Janjaweed had destroyed her village and killed and mutilated her husband, her mother, and father. Most of her neighbors and friends were burned alive in their huts.

Madina had arrived with three children and literally nothing else. Tragically, all three of her children had died at the camp.

The sleeping mats she made were in demand because of dooda worms, which came out of the ground at night and burrowed into the refugees’ skin. Whatever she earned went toward onions and grain, though she hoped to have enough to buy a patch of cloth one day. She’d been wearing the same toab since she’d gotten here.

“When was that?” Adanne asked.

“Three years ago” was Madina’s sad answer. “One for each of my children.”

Chapter 82

“I HAVEN’T LOST sight of your Tiger,” Adanne said as we trudged along. “He recruits boys here. It’s easy for him.”

“You were right about the horror, Adanne,” I told her.

I was eager to speak with people in as many sectors of the camp as possible, but when we came to one of the few medical tents, I had to stop again. I had never seen such a bewildering sight in my entire life.

The tent was overflowing with sick and dying patients, two and more to a cot. Bodies were jigsaw-puzzled into every available space. To make matters worse, long lines extended outside, at least three hundred very sick women and children waiting for treatment, or for a better place to die.

“Sadly, there’s little to be done to stop their suffering,” Adanne told me. “Medication is scarce, much of it stolen before it can get here. There is starvation, pneumonia, malaria. Even diarrhea can be fatal – and with the water and sanitation problems, there is no end to it.”

I saw one doctor and two volunteer nurses. That was it. The entire hospital staff for thousands of very sick people.

“This is what they call the ‘second phase’ of the crisis,” Adanne went on. “More people dying inside the camps than outside. Thousands. Every single day, Alex. I told you that it was horrifying.”

“You understated,” I said. “This is unimaginable. All these people. The children.”

I knelt down by a little girl in one of the few beds. Her eyes were clouded and looked unreal. I brushed away a buzzing cluster of black flies gathered at her ear.

“How do you say ‘God be with you’?” I asked Emmanuel.

“Allah ma’ak,” he told me.

I said it to the tiny girl, though I don’t know if she heard me.

“Allah ma’ak.”

Somewhere along the way today, I’d stepped away from a terrible, terrible murder investigation and into an unbelievable holocaust. How was this possible in our world? Thousands dying like this every day?

Adanne put a hand on my shoulder. “Alex? Are you ready to go? We should move on. You are here for the Tiger, not for this. There’s nothing you can do about this.”

I could hear in her voice that she’d seen all this before, many times probably.

“Not yet,” I said. “What needs doing around here? Anything?”

Emmanuel’s quick answer was not what I expected.

“That depends. Can either of you handle a rifle?”

Chapter 83

FOR THE NEXT few minutes, Adanne explained what should have been obvious to me – that the simple act of gathering firewood was one of the most dangerous parts of life at Kalma.

Janjaweed patrols were always present in the desert, and not far from the camp. Anyone venturing out took the risk of being raped, shot to death, or both. The wood gatherers, desperate women and their children, depended on AU escorts when they could get them; mostly, though, they were forced to take their chances alone. No firewood meant no way to feed your family.

Emmanuel secured me an older model M16, which had been retrofitted with a decent scope.

“Don’t hesitate to fire,” he told me. “Because, I promise you, the Janjaweed will not. They are skilled fighters, even while riding on horses or camels.”

“I won’t hesitate,” I promised, and I felt Adanne grab hold of my elbow, then let go.

“You’re sure about this, Alex?” she asked. “You want to get involved?”

“I’m sure.”

An hour or so later, we set out with an intrepid group of two dozen women wood gatherers.

Several had swaddled babies on their backs. One had brought a donkey with an old fork-shaped cart for carrying wood.

I needed to do this, to help in some way if I could. I knew this about myself: It was my nature. Adanne came too because, she said, “I feel responsible for you now. I brought you here, didn’t I?”

Chapter 84

YEARS OF WOOD foraging, moving farther and farther from the camp, had turned this into a long and scary walk.

I used the time to talk with as many of the women as possible. Only one, it turned out, had any information about the missing boys and possibly the Tiger.

“She says there is a hut in her sector,” Emmanuel told me.

“Three boys were sharing it. But now they are gone.”

“I thought that wasn’t unusual,” I said.

“Yes, except they left their things behind. She says a large man in fatigues was sighted in the camp. She was told he was the Tiger.”

“Did any of the missing boys have parents in the camp?” I asked.

“No parents.”

“And did anyone see the boys leave?”

“They left with the enormous man.”

After two hours of walking, we finally came to a long line of low, skeletal brush. The women spread gathering cloths on the ground and set to breaking down the brush. Adanne and I pitched in while Emmanuel kept watch for Janjaweed patrols on the horizon.

Without translation, we were mostly reduced to eye contact and gestures as we worked side by side with the gatherers. The women seemed oblivious to the scratches that appeared up and down their arms. They easily outpaced us newcomers and tried not to laugh at our clumsiness.

One young mother and I fell into a kind of unspoken communication, making faces at each other like little kids. She stuck out her blue-tattooed lip. I held up two sticks like antlers. That one got a real laugh out of her. She put her hand up to her mouth, not quite hiding a brilliant white smile.

But then the mother stopped short.

Her hand came down slowly as her eyes fixed on something in the distance.

I turned around but all I could see was a far-off dust cloud.

And then Emmanuel started shouting for everyone to run!

“Go quickly! Now! Get out of here! Go back to camp!”

Chapter 85

JANJAWEED!

I could see them now. Maybe a dozen armed killers were riding toward us on horseback.

There was a vapor, a kind of mirage that made it hard to tell the exact number. Either way, their pace didn’t leave much to the imagination. They were coming for us fast.

Two of the women, one with a child fiercely holding on to her blouse, were still unhitching the communal donkey.

“Get them out of here!” I shouted at Adanne. “You go with them. Please, Adanne.”

“Is there another weapon?” she yelled back.

“No,” Emmanuel answered. “Distance is your weapon right now. Go! For God’s sake, go! Take them back to camp.”

Emmanuel and I had to make a stand.

We took up a position behind the abandoned donkey cart. I was using it as a brace for the rifle more than as cover.

Our best hope was that we were on the ground while they would be firing from horseback.

I could see them through my scope now, eleven killers, bearded males in baggy fatigues, waving Kalashnikov rifles.

Just coming into range.

The first shots came from them.

Sand kicked up on either side of us. They rode a little wide of the mark, but still too close. They weren’t amateurs. They were already yelling threats at us, confident about the final result. Why not? They outnumbered us eleven to two.

“Now?” I finally said to Emmanuel.

“Now!” he shouted.

We fired back four shots, and two were hits. The killers slumped on their horses – like someone had dropped their puppet strings – then fell to the ground. One of them was trampled under his own horse. It looked like his neck had snapped.

Even as I pulled the trigger again, it registered with me: Everything changes now. First kill in Africa.

I heard a scream behind me, and my gut seized. One of the fleeing women had been hit, either by a stray shot or on purpose.

Not Adanne, I saw with a quick check over my shoulder.

She was keeping low, trying to get to the wounded woman, who was writhing on the ground. She’d only been shot in the arm. Only.

When I turned toward the Janjaweed again, two of the riders had stopped. They were jumping down off their horses, not to help their brothers but to get off a better shot at us.

The others kept coming fast. They were maybe fifty to sixty yards away now.

Emmanuel and I had the same instinct. We fired on the lead riders, quick shot after shot. Then at the two who were on flat ground. Three more of the Janjaweed went down in the next half minute or so.

Then Emmanuel screamed, dropped, and began twisting in pain on the ground.

And the rest of the Janjaweed were on us.

Chapter 86

DUST WAS KICKED up everywhere. That was probably a good thing. They had to fire blindly but so did I. The gunfire from all the rifles was deafening at this range.

One of the riders tore through the dust cloud and swept right past me. On instinct, I grabbed at his leg and held on. The momentum took me off my feet. I got dragged along for a second or two, and then the rider spun off his horse and crashed heavily to the ground.

I grabbed his rifle and kept it at my feet. I fired and wounded another of the riders. And then another, in the stomach. They had been cocky – because the wood gatherers usually couldn’t fight back – but they weren’t well trained, and not many men can fire accurately from horseback, despite what Emmanuel had said.

I saw three of the riders break ranks and retreat. It gave me some hope – not a lot, but some.

I rushed to the fallen rider I’d pulled from his horse. I pushed his head down into the ground, then got off a hard punch that struck the hollow of his throat.

“Don’t move!” I yelled. He didn’t need English to know what I was saying. He stayed very still where he was.

“Alex!”

A voice came from behind me.

It was Adanne.

She and another woman stood swinging pieces of firewood at the last rider’s horse to keep him away. Several of the women were on the ground, hands over their heads. I’m sure they still thought they were going to die.

Adanne swung again, and the horse reared up onto its hind legs. The rider lost his grip and fell.

“Alex, go!”

I looked and saw Emmanuel had propped himself up. He was covering the Janjaweed from his place on the ground.

I took off at a sprint.

The downed rider near the women was just getting up again. I yanked my rifle around as I came up on him. He looked at me in time to take the stock in the face. His nose exploded.

“Adanne, take his gun. Are you all right?” I asked her.

“I will be.”

Emmanuel was calling to me, screaming. “Let them go, Alex! Let them go!”

I didn’t hold back. “What are you talking about? We have to bring them in.”

Even as I spoke, the truth of the situation settled over me. Same game, different rules.

“No use arresting the Janjaweed,” Adanne said. “They know the government. The government knows them. It only brings more trouble to the camps. The UN can’t help. No one can.”

I kept the Janjaweed’s rifle, but motioned for him to get on his horse.

And then the strangest thing happened. He laughed at me. He rode away laughing.

Chapter 87

THE UN CAN’T help. No one can. This was what the refugees in the camp at Kalma believed, what they knew to be true, and now I knew it too.

But the survivors at the camp also knew how to be thankful for small favors and good intentions.

That night, several of the women used their precious firewood to make a meal for the three of us, as thanks for helping them. I couldn’t imagine taking food from these people, but Emmanuel told me it was the only proper response.

He shocked me by showing up for the supper, bandaged and smiling, with a bag of onions he’d nicked for the occasion.

Then we all shared kisra and vegetable stew around the cookfire, eating right-handed only from a common bowl. It felt like the right thing to do, almost like a religious experience, special in so many ways.

These were good people, caught in a terrible situation not of their making.

And yet, even they talked freely of frontier justice, the violent kind. A woman proudly told us how criminals were dealt with by the people in her village. They would all rush forward, stab the offending person, put a tire filled with gasoline around his neck, and then light it. No trials, no DNA testing, apparently no guilt from the vigilantes either.

Adanne and I were treated like guests of honor at dinner. There was a steady stream of visitors and a lot of laying on of hands.

When Emmanuel wasn’t around to translate, I got the gist of the Dinka or Arabic from the warmth in the voices and the body language.

Several times, I heard something that sounded like Ali in the middle of sentences. Adanne picked up on it too.

She leaned near me at one point and said, “They think you look like Muhammad Ali.”

“That’s what they’re saying?”

“It’s true, Alex. You do look like him, when he was world champion. He’s still very well loved here, you know.” She nodded with her chin and smiled at a group of younger women hovering nearby. “I think you’ve made a few girlfriends in the bargain.”

“Does that make you jealous?” I asked, grinning, happier and more relaxed than I’d been in many days.

A little girl crawled uninvited onto her lap and curled up.

“The word’s not in my vocabulary,” she said. Then she smiled. “Maybe a little bit. For tonight anyway.”

I was finding that I liked Adanne very much. She was courageous and resourceful, and Father Bombata was right about her: She was a good person. I had seen her risk her life for the wood gatherers today, and maybe because she felt responsible for me.

We stayed late into the evening, as the crowd got steadily bigger. Actually, the adults came and went, but the kids pooled all around us. It was an audience I couldn’t resist, and neither could Adanne. She was very free and easy around children.

With Emmanuel’s help, I got up and told an improvised version of one of my own kids’ favorite bedtime stories.

It was about a little boy who wanted nothing more than to learn to whistle. This time, I named him Deng.

“And Deng tried–” I puffed out my cheeks and blew, and the kids rolled all over one another as though it were the funniest thing they had ever heard. They probably liked that I could be silly and laugh at myself.

“And he tried–” I bugged my eyes and blew right in their faces, and when they continued to laugh, it was more than a little gratifying, like an oasis in the middle of everything that had gone on since I’d come to Africa.

“You like children, don’t you?” Adanne asked after I’d finished the story and come back to sit beside her. She had tears in her eyes from the laughing.

“I do. Do you have children, Adanne?”

She shook her head and stared into my eyes. Finally she spoke. “I can’t have children, Alex. I was… when I was very young… I was raped. They used the handle of a shovel. It’s not important. Not to me, not anymore.” Adanne smiled then. “I can still enjoy children, though. I love the way you were with them.”

Chapter 88

THE NEXT MINUTE or so seemed like they couldn’t be happening. Not that night. Not any night.

The Janjaweed had come back. They seemed to appear out of nowhere, like ghosts out of the darkness. The ambush was brazen and sudden; they had come right into the camp.

It was hard to tell their number, but there must have been a couple of dozen of them. I thought I recognized one, the man I had released, the one who’d laughed at me.

These Janjaweed were on foot – they had no horses or camels. They had guns and also knives and camel whips; a couple of them wielded spears.

One man waved the flag of Sudan as if they were here on the state’s business, and possibly they were. Another carried a flag with a white fierce horseman on a dark blue background, the symbol of the Janjaweed.

The women and children of the camp, who had been laughing and playing just a minute before, were screaming and trying to scatter out of harm’s way now.

The attack was satanic in its viciousness; it was pure evil, like the murder scenes I’d visited in Washington. Grown men slashed away at defenseless refugees or shot them down. The thatched roofs of huts were set on fire not twenty feet away from me. An elderly man was lit on fire.

Then more Janjaweed arrived, with camels, horses, and two Land Cruisers mounted with machine guns. There was nothing but killing, cutting, slashing, screaming to heaven – no other purpose to this attack.

I fought off a few of the bastards, but there wasn’t anything I could do to stop so many. I understood the way the people of this camp, of this country, understand: No one can help us.

But that night someone did. Finally, Sudanese regulars and a few UN troops arrived in jeeps and vans. The Janjaweed began to leave. They took a few women and animals with them.

Their last senseless and vengeful act: They burned down a grain shed used for storing millet.

I finally found Adanne, and she was cradling a child who had watched her mother die.

Then everything was strangely quiet except for the people’s sobbing and the low winds of the harmattan.

Chapter 89

IT WAS GETTING close to morning when I finally laid myself down in a tent with a straw mat on the floor. It had been provided to me by the Red Cross workers, and I was too tired to argue that I didn’t need a roof over my head.

The flap of the tent opened suddenly and I got up on one elbow to see who it was.

“It’s me, Alex. Adanne. May I come in?”

“Of course you can.” My heart pumped in my chest.

She stepped inside and sat down beside me on the mat.

“Terrible day,” I said in a hoarse whisper.

“It’s not always this bad,” she said. “But it can be worse. The Sudanese soldiers knew a reporter was in the camp. And an American. That’s why they came to chase away the Janjaweed. They don’t want bad press if they can possibly avoid it.”

I shook my head and started to smile. So did Adanne.

They weren’t happy smiles. I knew that what she had said was true, but it was also ridiculous and absurd.

“We’re supposed to share the tent, Alex,” Adanne finally said. “Do you mind?”

“Share a tent with you? No, I think I can handle that. I’ll do my best.”

Adanne stretched herself out on the mat. She reached out and patted my hand. Then I took her hand in mine.

“You have someone – back in America?” she asked.

“I do. Her name is Bree. She’s a detective too.”

“She’s your wife?”

“No, we’re not married. I was once. My first wife was killed. It was a long time ago, Adanne.”

“I’m sorry to ask so many questions, Alex. We should sleep now.”

Yes, we should sleep.

We held hands until we drifted off. Only that – hand-holding.

Chapter 90

THE FOLLOWING DAY, we left the camp at Kalma. Nine refugees had died during the nighttime attack; another four were still missing. If this had happened in Washington, the entire city would be in an uproar now.

Emmanuel was one of the dead, and they had cut off his head, probably because of his participation when we’d fought back earlier.

A mutual hunch took Adanne and me to the Abu Shouk camp, the next-largest settlement in the region. The reception there was more ambivalent than we’d gotten at Kalma.

A big fire the night before had made personnel scarce, and we were told to wait at the main administrative tent until we could be processed.

“Let’s go,” I said to Adanne after we’d waited nearly an hour and a half.

She had to run to catch up with me. I was already headed up a row of what looked like shelters. Abu Shouk was much more uniform and dismal than Kalma. Nearly all of the buildings were of the same mud-brick construction.

“Go where?” Adanne said when she came up even with me.

“Where the people are.”

“All right, Alex. I’ll be a detective with you today.”

Three hours later, Adanne and I had managed half a dozen almost completely unproductive conversations, with Adanne attempting to serve as translator. The residents were at first as friendly as those in Kalma, but as soon as I mentioned the Tiger, they shut down or just walked away from us. He had been here before, but that was all the people would tell us.

We finally came to an edge of the camp, where the sand plain continued on toward a range of low tan mountains in the distance, and probably bands of Janjaweed.

“Alex, we need to go back,” Adanne said. She had the tone of a person putting her foot down. “Unfortunately, this has been unproductive, don’t you think? We’re nearly dehydrated, and we don’t even know where we’re sleeping tonight. We’ll be lucky to get a ride into town” – she stopped and looked around – “if we can even find our way back to the admin tent before dark.”

The place was like an impossible maze, with rows of identical huts wherever we looked. And so many displaced people, thousands and thousands, many of them sick and dying.

I took a deep breath, fighting off the day’s frustration. “All right. Let’s go. You’re right.”

We started picking our way back and had just come around a corner, when I stopped again. I put a hand out to keep Adanne from taking another step. “Hold up. Don’t move,” I said quietly.

I had spotted a large man ducking out of one of the shelters. He was wearing what I’d call street clothes anywhere else. Here, they marked him as an outsider.

He was huge, both tall and broad, with dark trousers, a long white dashiki, and sunglasses under a heavy brow and shaved head.

I took a step back, just out of sight.

It was him. I was sure it was the same bastard I’d seen at Chantilly. The Tiger – the one I was chasing.

“Alex–”

“Shh. That’s him, Adanne.”

“Oh, my God, you’re right!”

The man gestured to someone out of sight, and then two young boys walked out of the shelter behind him. One was nobody to me. The other wore a red-and-white Houston Rockets jersey. I recognized him instantly from Sierra Leone.

Adanne gripped my arm tightly and she whispered,

“What are you going to do?”

They were walking away but were still in plain sight.

“I want you to wait five minutes and then find your way back. I’ll meet you.”

“Alex!” She opened her mouth to say more but stopped.

It was probably my eyes that told her how serious I was. Because I had realized that everything I’d been told was true. The rules I knew just didn’t apply here.

There was no taking him in – no transporting him back to Washington.

I was going to have to kill the Tiger, possibly right here in the Abu Shouk camp.

I had few qualms about it either. The Tiger was a murderer.

And I had finally caught up with him.

Chapter 91

I HUNG BACK, following the killer at a distance. It sure wasn’t hard to keep him in sight. I had no specific plan. Not yet.

Then I saw a shovel sitting unattended outside somebody’s hut. I took it and kept moving.

It was just past sunset, a time when everything looked tinted with blue, and sound carried. Maybe he heard me, because he turned around. I ducked out of sight, or at least I hoped so.

The huts along the footpath were packed in tightly. I wedged myself into a foot-wide gap between two of them. The walls on either side were crude mud-brick. They grated on my arms as I tried to push my way through and get the Tiger back in sight.

I had made it about halfway, when one of his young thugs stepped out into the alley.

He didn’t move. He just shouted something in Yoruban.

When I looked over my shoulder, Houston Rockets was at the other end of the alley. I could see the white of his grin but not his eyes in the dim half-light.

“It’s him,” he called out in a high-pitched voice, almost a giggle. “The American cop!”

Something slammed hard into the wall inside the hut. The entire hut buckled, and large chunks of dried mud fell into the alley.

“Again!” Houston Rockets yelled.

I realized what was happening – they meant to crush me in the narrow passageway.

The whole wall exploded then. Bricks and debris and dirt poured down on my head and shoulders.

I waded forward, took a hard swing, and struck the nearest punk with my shovel.

And then I found myself face-to-face with the Tiger.

Chapter 92

“NOW YOU WILL die,” he said to me matter-of-factly, as if the deed were a foregone conclusion.

I didn’t doubt that he was telling the truth.

He looked incredibly calm, his eyes barely registering emotion as he reached forward and grabbed me by the arm and throat. My only thought was to hold on to the shovel, and to swing it if I got the chance.

He threw me back down the alley as easily as if I were a child. No, a child’s doll. I landed hard on splintering wood and plaster. Something sharp sliced into my back.

I registered Houston Rockets blocking the other escape route. There was nowhere for me to run.

The Tiger came charging at me. So I swung the shovel as hard as I could, going for the bastard’s knees.

The shovel head connected – not a home run, but maybe a double. The Tiger buckled, but he didn’t go down. Unbelievable. I’d hit him in the kneecaps and there he stood, glowering at me.

“That’s all you have?” he said.

It was as though he didn’t feel anything at all. So I raised the shovel again and struck his left arm. He must have been hurt, but he didn’t show it, his face revealing no more emotion than a wall of slate.

“Now – my turn,” he said. “Can you take a punch?”

Suddenly a floodlight hit my eyes. There were voices behind it. Who was there?

“Ne bouge pas!”

I heard footsteps scuffing on the dirt and the metallic rustle of guns. Suddenly, green-helmeted AU soldiers were in the alley with us, three of them.

“Laisse la tomber!” one of the soldiers yelled.

It took a second to realize I was just as much a suspect here as the Tiger. Or, worse – maybe I was the only suspect.

I dropped the shovel and didn’t wait for any more questions. “This man is wanted in the United States and Nigeria for murder. I’m a policeman.”

“Tais-toi!” One of the soldiers said and put his rifle right in my face. Jesus! The last thing I wanted was to have my nose broken again.

“Listen to me! Ecoutez-moi!” This was a Senegalese platoon, and my French wasn’t the greatest. The scene was getting more insane and out of control by the second. “He’s got two accomplices. Deux garcons, vous comprenez? They are all murderers!”

That last remark got me a punch in the gut. I doubled over, trying to catch my breath while the Tiger just stood there, mute, uttering not a word of protest.

Perfectly calm. Smarter than I was.

And in control? I wondered.

Chapter 93

THEY BROUGHT US both out of the alley at gunpoint and made us kneel in the dirt. A crowd had gathered, maybe a couple hundred people already.

There were only five AU troops on the scene, barely enough to cover us and keep everyone else back a few yards. Several people were pointing at the Tiger. Because he was so large? Or because they knew who he was? Or maybe how dangerous?

“Alex? Alex?” I heard Adanne’s voice, and nothing could have sounded more welcome to me.

Then I saw her push through the crowd to the front. Her eyes went wide when she spotted the Tiger kneeling a few feet away from me. He saw her too.

“Let me through! I’m with the Guardian.” She took an ID out of her pocket, but a soldier shoved her back.

She called out to me again, and she kept yelling, risking her own safety. “Alex! Tell them that the Guardian is doing your story! Tell them the Guardian is here. I will write their story.”

But then my ears took in something else – the high-pitched whine of a vehicle traveling in reverse!

Was that right? Was I hearing it correctly? Who was coming now?

The crowd on one side started to stir, from the rear at first. Then people were scattering wildly, screaming or cursing.

Everything was turning to chaos, even worse than it had been.

I could see a black pickup truck now, backing toward us at high speed. It weaved recklessly along the very narrow street, taking out several shade canopies as it came. There were gunshots too, possibly coming from the truck.

The AU team scrambled back first. Then the truck stopped twenty yards away.

Houston Rockets was in the back, shielding himself with a young girl. She was maybe twelve or thirteen. He had one arm around her throat. His other hand – held high over his head – was holding a grenade for everyone to see.

The Tiger wasted no time. He jumped up and ran for the truck. The passenger door opened for him and he disappeared inside.

I saw his huge hand come out and slap the roof hard.

As the pickup raced away, the young girl was thrown from the back. Thank God for that anyway.

But as we watched in shock, she clawed the air with both arms and hit the ground with her head. Then she exploded!

Houston Rockets must have shoved the grenade into the girl’s clothing. They had no reason to kill her. The murder was just for show or maybe for my eyes.

Or Adanne’s?

Chapter 94

THE NEXT MORNING, we returned to Lagos, exhausted and with heavy hearts. Clearly, this kind of insanity happened often here. How could the people bear it?

Adanne insisted that her family put me up for a day or so.

“Whatever you need, Alex. I want to get this killer as badly as you do. I’ve written about him enough.”

She had her own apartment in the city, but we drove to her parents’ house on a part of Victoria Island – to a side of this fascinating megacity that I hadn’t seen before.

The streets here were wide and clean, with no buildings taller than two stories. Most of the homes sat behind yellow or pink stucco walls. Still, there was a familiar smell of fruit and flowers decaying in the air.

Adanne pulled up to a gate and punched in a code.

“Alex,” she said before we got out of her car, “I prefer to save my parents the stress and worry. I told them we’ve been in Abuja. They’re worried about civil war.”

“Okay,” I agreed. “Abuja it is.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind,” she whispered up close to my ear. “Oh, here they are. They’ll think you’re a new boyfriend. But I’ll clear that up, don’t worry.”

Everyone was coming out through the carport to the parking pad as we pulled in. I was still pondering the idea of Adanne’s new boyfriend.

Two boys, adorable, smiling twins in school uniforms and undone neckties, appeared. They were elbowing each other to be the first to open Adanne’s door.

There were hugs all around for Adanne and then introductions for me. I was a policeman from America who was helping her with an important story. I was not a new boyfriend. Adanne had everyone laughing about that absurdity within seconds. Ha, ha, what a comedienne she was.

Chapter 95

I MET HER mother, Somadina, her father, Uchenna, her sister-in-law, Nkiru, and the nephews, James and Calvin. They couldn’t have been warmer or nicer people. It seemed utterly natural to them that a complete stranger should come stay in their home for an unspecified amount of time.

The house was a modest one-story but with lots of windows and interesting views. From the foyer, I saw a walled backyard with tamarind trees and flower gardens. I could smell the hibiscus, even from inside.

Adanne showed me to her father’s office. The walls in here, like in Adanne’s office at the Guardian, were covered with framed news stories.

I noticed that a couple of them dealt with a gang of killer boys, and the man who led them. The name Tiger wasn’t used, however.

“Are these all yours?” I asked, looking around. “You’ve been a busy girl, haven’t you?”

She was a little sheepish now, the first embarrassment I bad seen from her.

“Let’s say I’ve never had to wonder if my father is proud of me. My mother as well.”

I also noticed a framed military portrait on the desk – a young soldier with Adanne’s features and her eyes.

“Your brother?”

“Kalu, yes.” She went over and picked it up. Instantly there was sadness in her eyes.

“He was with the Engineering Corps. My big brother. I adored him, Alex. You would have liked him.”

I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but I didn’t.

“I’ll tell you, Alex. Two years ago, he went to Niku for a meeting at the Ministry of Urban Development. There was a dinner that night. A private function at a popular restaurant. No one knows exactly what happened, but all fifteen people there were found dead. They were massacred with guns and machetes.”

The Tiger? I wondered. And his killer hoys? Was that why she had written about him? And maybe why I was here now? Was everything finally coming together?

Adanne set the picture down with a sigh. Then she absently ran her fingers through her braids. Once again, I couldn’t help noticing how beautiful she was. Stunning, really. There was no getting around it.

“That was the first time I ever heard of the Tiger. Only because I did my own digging. The ‘official’ investigation by the police went nowhere. As usual.”

“And you’re still digging?” I asked.

She nodded. “Maybe someday I can tell my parents that Kalu’s murder is solved. That would be the greatest thing, ‘make my career,’ as they say. In the meantime, we don’t talk about it here, you understand?”

“I understand. And I’m sorry.”

“No need for that, Alex. I’m working on a story that’s larger and more important than any particular killer. It’s about the people who hire them, the ones who want to control our country. Honestly, the story scares even me.”

For a few seconds, neither of us said anything, which was unusual for us. We looked at each other, and there was a sudden but undeniable charge in the silence.

Like most of the men she met, no doubt, I wanted to kiss Adanne, but I held myself back. I didn’t want to insult her or dishonor her parents, or, more important, Bree.

She smiled at me. “You are a good man, Alex. I wasn’t expecting that – in an American.”

Chapter 96

I EXCUSED MYSELF for a few minutes and borrowed Adanne’s mobile to make a call. I didn’t think Ian Flaherty would pick up, but I wanted to at least try and reestablish contact with the CIA.

So I was surprised when Flaherty answered on the second ring, and then shocked when he knew it was me calling.

“Cross?”

“Flaherty? How did you do that?”

“Caller ID, ever heard of it?”

“But–”

“Tansi. Your girlfriend’s name is on the AU flight record along with yours. I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Both of you – she’s a celebrity too. Writes controversial articles, one after the other. She’s a big deal down here. We need to talk. Seriously. You finally have my interest. And so does your killer, the Tiger.”

“Hang on a second. Slow down.” I’d forgotten how quickly Flaherty could piss me off. “You’ve been looking for me? Since when? I only tried you about sixteen times.”

“Since I learned something you want to know.”

“What do you mean?”

He didn’t answer right away “I mean, I found out something you want to know.”

It was suddenly obvious to me that he didn’t trust the phone line. I stopped to regroup for a second and picked up a pen from the desk.

“Where can I meet you?”

“Let’s say tomorrow, same time as before, at the place on that card I gave you. You know what I’m talking about, Detective Cross?”

He meant the bank on Broad Street but didn’t want to name it, obviously. It was a Victoria Island location, so it was perfect for me.

“Got it. I’ll see you then.”

“And dress nice, Detective. Wear a tie or something.”

“A tie?” I said. “What are you talking about?”

But he’d already hung up on me.

The prick.

Chapter 97

EVERYONE WAS WAITING for me on the patio after my call – with palm wine and kola nuts untouched until I got there.

First though, Adanne’s father, Uchenna, blessed the nuts in the Yoruban custom, and the boys, James and Calvin, passed them around.

Adanne seemed to be finding my visit either very joyful or amusing, and she was smiling all the time. I could tell she was happy to be home.

Then the boys got me into a little backyard soccer. The twins were either polite or genuinely impressed that I could juggle the ball a little, even as they schooled me up and down the yard. But it felt good to be running around with the kids. Nice boys. Not killers.

Dinner was a chicken stew called egusi and fufu, which is pounded yam for dipping in the broth. There were also fried plaintains, served with a spiced tomato sauce that could have taken the paint off a car. The family setting seemed familiar to me, yet different at the same time, and I ate easily the best meal I’d had in Africa.

Uchenna’s favorite topic clearly seemed to be his daughter, Adanne. I learned more about her in those few hours than in all the time she and I had spent together before coming back to Lagos. Adanne jumped in to tell her own version of a few of her father’s stories, but when Somadina dragged out the baby pictures, she surrendered and went off to the kitchen to clean up.

While she was gone, the conversation got more serious, and her father spoke of the tragic murders of Christians in northern Nigeria, and then of the reprisals by Christians in the east. He told me the story of a Christian schoolteacher who was recently beaten to death by her Muslim students.

Finally, Uchenna talked about the provocative newspaper articles his daughter wrote on a weekly basis and said how dangerous they were.

But mainly there was laughter in the house that night. Already I felt at home. This was a good family, like so many families here in Lagos.

After Nkiru took the boys to bed and Adanne rejoined the group, the conversation turned to politics and grownup talk again. There had been four bombings in Bayelsa State that week, down in the Delta region near the oil fields. The pressure for Nigeria to split into independent states was growing along with the violence all around the country.

“It is all about bad men. All of it, always has been,” Adanne said. “It’s time that the world was run by women. We want to create, not destroy. Yes, I’m serious, Daddy. No, I haven’t had too much wine.”

“It was the beer,” her father said.

Chapter 98

AROUND MIDNIGHT, ADANNE led me to a small bedroom where I’d be staying in the rear of the house. She touched my arm, came in behind me, and sat down on the bed.

I could see she was still in a playful mood, still smiling, a different person from the one who had taken me to Darfur a few days ago, and very different from the suspicious, serious-faced reporter I’d met in her office.

“They like you, Alex, especially my mother and sister-in-law. I can’t see why. I don’t get it.”

I laughed. “I guess I fooled them. They’ll catch on to me soon.”

“Exactly right. Just what I was going to say. So now, we’re thinking the same thoughts, I see. So what are you thinking at this moment? Tell me the truth, Alex.”

I didn’t have a very good answer for Adanne. Well, actually I did, but I didn’t want to say it out loud. But then I did anyway.

“I think there’s an attraction between us, but we have to let it go.”

“That’s probably right, Alex. Or maybe not.”

She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek and held her lips there for a few seconds. She smelled nicely of soap, clean and fresh.

Adanne looked up into my eyes and she was still smiling. She had perfect white teeth. “I just want to lie here with you for a while. Can we do that? Just be here together without any more intimacy than that? What do you think? Can we do it two nights in a row?”

I finally kissed Adanne back, on the lips, but I didn’t hold the kiss for very long.

“I’d like that,” I told her.

“Me too,” she said. “I have love in my heart for you. It’s just a crush, I think. Don’t say anything, Alex. Don’t spoil this, whatever it is.”

I didn’t. We held on to each other until sleep took us both. I’m not sure if it took us farther away or closer together that night, but nothing happened for either of us to regret.

Or maybe I would come to regret that nothing happened.

Chapter 99

THE NEXT MORNING, Adanne was up early, making coffee and fresh-squeezed juice for everyone. Then she volunteered to drive me to my meeting with Flaherty. She was more serious and businesslike now, the way I’d seen her away from her family.

“Why are you wearing a dumb tie?” she asked. “You look like a downtown lawyer. Or a banker. Ugh.”

“I have no idea,” I told her and smiled. Now I was the one smiling all the time. “It’s another Nigerian mystery, I guess.”

“You’re the mystery,” she said. “I think so.”

“You’re not alone in that.”

She stopped the car in front of the bank on Broad Street.

“Be careful, Alex.” She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “It is dangerous out there, more than ever.”

Then I hopped out of the car and gave a wave, and she was off. I decided immediately not to think about her, but then I was thinking about nothing else but Adanne – her smile, last night at her house, things that we didn’t do.

Flaherty! I reminded myself. What the hell does he want from me?

The CIA man was nowhere to be seen, though. I waited about twenty minutes, just long enough to start getting paranoid, when his Peugeot skidded up to the curb.

He threw open the door on my side. “C’mon, let’s go. I don’t have time to waste.” When I got in, I saw there was a blue folder on the seat and picked it up.

“What’s this?”

Flaherty looked dirty and sweaty and totally stressed out, more weaselly than usual. He pulled away and started driving. Typical of him, he didn’t bother to answer my question.

So I opened the file. It was just a single photocopied form with a passport-size picture of a young boy stapled to it.

“Adoption papers?”

“Orphanage records. That’s your Tiger. His name is Abidemi Sowande. Born Lagos, nineteen seventy-two, to wealthy parents. Both of them died when he was seven years old, no living relatives. Apparently little Abi wasn’t exactly the picture of mental health. He ended up on a ward for a year after that. When he came out, the old family fortune was gone.”

“What happened to it?”

Flaherty shrugged, and a little smoke from his cigarette got into his eye. He squinted and rubbed at it.

“Sowande was supposed to get transferred to state care, but somewhere between hospital and orphanage, he disappeared. He was a bright boy apparently. High IQ anyway. He spent two years at university in England. Then he disappeared until a few years ago here. That’s it, all I have. No further record of any kind until now. We think he might have worked as a mercenary.”

I stared at the picture in my hand. Could this boy be the man I’d seen in Darfur? The killer of so many people here and in Washington? Ellie’s murderer?

“How do we even know it’s him?” I asked.

“The dead guy in Sudan – Mohammed Shol? We got a source says he was bragging about doing business with ‘the Tiger,’ supposedly knew a thing or two about him. It seemed like a long shot, but then someone dug up this record and we got a print match to the crime scene at Shol’s. Sweet, right?”

“I don’t know,” I said, holding up the folder. “I mean, really, what am I supposed to do with this? Seems a little convenient all of a sudden.”

Flaherty glared over at me and swerved out of his lane.

“Jesus, Cross, how much help do you want here?”

“Help?” I said. I wanted to hit him. “You hang me out to dry, then show up and give me the name of someone who doesn’t seem to exist anymore? Possibly a mercenary, but who knows? Is that the kind of help you mean?”

“This is gravy, Detective. I told you not to count on me from day one.”

“No, you told me that on day four – after I spent three nights in jail.”

Chapter 100

FLAHERTY ANGRILY FLICKED his lit butt out the window and wiped the sweat off his face. “Do you even know why you’re not dead yet? It’s because everyone thinks you’re CIA, and we let them think it. We’ve been babysitting you. I’ve been babysitting you. Don’t bother to thank me.”

I clenched my hands several times, trying to cap my anger. It wasn’t just Flaherty’s arrogance getting to me, or his condescension. It was this entire case. The Tiger was worse than any of the serial killers I had ever arrested – so why was he allowed to roam free here?

I looked over at Flaherty. “What is it you do, exactly for the agency?”

“I service the copiers at the embassy,” he said, deadpan.

Then he lit another cigarette and blew out smoke. “Actually, I’m on record here as CIA. Okay by you?”

“Fair enough. How about this, then? Why aren’t you on the Tiger’s case yourself? Why pass me information instead of running with it? Abidemi Sowande is a murderer. You know that.”

Something about the debate, just getting it out in the open, I guess, was diffusing the tension in the car. Plus, I was on a roll.

“For that matter, why in God’s name am I wearing this stupid tie?”

For the first time, Flaherty smiled.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s one I can answer.”

Chapter 101

AN HOUR LATER, I was in the waiting room at an executive suite on the thirtieth floor of Unilight International’s administrative offices in Ikeja. I knew that Unilight was one of the most successful packaged goods company in the world, but that was about it.

Glossy pictures of Lubra Soap and Oral Toothpaste hung on the walls, and I was trying to figure out exactly what I was doing here. Flaherty had dropped me out front with a business card and a floor number. “Willem de Bues wants to meet you, and you want to meet him.”

“Dr. Cross?” A receptionist called over to where I was sitting. “The director will see you now.”

I was shown down a hallway to a double door, which she opened for me, into a huge corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Stranger and stranger. What did a successful multinational corporation have to do with a murder case?

A massive desk sat at an angle to the door with two comfortable chairs opposite it. A pair of tufted leather couches took up another corner, where two men in dark suits, white shirts, and clubby ties were just standing up.

“Dr. Cross,” the taller of them said. A white man with close-cropped blond hair and heavy-framed rectangular glasses came over and shook my hand.

“I’m Willem de Bues.” His accent was Dutch I think. He motioned to the other man. “This is Thomas Lassiter, an attorney with our legal department.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, not quite sure yet if that was true or not. How could I know? I half expected to be beaten up and to have my nose broken next.

“It’s our understanding you’ve been following a local man known as the Tiger,” de Bues said, throwing me for a loop. What could this businessman possibly have to do with a killer for hire?

“That’s right,” I said. “I came here from Washington, where he had committed a couple of savage murders. Savage by our standards anyway.”

“Then, we might have something to talk about. Sit down,” Mr. de Bues said. It was clear he was used to giving orders.

“Your reputation as a policeman precedes you, of course. Your record for solving difficult cases.”

“How about you tell me what this is about first? And why your attorney is here.”

De Bues’s demeanor didn’t crack. In fact, he smiled.

“We’d like to help you find the Tiger. And, given that this is a rather… irregular situation, I want to make certain that I don’t say, or offer, anything illegal in this meeting. Is that honest enough for you? Please, sit down, Detective. Sit.”

Chapter 102

“WHY WOULD YOU want to help a murder investigation?” I asked. I was genuinely curious.

“Unilight International has a considerable interest in Nigeria. Our cosmetics and skin-care business alone has grown enough to justify the expansion we have planned in the southeast. This is true of many multinationals, not just the oil companies.”

“In the Delta?” I asked.

“Port Harcourt, yes. And, of course, Lagos. Whatever relationship we now have with local factions seems to be irrelevant to some of the Islamic extremist organizations that are now moving into the region.”

“Are you saying the Tiger is Islamic? Because that’s news to me.”

“No, I have no idea about that. I doubt that he’s a religious man. But it’s no secret he deals in goods that bankroll these groups – conflict diamonds, lifted crude, that sort of thing. Essentially, he creates inroads for them and makes life more difficult for all foreign corporations. And, as I’m sure you know, Tiger is the local term for ‘killer for hire.’”

“And you want somebody to help you get the killer, or killers, out of your way?”

De Bues looked over at his lawyer, who nodded, and then answered. “We want to help with your criminal investigation, that’s all. We’re the good guys here, Dr. Cross. Just like you. This is not a ‘conspiracy,’ like in one of the Bourne movies.”

“Why not go through the local authorities?”

He smiled again, that non-smile of his. “You condescend to me, Dr. Cross. The political situation, as we both know, is complex here. It is fair to say that civil war is almost inevitable for Nigeria, but war is like fire, yes? Even as it burns something away, it leaves fertile ground.”

It seemed like every day in Africa, I was falling a little farther through the looking glass. This conversation was turning out to be no exception. The CIA had directed me to a multinational corporation or maybe a clique of them for help in a brutal murder case?

I stood up. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. de Bues. I need to think about it.”

De Bues followed me to the door. “Please, Dr. Cross.” He held out a business card. “At least take my number. We do want to help you.”

“Thanks,” I said and left it at that.

De Bues shook his head as I walked to his door. “You don’t understand, do you? This part of the world is about to explode. And if it does, Africa could go the way of the Middle East. That is the key to your murder case, sir.”

Chapter 103

FRUSTRATED AND CONFUSED more than ever, I took a car service to Adanne’s office. Then we drove to her parents’ house, brainstorming about the case, Unilight’s involvement, and the Tiger’s whereabouts.

My next stop would be to check local records – schools, hospitals, crime reports – any instance of an Abidemi Sowande from 1981 to the present.

Adanne had good suggestions for getting access to state-level information. She wasn’t surprised that the multinationals were frightened and looking for help anywhere they could find it.

“Maybe your murder investigation is heating up,” she said. “It feels like it to me.”

“Yes, to me too.”

Adanne took my hand and that was a distraction I needed.

“If you’re good,” she said, “I might even sleep with you again tonight.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek and wondered how much longer I could be good around Adanne.

“Remember Alex, I know what you’re thinking. I’m probably thinking the same thing.”

It wasn’t until we came around the corner onto her parents’ street that we realized something was wrong.

“Oh, no” she groaned. “Oh, no, oh, no.”

Adanne stopped her car at the top of the block. At least half a dozen police and fire units were parked at urgent angles to one another in front of her parents’ home. Hose lines snaked from the street through the open gate, and black smoke billowed up from behind the wall.

Adanne clawed at the seat-belt release until the strap flew away. “My God, my God! Oh, my God!”

“Adanne, wait a minute,” I said and tried to grab and hold her back.

But she was already out of the car and running toward her parents’ house. She was screaming in a full voice.

And then I was running too.

Chapter 104

I CAUGHT UP to Adanne just shy of the gate to the house. I grabbed her and picked her up. Her legs kicked off the ground and she struggled against me, reaching toward the gate even as I pulled her away from it.

“Adanne,” I said. “You don’t want to go in there and see. Trust me, please.”

The house was still burning but it was mostly a ghastly, black skeleton of itself. From where we were, Adanne and I could see straight through to the back of the property. The roof was already completely gone.

The driveway and lawn were littered with smoking black debris. Clearly, there had been an explosion. It looked as though it might have been a firebombing.

When I saw two small lumps under sheets on the lawn, I grabbed Adanne tighter and pressed her head into my chest. The bodies had to be the twins, poor little James and Calvin. Adanne knew this too, and she was crying softly in my arms.

A police officer ran by and I caught his attention. “How many were inside?”

He looked me over before answering any questions. “Are you family? Who are you? Why do you want to know?”

“This is her parents’ house. I’m a friend. She’s Adanne Tansi.”

“Three adults, two children,” he said. He looked at Adanne, then back at me, and shook his head no. No survivors.

A deep shudder went through Adanne and then she began to sob. She was saying something; maybe it was a prayer. I couldn’t make out the words or even the language she was speaking.

“I need to talk to your commander,” I said to the patrolman standing with us.

“About what?”

“CIA,” was what I said next.

The policeman opened his mouth again, but I cut him off. “Just get your commander. Get him over here right now.”

As he walked away, I spoke softly against Adanne’s forehead. “I’m here. You’re not alone.” She continued to sob in my arms, shivering like she was freezing cold in the ninety-degree heat.

I watched the commander approach, a tall, broad-backed man in a dark suit. I couldn’t hear anything over the fire crew and the hiss of water jets, but I didn’t need to.

I knew his face – the flat nose, those round cheeks, that idiotic Mike Tyson squint of his. The last time I’d seen it, he had been dangling me out a hotel window.

Chapter 105

“ADANNE, LISTEN TO me!” I was already pushing her back toward the car. “It’s not safe for us here. We have to go right now. That man, the policeman, he almost killed me at my hotel.”

She nodded and seemed to understand, and then we were walking quietly. I got her up the block to her car and into the passenger seat. “We have to go.”

When I reached the driver’s side, I could see the police commander through the windshield. He’d picked his way through the knot of emergency vehicles in front of the house. Then he broke into a run, heading straight for us. Two other men came running with him. I thought that I recognized one of them as the other man who’d come into my hotel room and tried to scare me out of the country.

“Adanne, fasten your seat belt! We have to get out of here. Right now.’”

I put the car in reverse and checked over my shoulder. The intersection behind me was too busy; I couldn’t wait for the traffic to clear, though.

So I changed my mind.

I shifted into drive and drove right at the approaching cops. I began to blare the horn, hitting the wheel again and again.

Adanne’s car was only a little Ford Escort, but I caught the cops off guard. I floored it and stayed the course directly at the men. The “commander” didn’t budge from his path.

At the last second, I braked hard, but I still struck him. His eyes looked huge with fear – probably the same way mine did when I was hanging out that hotel window.

Now I threw the small car sharply in reverse. He took one of the windshield wipers with him as he flew off and rolled into the street.

I backed all the way up to the corner and spun the wheel hard to face the other direction. A horn blared as an Audi wagon clipped the car, nearly shearing off the rear bumper.

I picked a direction arbitrarily and punched those four cylinders for all they were worth.

“Where are we going?” Adanne sat up a little straighter, almost like she was coming out of a trance.

“Into the city,” I told her.

If there was one thing Lagos might be good for, it was crowds we could get lost in.

Chapter 106

“ADANNE?” I REACHED over and held on to her shoulder. “We have to get away from here. The policeman back there – when I was staying in Lagos – he nearly killed me. I’m sure it’s the same man. It’s all connected somehow, it has to be.”

Adanne didn’t argue with me. She just nodded and pointed to the right.

“Turn here for the Mainland Bridge. It’s the best way, Alex. We’ll go through Benin.”

“Hold on tight, brace yourself!”

“It’s too late for that, way too late.”

I took the turn without slowing down. We came out onto a wide boulevard lined with low-slung stucco shops, open lots, and old dusty cars and trucks. A freestanding billboard advertised Grace of Light Church, with an illustration of a woman in a choir robe, eyes on the sky and arms open to God.

But it certainly wasn’t God that I heard next.

It was the deafening chop of a helicopter, loud and very close to the roof of the Escort.

They’d found us already.

They were on top of us, right over our heads.

“It’s the police!” said Adanne. “They’ll kill us, Alex. I know things they don’t want in any newspaper.”

Chapter 107

I CRANED MY neck to see what was up, literally. The small bird with white struts was almost directly overhead. There were no police markings, and the low altitude was another bad sign.

The pilot was being increasingly reckless and didn’t seem to care about the safety of people down on the street, or about his own well-being, for that matter.

The Mainland Bridge was still a mile or so off. I scanned the area for any kind of cover – parking garage, construction site. There was nothing obvious, nowhere for us to hide from the helicopter.

What was worse, within a few blocks I saw lights in my mirror – red-and-blue spinners, at least three cruisers moving very fast, gaining on us.

“Shit! That’s definitely police.”

“I’m serious, Alex. They’ll kill us if they catch us. I’m not being paranoid.”

“I believe you. But why, Adanne?”

“Alex, I know terrible things. I’m writing a story about it. I have to tell somebody what I found out.”

“Tell me,” I said.

In the next frantic few minutes, that’s what Adanne did; she told me secrets that she hadn’t shared before. One of the secrets was that Ellie Cox had visited her in Lagos. They had shared sources and information. They had talked about Abidemi Sowande – the Tiger. And the group that he worked for.

“Alex, he is one of the most dangerous mercenaries in the world.”

I sped up and weaved through the traffic as best I could. But when I checked the mirror again, the police cars were still close. I was a little numb from hearing what Adanne knew about the Tiger and so much more. I still couldn’t believe that she and Ellie had met.

Suddenly Adanne grabbed my arm. “Alex!” she shouted. “There!”

A police car had hopped the curb from a vacant lot on the left and was pulling across our path right now.

I jammed down on the brakes – too late.

The Escort skidded and caught the cruiser broadside.

Our front end folded right in on itself, as if it were made of molding clay. No wonder Ford was losing market share.

My chest hit the steering column hard, and I saw Adanne’s head smack the windshield.

Already the other police cruiser was right behind us, siren screeching, spinners going like crazy.

“Adanne?” I sat her up and saw that her forehead was swabbed in red. She raised her eyebrows and blinked several times.

“You all right?” I asked.

“I think so. Don’t tell them anything, Alex. More people will die. Don’t tell them a thing I told you. Do you promise? Alex?”

Chapter 108

BLUE-UNIFORMED COPS WERE running up on either side of our car. When they threw open the doors and grabbed at us, Adanne came out easily. I was a lot more work for them.

When I was finally pulled from the front seat, I came up swinging, crunching a straight right fist into somebody’s chin. It felt good.

Then two of them flung me down hard onto the pavement. That didn’t feel so good. Something popped in my shoulder.

Jesus!

My arm flew up reflexively, and a wave of pain crashed over me, even as I felt the joint slip back into place. I wasn’t sure if I could move the arm again, though. How could I fight them now?

The police were yelling on all sides, at least four of them screaming in a mishmash of languages I couldn’t understand.

Then one of them fired his service revolver into the air to make his point crystal clear.

Adanne was shouting too. “I’m with the Guardianl I’m a reporter. Press!”

I could see under the car to where she was lying facedown on the other side. There were pairs of black shoes moving all around her. Then a pistol was pointed at her head.

But that didn’t stop her from yelling at them. “Adanne Tansi! I’m with the Guardian]”

She shouted it over and over, not just for them, but for anyone who could hear in the neighborhood. We had already stopped traffic on both sides of the street.

With any luck, Adanne had just gone from anonymous suspect to known entity. It was a good move – especially given her state of mind after what had happened at her parents’ house.

I saw two of the cops who were standing over me exchange a look. One reached down to pull my hands back and cuff me. When he did, my shoulder felt like it was being torn in half.

Then I was punched and kicked in the small of the back. Everything was getting hazy and surreal again in a hurry. I couldn’t let myself black out.

“Alex!” Adanne’s voice came again. “Alex! I’m over here! Alex!”

I turned my head to look for her. The heel of a shoe came down on my cheek and temple. But I saw her anyway. The police were dragging her away. Past a standard cruiser to an unmarked black sedan.

Going where?

“She’s with the Guardlan!” I yelled at the top of my voice. “She’s with the Guardian! She’s press!”

Adanne kicked and twisted, and I tried to roll the two cops off my back.

But it was too little too late. Adanne was still shouting when they stuffed her into the black sedan, slammed the door, and drove off in a hurry.

Chapter 109

A FEVERED VOICE inside my head was screaming for me to help Adanne, but I knew I should think things through before I tried anything.

I had no idea, and no way to find out, if the car they had put me in was following Adanne’s. I was in a police unit, though. Small and cramped by DC standards. Smelling strongly of tobacco and sweat and somebody’s urine. Were these men policemen?

I sat sideways on a ripped vinyl seat in back. My hands were cuffed, and a rusted metal security grate was a few inches from my face. My shoulder throbbed and I was afraid it was broken. But that was the least of my worries right now. What I cared about most was Adanne and what was happening to her.

“Where did they take her?” I asked. The two uniforms in front wouldn’t even turn to look at me. I couldn’t provoke them.

“Talk to me. Tell me where we’re going,” I demanded to know.

Then I saw for myself, and it couldn’t have been any worse.

The first thing I recognized was the signpost at the turn-off for Kirikiri. Then the familiar concrete walls and razor wire crisscrossing the top.

Oh hell, no.

I felt like I’d fallen into some kind of hell on earth. Going in here the first time had been bad enough, but heading back when I knew what to expect?

It took the two cops and two more prison guards to get me out of the car and inside the jail.

I thought they would drag me up to the wards but we went down instead. Down couldn’t be good. Where was Adanne? Was she here too?

My feet bumped over stone steps, then onto the compacted dirt floor of a barely lit corridor. It looked and smelled like the cell block upstairs, but when we passed through one of the reinforced steel doors, I saw they all opened onto the same enormous space.

There was a low ceiling that dripped some kind of sludge, and a row of retrofitted support columns ran right down the middle of the room. They extended into deep shadows on either side.

A blank space. For torture? Interrogation? Execution?

Everything was left to the imagination – on purpose, I was sure.

The police and guards left me there, with my hands cuffed tightly behind my back, secured around one of the posts. The column was rusted steel, about four inches thick, and going nowhere. Just like me.

I stopped struggling as soon as they walked away. Better to save my strength, I figured.

I didn’t know who wanted me here – the Tiger? The police? The government?

Someone else?

A multinational corporation, for God’s sake? Maybe that was it. Anything was possible here.

If I was extraordinarily lucky, Flaherty would come looking for me again; and if I was even luckier, he’d be able to find me down here. But that could take days, and then more time to find Adanne.

If she was still alive.

If they hadn’t gotten the secrets out of her.

If…if…if…

Chapter 110

A LIGHT CAME on… two lights actually.

Quickly, one after the other.

I didn’t know how many hours had passed. Or what time of day it was. I knew that I hadn’t slept.

The man I now thought of as the police commander, the one I’d hit with Adanne’s car, stood by one of the doors.

His hand was still on the wall switch. Two single-bulb fixtures shone brightly overhead. They weren’t meant to be easy on the eyes, or the brain, or the soul.

“Tell me what you know about the Tiger,” he said as he strode forward. I noticed he’d changed suits – and that there was a rectangle of gauze taped to his forehead.

“Where’s Adanne Tansi?” I said.

“Don’t make me cross, Cross.” The commander chuckled softly; he’d been a jackass joker the last time too, I remembered. The accent was Yoruban and the voice was calm. Too calm. He had more self-control than I would have thought he should, given that I’d tried to run him over and put tire marks on his ugly face.

“Just tell me if she’s alive,” I said. “That’s all I need to hear from you.”

“She’s alive. Somewhat.” He spread his hands. “Now – the killer you chased here? What do you know? Are you CIA? Or are you working with her? The reporter?”

At least he wanted something from me. Quid pro quo was better than nothing, I guess.

“There are lots of Tigers, killers for hire,” I said. “You know that. The one I’m after is physically large. He operates internationally, with teams in Lagos and Washington at the very least. I believe his name is Sowande.

“As of two days ago, he was in South Darfur. I don’t know where the hell he is now.” I paused and stared into his eyes.

“I’m not CIA, definitely not CIA. Tell me where she is.”

His shoulders barely shrugged. “She’s here. At Kirikiri. No need to worry about her. She’s close by. Look! Look at that. There she is now. The news reporter is here.”

Chapter 111

A POLICE OFFICER I didn’t recognize was pushing Adanne into the room. She shuffled ahead of him, with a wad of tape over her mouth. Blood streaked both her cheeks.

Her braids had been cut short; they stuck out at angles from her head. One of her eyes was swollen shut and colored blue-black. She saw me and nodded that she was okay. I didn’t believe it for a second.

“Now maybe there’s more that you can tell me,” the commander said. “Something I don’t already know about the Tiger. Why did you come here? Not to solve a murder case. Why would I believe that? How do you know Adanne Tansi?”

I began to shout at him. “What the hell is the matter with you? I’m a cop, just like you. I’m investigating a murder case. It’s that simple.”

The cuffs tore at my wrists. Then the pain in my shoulder turned to nausea. I thought I was going to throw up.

The commander nodded once at the cop who’d brought in Adanne. The underling threw a hard uppercut into her stomach. I felt the cruel blow in my own body.

Adanne groaned behind the tape and fell to her knees. The dirt on her face was streaked with tears, but she wasn’t crying now. She was watching me. Blood from her mouth was turning the tape red. Her eyes were pleading. But for what?

“Why are you doing this?” I spit between clenched teeth. I could imagine my hands around his throat. “My friend was killed in Washington. That’s why I’m here. That’s all there is. I’m not part of some conspiracy.”

“Take the tape off her mouth,” the commander ordered.

The guard ripped it away and Adanne said, “Alex, don’t worry about me.”

The commander turned to the cop. “Again. Hit her.” He turned back to me. “Alex! Worry about her.”

“Okay!” I cut him off. “The Tiger’s name is Abidemi Sowande. He disappeared in nineteen eighty-one, when he was nine years old, turned up in England at a university for two years, and hasn’t used that identity since.

“He’s murdered a lot of people, here and in America. He uses wild boys. He may control other Tigers. That’s all I know. That’s everything I have. You know about the diamonds, the gasoline, the illegal trading.”

The commander kept his hand in the air to hold off the next punch. “You’re sure that’s it?”

“I’m sure, goddammit! I’m just a cop from Washington, DC. Adanne has nothing to do with this.”

He squinted, thinking about it, and then seemed satisfied. His hand came down slowly. “I should kill you anyway,” he said. “But that’s not my choice.”

Then I heard another voice in the room. “No, that would be my choice, Detective Cross.”

Chapter 112

A MAN STEPPED out of the shadows, a large man – the mercenary soldier known as the Tiger. The one I’d been chasing.

“No one seems to know much about me. That’s good, don’t you think? I want to keep it that way. She writes stories in newspapers, the London Times, maybe the New York Times. You get in the way a lot.”

He walked over to me. “Unbelievable,” he said. “Some people fear you, eh? Not me. I find you to be a funny man. Big joke. The joke is on you, Detective Cross.”

My body eased just a fraction. He didn’t seem angry, and he wasn’t concerned about me, but he was huge, and muscle-bound, as fierce as any man I’d ever seen.

Then, with his eyes still on me, he said, “Shoot her. Wait. No, no. Give me a gun.”

“NO!” I yelled.

That’s all I got out. Adanne’s good eye flew open and she found me in this unbelievable nightmare we were sharing.

The Tiger took a quick step forward. “Pretty girl,” he said. “Stupid bitch. Dead woman! You did this to her, Cross. You did this, not me.”

Blam.

Blam.

Chapter 113

HE HAD FIRED a police service revolver close to her head. Twice. He missed on purpose, and he laughed merrily at the prank.

“People find it difficult to believe that a black man can be clever and intelligent. Have you found that to be true, Doctor Cross? How about you, Adanne?”

She didn’t answer, but she spit at him. “Murderer,” she said.

“One of the best and proud of my accomplishments.”

Then he fired a third shot, right between Adanne’s eyes. Her body lurched forward, and she landed facedown on the ground. Her arms spread out like wings. Adanne didn’t move.

As fast as that, as insane, she was gone. Adanne was dead in this horrid jail cell, murdered by the Tiger as the police looked on and did nothing to stop him.

Rage poured out of me. There were no words for what I was feeling. A cord tightened around my throat, another around my forehead.

Don’t worry about me, Adanne had said. She knew they were going to kill her; she knew it all the time.

Her killer stood over her and he watched me. Then he grinned. He dropped his trousers, went down on his knees, and committed his final outrage against Adanne.

“Pretty girl,” he growled. “You did this to her. Never forget that, Detective. Never.”

Chapter 114

ALEX, DON’T WORRY about me.

Don’t worry about me.

Don’t worry.

Night had become morning somehow, and I was still alive. I could see that it was light through the black fabric of a hood they made me wear. What’s more, I was being moved.

The neck cord kept me oxygen hungry and weak as they dragged me outside. They threw me like cargo into the backseat of a truck or van, a vehicle with a high step and a diesel engine.

Then we drove for a long time. I kept my eyes open inside the hood. Still, all I could see in my mind was the last moment when Adanne was alive, and then…

The Tiger had killed her, and worse. He thought I was a joke. He said I was no threat to him. Just another policeman. We’d see.

If I lived through the next few hours or so.

As the ride continued, I prayed for Adanne and for her family. I told them, in my own way, that this wasn’t over yet. Not that it mattered to them. But it did to me. I wondered why I was still alive. It made no sense to me. Another mystery.

When we finally stopped, car doors opened on either side of me. Now what?

Somebody shoved my head down into the seat. The cuffs were roughly removed. Powerful hands pressed into the small of my back and pushed hard. “You go home now. Go.’”

I went flying through the air but only for a few seconds of uncertainty and terror.

Then I landed on stone or cement. By the time I’d gotten up and untied the hood, they were gone, out of sight, whoever had brought me here.

They had dropped me on a side street next to an official-looking building, the sort of white stone box you might find in downtown DC.

I could see through an iron fence and across a manicured front lawn to a gatehouse out front.

An American flag flew above it, flapping in a light breeze.

This was the American consulate. Had to be. The embassy was in Abuja. That must be where I was now.

But why?

Chapter 115

SOMETHING WAS GOING on here at the consulate. Something big. And dangerous-looking. Hundreds of people were gathered in the streets outside the front gates. Actually, it looked like there were two separate crowds. Half of them were lined up like they were waiting to get in. The other half, on the opposite side of a concrete barrier, were demonstrating against the United States.

I saw hand-lettered placards that read US PAYS THE PRICE, and DELTA PEOPLE, DELTA RULE, and NO MORE AMERICANS.

Even from a distance, I could tell it was the kind of scene that could turn ugly, or violent, at any time. I didn’t wait around for that to happen.

I walked around the corner, and leading with my good shoulder, I started pushing through the crowd. People on both sides grabbed at me, either because I was cutting in line or, maybe, because I looked like an American. The shouting on the street side blocked out any other noise around me.

One guy got hold of my shirt. He ripped it all the way down the back before I knocked his arm away.

The shirt didn’t matter to me. Nothing did anymore. Once again I wondered why I was still alive. Because they thought I was CIA? Because I had friends in Washington? Or maybe because they finally believed I was a cop?

I made my way to the main gate. Standing there, filthy and barefoot, with no passport to show, I told the double-chinned marine who got in my face that my name was Alex Cross, I was an American police officer, and I had to speak with the ambassador right away.

The marine didn’t want to hear it, not a word.

“I was kidnapped. I’m an American cop,” I told him. “I just witnessed a murder.”

Out of the side of his mouth the marine muttered, “Take a number.”

Chapter 116

I WAS GOING more than a little crazy now, but I had to hold my emotions in. I had stories to tell someone, information to give, Adanne’s secrets to share with someone who could make a difference.

I got several minutes of healthy skepticism at the gate before I finally convinced a marine guard to call in my name. The response came back right away: Bring Detective Cross inside. It was almost as if they were expecting me. I wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not. Given my recent history, probably not.

The consulate lobby, with its metal detectors and bulletproof glass on all the windows, felt like an urban police station. People were lined up at every desk and window, most of them clearly agitated, waiting to be seen.

All the American accents – and a portrait of Condoleezza Rice presiding over the room-played tricks with my mind about where I was, and exactly how I had gotten here.

Once inside, I was met by a nonmilitary escort in an off-white suit. He was “Mr. Collins,” a Nigerian of some unspecified position here.

Unlike the marine who’d brought me this far, Collins was friendly and animatedly answered a few questions as we walked.

“There’s been at least one rebel attack in Rivers State today,” he explained, gesticulating the whole time. “Much bigger than we’ve seen before. The government won’t admit to it, but the independent media is calling it the beginning of a civil war.”

The populist buzz on the first floor gave way to crisp officiousness and hushed conversations on the second.

I was taken straight to the ambassador’s consular suite, where I waited outside his office for several minutes until a dozen men, black, white, and four who looked Chinese, walked out all at once. Each of them appeared somber and nervous. No one met my gaze, or perhaps no one was in the least interested that I was sitting there barefoot and in rags.

Mr. Collins politely held the door for me, and then he closed it from the outside.

Chapter 117

AMBASSADOR ROBERT OWELEEN was tall and willowy, almost too thin, a silver-haired man of maybe sixty. He stood behind his large antique desk flanked by American and Nigerian flags. Two aides stayed where they were, on a small couch in an alcove off to one side.

“Mr. Cross.” He shook my hand, unsmiling. “My God, what happened to you?”

“A lot. I won’t waste your time. I’m here about a man, a killer, known as the Tiger. It’s a matter of Nigerian and American security.”

He swept my words away in the air. “I know why you’re here, Mr. Cross. I’ve been getting all kinds of pressure from Abu Rock about you.”

“Excuse me – Abu Rock?”

“The capital. It seems that the only one who wants you in Nigeria is you. The CIA has actually saved your life here, haven’t they?”

Now I was a little dumbstruck, to add to my general numbness and dizziness about what had happened recently. The American ambassador knew about my presence here? Was someone taking out billboards about me or something?

“We’re sending you home today,” Oweleen continued, with finality in his voice.

I looked at the floor and back at him again, trying to keep it together. “Sir, the man I’m chasing is a mass murderer. He may have government ties here. He’s definitely involved with the police in some mysterious way. If I could just have a chance to reach my CIA contact in Lagos–”

He cut me off. “What exactly do you think your authority is, Mr. Cross? You’re a visitor in this country, nothing more than that. You can take this up with the State Department if you wish. In Washington.”

“He needs to be stopped, sir. Yesterday he murdered a reporter for the Guardian named Adanne Tansi. I saw him kill her. He murdered her entire family. He’s responsible for at least eight deaths in Washington.”

Finally, Oweleen exploded. “Who the hell are you? I never even heard of you until three days ago, and now I’m taking time out for this? Do you have any idea what’s going on here?”

He waved his hand at the plasma TV on the wall. “Turn that up.”

One of the aides pushed a button on a remote – and then I watched the TV in shocked silence and with dread.

Chapter 118

THE TV WAS tuned to CNN. A British reporter was speaking over an image of an upscale housing complex – white two-story buildings in neat rows, shot from high above.

The overlay read “Breaking News – Summit Oil Residential Compound, Bonny Island, Nigeria.”

“Never before have families been taken,” the reporter was saying, “and certainly never this number of live hostages. In an e-mail to the international press, People for the Liberation of the Niger Delta now have claimed responsibility for the incident – with these shocking images attached to their message.”

The screen switched to grainy infrared video.

Dozens of people sat along the floor of a dark hallway. Their heads were covered and hands tied, but it was easy to tell there were men, women, and children on the film. Some of them were crying, others moaning piteously.

“Those are British and American citizens,” Ambassador Oweleen informed me. “Every one of them. Consider yourself lucky to get a flight out of here at all.”

“What flight? When?”

He held up a hand, looking back at the TV. “Look at this, will you? Do you see what’s happening?” Armed troops were streaming out of a truck single file.

The British reporter went on: “Government forces have established a perimeter around the entire complex, while economic pressure mounts internationally.

“With more attacks promised, oil-production facilities are shutting down regionwide, approaching an unprecedented seventy percent slowdown, which is considered to be catastrophic.

“Chinese, French, Dutch, and of course US interests in particular are at stake. Under normal trade conditions, Nigeria provides about twenty percent of American oil.”

A phone buzzed on the desk. Ambassador Oweleen picked it up. “Yes?” he said, and then, “Send them in.”

“Sir,” I tried again. “I’m not asking for much. I just need to make one phone call–”

“We’ll get you a shower and some fresh clothes right away. And we’ll take care of any immigration issues. We can get you a new passport right away. But then you’re gone. Forget about your manhunt. As of right now, it’s over.”

I finally snapped at him. “I don’t need a shower! Or fresh clothes. I need you to listen to me. I just witnessed a reporter named Adanne Tansi being murdered at the Kirikiri Prison. She was writing an important story that has relevance to the violence near the oil fields.”

The doors to the office opened, and Oweleen’s eyes shifted right past me. It was as though the moment I raised my voice, I’d lost him. He didn’t even respond to what I’d said.

He spoke directly to the double marine escort waiting there. “We’re all done here. Take Detective Cross downstairs and get him cleaned up for travel back to the US.”

Chapter 119

THE TWO MARINES were polite and respectful enough but very mission oriented as they escorted me to a subbasement locker room.

It had tall wooden lockers and a faded carpet, a tiled steam room and whirlpool, and a small area for showering. As promised, I was given a fresh towel.

One of the marines asked me my trouser, shirt, and shoe size and then left. The other marine told me I had about ten minutes to shower and dress, so I ought to get started. Both of the marines were black – probably no coincidence there.

There were four stalls, each with a curtained changing cubicle in front. I stood inside the last one, my mind racing while the clock ran down on my time in the country.

What was I going to do? There were no windows in the room, and there was only one exit. I turned on the water, just to sound busy.

Then I leaned in and let it pour over my head.

Suddenly my whole body was shaking. I was remembering Adanne, and that had to stop, for now, anyway

A minute later, I heard someone moving around outside. A curtain slid open and closed. One of the other showers was turned on.

Someone was humming that James Blunt ballad that was always on the radio, the one where he keeps repeating the word beautiful.

I took off the remnants of my shirt. Then I stuck my head under the water again, and leaned back out, dripping on the floor.

“Hey, can you get me another towel?” I asked the guard.

I had noticed there were stacks of them by the entrance when we’d come in.

“Why do you need two?” he leaned inside the shower and said.

“Are you kidding? You saw the way I look. And smell.”

He shook his head but went to get the extra towel.

“Thanks,” I called.

I immediately stepped over to the other cubicle, holding the curtain rings to keep them from singing on the bar.

Whoever was showering next to me had hung his clothes on a hook in the changing stall.

I rifled through the pants pockets and found just what I was hoping for – a cell phone.

Seconds later, I was back in my own stall just before the marine looped a white terry towel over the top of the bar. “You’d better pick up the pace,” he said from outside the curtain.

I turned the shower up as hard – and as loud – as it would go.

Then I dialed Ian Flaherty’s number.

He answered himself.

Chapter 120

“FLAHERTY,” I SAID. “It’s Alex Cross.”

“Cross? Where are you?”

“I’m at the consulate. I’m in Africa. They’re sending me out of the country. It’s going down right now. I need you to talk to someone and get it stopped. I’m close to the bastard, the Tiger.”

He didn’t even pause before he answered. “No can do. I can’t cover for you anymore.”

“I don’t need you to cover for me. Adanne Tansi is dead – he killed her. I need you to make a call or two. I can break this case now.”

“You don’t get it,” Flaherty said. “You’re done over here. Game over. Go home and stay there. Forget about Abi Sowande. Or whatever his name is now.”

The water in the other shower stopped. The man in there started whistling. I hit the heel of my hand against my forehead, putting it all together. Flaherty hadn’t been covering for me at all. I had this all wrong, right from the beginning.

“I was covering for you, wasn’t I?” I said.

The whistling in the next stall stopped for a second and then continued.

“That’s why you wanted people thinking I was CIA. I was out in the open. While you played covert, I was a useful distraction.”

“Listen.” I could hear in Flaherty’s voice that he was done. “I’ve got to run. We saved your bacon a couple of times. Be thankful. There’s a war going on here. Get the hell out of Dodge – call me from the States.”

“Flaherty!”

He hung up at the same time that the shower curtain flew open.

The marine who’d fetched the towel was there and looking totally pissed off. He pushed me into the wall and pinned my wrist. I didn’t struggle with him. For one thing, my shoulder was howling with pain. When he reached for the cell phone, I just opened my hand and let him take it.

Game over, all right.

I was going home.

Whether I wanted to or not.

Honestly, I had mixed feelings.

Chapter 121

I LEFT THE consulate pretty much the way I’d left Kirikiri as a captive. This time, of the American government. I wondered if I could possibly get away again. And did I really want to?

One of the marine escorts drove, while the other sat in back with me. Worse, they had handcuffed me to him. I guess they’d decided I wanted to do this the hard way.

The main gates to the consulate were closed as we drove toward them. No one was waiting to get in anymore.

The demonstrators had swollen in number, though. They were lined along the fence, holding on to it like they would jail bars, cursing against all things American, as well as the life that fate had dealt them.

Once we were through the main gates, the crowd closed in around us.

Bodies pressed against the car windows, palms slapped on the glass, and fists beat the roof. I could see anger and fear in their eyes, the frustration of lifetimes of injustice and misery.

“What do these people want?” the young marine in back with me asked. His name tag said Owens. “Those hostages in the Delta are Americans and Brits. They’re probably going to die.”

“What do they want?” the marine at the wheel said. “They want us not to be here.”

And nobody wants me here, I was thinking, not even the Americans. Nobody wants to hear the truth either.

Chapter 122

THE ROADWAYS TO Murtala were even more crowded and bustling than the last time I’d been here – if that was possible. We parked at the very same air base Adanne and I had used to go to Sudan. We had to take a shuttle from there.

The bus was jammed with American families presumably headed home or at least out of Nigeria. Everyone was talking nonstop about the terrifying hostage drama in the Delta. No one had been freed yet, and everybody was afraid the hostages would be killed soon.

The surprise to me was how little attention anyone gave to two men handcuffed together. I guess these people had other things on their minds besides me and my marine guard.

The terminal at the airport was overflowing, noisy, and as chaotic as the scene of a bombing. We burrowed our way in to a security office to arrange a walk-through to the plane.

Apparently the handcuffs weren’t coming off until I was buckled in tight and pointed toward home.

The waiting area was packed, like everywhere else, with all eyes turned toward a single TV. It was tuned to an African channel.

The female reporter had a Yoruban accent, just like Adanne’s, and it was the strangest thing, but that’s what finally put me over the edge. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I began to shake as if I had a fever.

“You okay, man?” the marine cuffed to me asked. He seemed like a good man, actually. He was just doing a job, and doing it well.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I’m fine.”

Still, I wasn’t the only one crying in the room. With good reason. Nigerian troops had moved in on the Bonny Island complex in what was supposed to be a “rescue mission.” Instead, all thirty-four hostages were now dead. Open fighting had broken out all through the Delta region. Riots were reported in at least two other states in the south.

The images of the slaughtered hostages were shocking by American news standards. The hostages were lying on the floor of the corridor, adults and children both. The bodies were slumped and fallen, draped over one another, with bloodstained clothes, and hoods still over their heads.

One woman near me let out a piercing scream. Her family was still down in the Delta. Everyone else was quietly fixated on the screen.

“Governors’ offices in Rivers, Delta, and Bayelsa states have issued warnings,” the reporter went on. “Local citizens are urged to avoid all but the most necessary travel for at least the next twenty-four hours. Full curfew is in effect. Violators will be arrested, or possibly shot.”

The marine cuffed to me, Owens, spoke. “Your plane is boarding. Let’s go, Detective Cross. Hell, I wish I could go with you. I’m from DC myself. I’d like to go home. I miss it. You have no idea.”

I took a number from Owens and promised to call his mother when I got back.

A few minutes later we were all being led out to the airplane. I heard someone call my name and I looked to one side, toward the terminal building.

What I saw there froze my blood and seemed to change everything.

Father Bombata was looking right at me, and he raised his small hand and waved.

Standing beside him, towering over the priest – if he was indeed a priest – was the Tiger. Abi Sowande. The monster ran his thumb across his throat.

What was that supposed to mean – that this wasn’t finished?

Hell, I knew that.

It wasn’t over by a long shot. I had never given up on a case yet.

But maybe the Tiger already knew that.