Sooley

Chapter 51

On a beautiful spring day in early April, a Wednesday, Sooley rose early and slipped out of his dorm room to call his mother. Murray, always the deadhead, heard nothing and didn’t move.

They had moved back to the dorm for two reasons. First, they had grown tired of living with Miss Ida and Ernie and their bothersome expectations. Second, and far more important, was the fact that the dorm was filled with admiring girls who enjoyed hanging out in their room. The benefits of stardom were quite satisfying. Murray was happy to share in reflected glory.

Beatrice said she and the boys were doing okay with little change in their routines. They were sad that the season had ended so abruptly and worried about Samuel’s disappointment, but they were determined to survive until tomorrow. Samuel confessed to his mother that the end of the season was a huge letdown. Suddenly gone was the focus, the daily challenge, the structure of a schedule, the dream of winning and advancing. The weather was turning warm, spring was beautiful, but basketball was behind them.

His mother would be completely unable to understand the decisions facing him: leaving college early, hiring an agent, entering the draft, turning pro, or forgoing it all and returning to Central for another year or two. So he did not burden her with such talk. After fifteen minutes, the pleasant Christine took the phone and said goodbye.

Making as much noise as possible, Sooley showered and dressed and left the lights on, and in doing so did not provoke the slightest twitch from his roommate. He left the dorm early and went for a long walk on campus, one that would not be possible in a couple of hours. He made it to The Nest without being stopped once by a student wanting a photo.

Coach Britt was waiting in his office with Coach Grinnell. Dressed casually, in golf shirts and sweats, they were sipping coffee and appeared to have been talking for a long time.

There were so many postseason rumors roaring through the internet that their lives were unsettled. However, one important decision had to be made soon.

Lonnie said, “You have less than a week to make your decision, Samuel. What are you thinking?”

The NCAA was toying with ways to keep underclassmen in college. One idea was to allow them to hire an agent on a temporary basis, go through a workout and get evaluated by a panel of experts who would rate their chances in the draft, and call it off if things didn’t look too promising. They could then stay in school and not lose eligibility. But this was just a proposal. At the moment, if Sooley hired an agent and entered the draft there was no turning back if it proved disappointing. He could probably make a buck playing in Serbia or Israel, but his college playing days would be over.

He loved Central and everything about college life. It was the only home he knew and the thought of leaving was unsettling. However, he was devouring everything he could find online about the draft, player projections, lottery picks, agents, rookie contracts, the millions of dollars waiting out there, and the stars like Kobe and LeBron and Kevin Garnett who turned pro after high school and never bothered with college. He had found a dozen stories about good players who’d stayed in college only to see their careers ruined by injuries.

The question he wanted to ask was: “Okay, Coach, what are you thinking?”

The internet was rife with speculations about where his coach was headed, but every blog seemed to agree that Lonnie Britt was leaving Central.

Sooley shrugged and said, “I don’t want to leave, Coach, but timing is everything, you know?”

“Have you talked to an agent?”

“Not yet. Their runners are around, bugging me, bugging Murray, but I haven’t spoken to an agent yet. You think I should?”

Lonnie nodded, as did Jason Grinnell.

“You need an agent, Samuel,” Lonnie said. “But be careful.”

Sooley absorbed this with a poker face. He knew damned well that Lonnie himself had an agent and that they were aggressively pursuing openings around the country. His agent was a slick operator from Houston who repped a lot of college basketball coaches. According to the online dirt, and there was a pile of it, Price was trying to manipulate searches at Purdue, Marquette, and several other schools involved in the annual postseason game of musical chairs.

“I’m hesitant to recommend an agent, Samuel,” Lonnie said. “There are a lot of them and I don’t have much experience. I’m getting calls.”

Jason Grinnell laughed and said, “We’re all getting calls, Samuel. Every agent in the country, certified or not, is calling and trying to get a foot in the door. I’ve never had so many friends.”

The laughter died and an awkward pause followed. Finally, Sooley asked, “So, what am I supposed to do? Do you think I’m ready for the draft? Or should I stay in school?”

Lonnie smiled and said, “You’re every bit as good as the players you faced in the tournament. We believe in you and want you to succeed. Sure, I’d love to coach you for three more years, but that’s not going to happen. You can’t say no to the money, Samuel.”

“What’s going to happen to you?”

“I don’t know. Lots of rumors. But I’m in no hurry. You, on the other hand, need to make a decision.”

“Do you know Arnie Savage?”

“Never met him, but he’s rumored to be a decent agent. Why?”

“His runner has been persistent. Showed up in Norfolk, then again in Memphis after we beat Duke. Said hello to Murray and wanted to get together.”

“Murray didn’t tell me.”

“No sir. He didn’t tell me either. The contact was unauthorized but, as I’ve learned, it’s really no big deal. Just a runner. I’ve checked out Savage and he seems to be legit. Has two dozen or so players in the NBA.”

Lonnie asked, “You want me to make phone calls?”

“No sir, but thanks. I’m digging for myself, plus Murray’s got my back.”

Jason said, “You gotta do it, Sooley. You can’t say no to the money.”

“I know.”

Murray sat at the kitchen table with his parents and sipped a soda. No food was present. There was nothing doing on the stove or in the oven, not a whiff of the usual delicious aroma.

Ida was perturbed and had been for some time. She was saying, “He’s not even nineteen years old. You gotta be nineteen, right?”

“Sort of. You have to turn nineteen in the calendar year you’re drafted.”

“That’s too young,” she said.

“That’s the rule, Mom. And what’s the big deal anyway? What about baseball and hockey? Every year hundreds of eighteen-year-old kids turn pro right out of high school, been doing it for years, for decades. Al Kaline won the American League batting title when he was twenty years old. Joe Nuxhall pitched his first game for the Reds at the age of fifteen.”

“Who?” Ida asked.

“And those old white guys are somehow relevant to Sooley and the NBA?” Ernie asked.

“No, they’re not. My point is that eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds go pro all the time now. Duke has three or four of them this year. Kentucky has at least two. Why do you think those guys are more mature than Sooley?”

“He’s just a kid,” Ida said, again. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“Get with it, Mom. He needs to sign with an agent and enter the draft.”

Ernie was shaking his head. “I don’t like it. He needs to finish college and then think about going pro.”

Murray said, “I disagree. What if there’s a million bucks on the table? And he says no, comes back to Central, then gets hurt? Why take that chance? All Sooley wants is to make some money that will enable him to go get his family. That’s what he thinks about. Sure, a college degree would be nice, and he plans to get one sooner or later. But he will not sleep well until his mother and brothers are over here, safe and sound.”

Ida said, “He’s not going to make a million dollars, is he?”

Murray smiled while shaking his head in frustration. “Mom, I know you don’t follow the game online and that’s a good thing. But right now most experts and bloggers are picking Sooley to go mid to late first round, probably between the fifteenth and twentieth picks. On something known as the Rookie Scale Contract, that means his first-year guaranteed salary is about two million dollars. Double that for year two.”

Ida shook her head in disbelief.

Ernie said, “He can’t even drive a car.”

“Well, I’m teaching him. In a few months he’ll own a Porsche.”

“God help us.”

Reynard Owen sat in a booth and watched a cold rain sprinkle the parking lot. The restaurant was on the outskirts of Chapel Hill, twenty-five minutes from Central’s campus. On time, the small blue pickup pulled into the lot and parked next to Reynard’s sleek black Jaguar. From the passenger’s side, Sooley got out, unfolded himself, and looked at the Jaguar. Murray got out and admired it too. One of them said something funny and both laughed as they crossed the parking lot. Inside, Reynard waved them over and they met in a booth, far away from anyone else.

Everything about Reynard was cool. The tailored jacket, designer frames, gold Rolex. He exuded success and wealth beyond his thirty years, but that was expected. Sooley and Murray, a couple of broke college kids, were impressed but they knew they were supposed to be. Reynard was nothing more than a salesman, a runner sent by his boss to break the ice with a potential client.

They talked about the tournament and Reynard asked if they were over the loss to Villanova. No, they were not. They ordered burgers and fries, and when the waitress left Murray said, “Let’s get on with the business here, okay? Sooley and I need to get back to the library and study all night.”

They were cutting classes right and left. The madness had left them with hangovers and they were still distracted by it. Plus, the Sooley story wasn’t going away and now centered on the kid turning pro.

Reynard flashed his perfect smile and said, “Sure. My boss is Arnie Savage, a cool guy about forty-five, played sparingly for Gonzaga decades ago. One of the top agents in the business. I’m sure you’ve checked him out and could name his NBA lineup.”

Both Sooley and Murray nodded. Yes, they could.

“Arnie gets top dollar, but all agents say that. Actually, the money is not a big issue at this stage because it’s controlled by the players union. The old guys don’t want the young guys to get all the money. I’m sure you’re familiar with the Rookie Scale Contract.”

Both nodded.

“Depending on where you go in the first round, Arnie will negotiate a four-year deal with the first two guaranteed.”

Murray said, “The first round. Are you and Arnie sure he’ll go in the first round?”

“Murray, look, if Arnie wasn’t convinced, I wouldn’t be sitting here right now. He has enough clients already, so he doesn’t fool with guys down the draft, okay? Arnie’s all about the relationship. He cares deeply about his players and becomes their close friend, their confidant. He’d rather spend time with his players than try to hustle a contract for some kid to play in Europe. You understand?”

They nodded.

“Don’t get me wrong. He has clients in Europe, some great players over there, and he works hard to get ’em back over here where, just maybe, they belong. But most of his work is with the NBA.”

They kept nodding.

“Other than the friendship and advice, Arnie earns his money with the marketing and endorsements. It’s not unusual for one of his clients to make more money off the court than in the games. He’s shrewd and understands the real market value of his players.”

Sooley said, “And the more we make the more he makes.”

“Absolutely. He takes four percent off the top of your playing contract, same as all agents. Right now he has two hundred million in cumulative salaries, so the math gets easy. He’s annually ranked in the top ten sports agents. What you don’t always see are the deals for endorsements.”

Murray was nodding along as if he knew all this. Top five. Twenty-six players in the NBA. Four all-stars.

Sooley’s head was spinning. It was exciting enough to see his name tossed around by bloggers playing the draft game. He’d caught himself dreaming of having plenty of money. But, now, sitting across from a man who could connect him to his dreams, he was overwhelmed.

Their platters arrived but all three ignored the food. Reynard was saying, “What Arnie wants is this. Let’s go see him. You need to meet Arnie and let him give you the full picture. He can map out the next five years of your life and he can make it happen.”

“Where is he?” Murray asked.

“Miami. South Beach. He likes warm weather.” He nodded at the window and said, “Sure beats this crap. They’re talking rain for the next three days.”

“Is that your Jag out there?” Murray asked.

“It is.”

“Maryland plates.”

“D.C. I cover this part of the country for Arnie.”

“How many guys on the force?”

“There are four of us and we travel a lot, especially this time of the year. Watch a lot of games, see a lot of film. Tons of networking.”

“You like it?”

“Love it.”

Murray was intrigued. A future in the NBA looked doubtful for him. Perhaps he might pursue the agent thing.

Sooley asked, “When does Mr. Savage want to see us?”

“Oh, he’ll fly up here. And no one calls him Mr. Savage. He’s just Arnie. But it would be much more fun to go down there. He’s got a cool place and there’s always a party. He’ll send a jet and we’ll be there in no time.”

“A private jet?” Murray asked.

“Sure. He’s got a couple.”

They were in.

Chapter 52

Ecko Lam was in town. He said he just happened to be passing through. The truth was he was needed by two of his friends.

The first was young Samuel. Ecko picked him up at the dorm early on a Friday morning and drove to a diner in downtown Durham. As they took their seats at a table Ecko said, “Good grief, son, are you still growing?”

“Feels like it,” Sooley said with a grin. “Haven’t been measured lately.”

“How much do you weigh?”

“Not enough. Guess who I had a long talk with last night?”

“Niollo?”

Sooley laughed and said, “How’d you know?”

“You told me to guess. I guess I got it right. What did he say?”

“Take the money and run. Said my stock might never be higher. Said there’s always the possibility of injuries and so on. He played one year at Syracuse, entered the draft at the age of nineteen and was the seventh overall pick.”

They ordered coffee, juice, and eggs. Ecko nodded along. This was old news. He had known Niollo for fifteen years.

Sooley continued, “He said the first year is pretty rough, but it’s the same for everyone. It takes a while for your body to adjust to an eighty-two-game schedule, but he thinks I’m mature enough physically to handle it.”

“Rumors are he’s leaving Miami.”

“We didn’t talk about that. Figured it was none of my business. I asked about agents and he didn’t say much. I got the impression he’s not too crazy about his.”

“Well, Samuel, I guess that settles it. If Niollo says go pro, then that’s what you’ll do. Right?”

“What’s your opinion?”

“I have a bias in favor of education. I’m very proud of my degree from Kent State because it’s the first in my family. If I had things my way, I’d like to see you go to medical school and become a doctor, then go home and build hospitals.”

“They would just burn ’em down. That’s ten more years of study, Ecko, then I’d make a good living, but not millions.”

“So you’re dreaming of millions?”

“That’s what the game pays now. Crazy money, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. I prefer education, Samuel, but let’s be honest. I did not have the option of playing in the NBA. My amazing talents were not appreciated. To the surprise of no one, I went undrafted. So, I became a coach.”

“And I’m so glad you did. What if we’d never met?”

“That’s too awful to think about.”

“I know. I read an article about myself last night. These days there are enough of them. Guy writes for ESPN, good writer, and he said that in the history of basketball no player has ever come so far in twelve months. Size, skill, maturity, mileage, all the yardsticks. Along with the tragedies. A year ago I stood six feet two and was playing on dirt courts in the African bush. Now I’m six feet eight and headed for the first round.”

“So, you enjoy reading about yourself?” Ecko was amused.

“Sometimes. I like to see what they get wrong. Some guys just make up facts, you know? And Murray scans the internet collecting stories.”

“As I say too often, Samuel, savor the moment.”

“It wouldn’t be wise to turn down the money, would it, Ecko?”

“No. You gotta do it, Samuel. Everybody says you’ll go in the first round. I certainly think so. You can’t turn down the money.”

“I know. The best way to help my family is to make the money and meet important people. That’s not going to happen here at Central.”

“I’m with you, Samuel.”

Lonnie closed and locked his office door. He sat behind his desk and stared at Ecko, who was smiling.

Finally, Lonnie said, “I don’t want to leave. I love these kids. I recruited them, made them promises, watched them grow up, had a helluva ride with them last month. How am I supposed to tell them I’m leaving?”

“Every coach has to do it, Lonnie. It’s just part of the business. It’ll be rough and everybody will have a good cry, then the new guy’ll come in and they’ll forget about you. That’s life.”

“I know, I know.”

“This is what you’ve dreamed of and worked for. You’ve earned it, Lonnie. It’s time for a big promotion.”

“Have I earned it? Sooley was a once-in-a-lifetime miracle. Take him away, and we were headed for a losing season. I didn’t develop the kid. He turned into some sort of freak who got hot and almost conquered the world. The rest of us were just along for the ride.”

“You’ve won twenty games a year for five straight years. In this business, that gets you a promotion and a nice raise.”

“A helluva raise. Ten times what I’m making now.”

“I rest my case. What about Agnes?”

“You kidding? She wants the money.”

“Then take it and stop whining.”

“Why can’t I take Sooley with me?”

“Because last night he got a call from Niollo, who told him he was old enough to play in the NBA. Said take the money and run. He’s running now.”

“Good for him.” They were quiet for a long time, and somber. Lonnie could not imagine calling a team meeting and saying goodbye. By now his players knew they would lose Sooley. Losing their coach would crush them.

He said, “Truthfully, Agnes is not crazy about moving to Milwaukee. She got enough snow when we were at Northern Iowa. The kids are happy in school here.”

“And they’ll be happy wherever you go. Don’t worry about the snow because the planet is warming, in case you haven’t heard. Come on, Lonnie, Marquette is big-time basketball and they’re offering you a fortune. You’re forty years old and you’re going places. How many times have we had this conversation?”

“I know.” Lonnie glanced at his watch.

Ecko did the same and said, “I want a nice lunch in some swanky place. It’s my turn to get the check but I’m broke and you’re wealthy now, so it’s on you.”

“Okay, okay.”

For at least the third time in a tense standoff, Murray reminded his father that he was twenty years old and capable of making his own decisions, and if he wanted to spend the weekend on South Beach with Samuel and others then he would certainly do so. He was old enough to vote, join the army, buy a car if he could only afford one, and sign other contracts, and, well, there. So be it.

They were in Ernie’s cramped office at the downtown food bank. Ernie thought the trip was a bad idea, as did Miss Ida. Both had said no and Murray was chafing under their efforts to supervise. He had chosen to confront his father because Ernie was the softer touch. A “No” from Ida had greater authority.

But it didn’t matter. The boys were leaving. Murray said goodbye and slammed the door on the way out. Ernie waited half an hour and called his wife.

They were losing sleep over the prospect of Samuel leaving school and entering the draft. They had practically raised him in the past eight months and had become his family. He was a smart kid but not mature enough to make such important decisions. The money might ruin him. Sharks out there could manipulate him. The temptations would be great. He was just a simple kid who couldn’t even drive a car and certainly wasn’t ready for fame and fortune.

Chapter 53

Right on time, a black SUV stopped in front of the dorm where Murray and Sooley were waiting eagerly. They tossed their gym bags in the back and hopped in. Reynard had said to pack lightly. They would be wearing tee shirts and shorts all weekend. It might be damp and chilly in Durham, but on South Beach it was all blue skies, string bikinis, and sunshine.

It was almost five on Friday afternoon. Sooley looked at his cell phone, frowned, and whispered, “It’s your mother. For the third time. I can’t ignore her calls.”

“Ignore them,” Murray said. “I am. They’re out of line, Sooley. Forgive them.”

“They’re just concerned, that’s all. I’ll call her from the plane.”

They arrived at the general aviation terminal and met a pilot in the lounge. He took their bags and escorted them onto the tarmac where a gorgeous private jet was waiting. He waved them up the stairs and said, “Off to Miami, gentlemen.”

They bounded up and were met by Reynard, holding a bottle of beer. A pretty flight attendant took their jackets and drink orders. Beers all around. In the rear a comely blonde stood and walked forward with a perfect smile. Reynard said, “This is my girlfriend, Meg. Meg, Sooley and Murray.” She shook their hands as they admired her deep blue eyes.

They settled into enormous leather chairs and absorbed the cabin’s rich detail. Meg, whose skirt was tight and short, crossed her legs and Sooley’s heart skipped a beat. Murray tried not to look and asked Reynard, “So, what kind of jet do we have here?”

“A Falcon 900.”

Murray nodded as if his tastes in private aircraft were quite discriminating. “What’s the range?”

“Anywhere, really. We flew to Croatia last year to see a kid, a wasted trip. One stop, I believe. Arnie wants to stop handling players in Europe, though. He has enough here in the States.”

The flight attendant appeared with a tray with two iced bottles of beer. Meg asked for a glass of wine. The airplane began to taxi as Murray kept asking about what the jet could and could not do. The flight attendant asked them to strap in for takeoff, then disappeared into the rear.

Fifteen minutes later she reappeared with fresh drinks and asked if anyone was hungry. The thought of eating at 40,000 feet in such luxury was overwhelming, and the boys ordered small pizzas.

Meg proved to be quite the basketball buff and quizzed them on their run to the Final Four. Because of Reynard’s line of work, she watched a lot of basketball, college and pro, and knew all the players and coaches and even some of the refs. Reynard estimated that he personally attended at least seventy-five games each season, and Meg was often with him.

Not a bad life, Murray was thinking, and quizzed Reynard about his work. Sooley checked his cell phone, saw that there was coverage, and stepped to the rear to call Miss Ida. She did not answer.

Arnie’s sprawling home was on a street near the ocean. It, along with its neighbors, had obviously been designed by cutting-edge architects trying mightily to shock each other. Front doors were taboo. Upper floors landed at odd angles. One was a series of three glass silos attached by what seemed like chrome gangplanks. Another was a grotesque bunker patterned after a peanut shell with no glass at all. After eight months in Durham, Sooley had never seen a house there that even remotely resembled these bizarre structures.

Arnie’s was one of the prettier ones, with three levels and plenty of views. The limo stopped in the circular drive and a barefoot butler greeted them. He showed them through the front opening, again no door, and to a vast open space with soaring ceilings and all manner of Calder-like mobiles dangling in the air.

“The party’s back there,” the butler said, pointing to the rear lawn where a large well-lit pool welcomed the guests.

“We’re gonna change,” Reynard said, and he and Meg disappeared. In well-worn jeans, sneakers, and tee shirts, Sooley and Murray almost felt overdressed. Everyone wore shorts. Some had shoes. They eased to a corner, found the bar, got another beer, and watched as two girls jumped in the pool. Soft rap barked from hidden speakers. Guests came and went into the house and back.

Someone said loudly, “Hey, it’s Sooley!” The stranger walked over with a big smile and even bigger handshake. He introduced himself as Julian somebody and said he and Reynard worked together. Every guest had some connection to the game, and at that moment Samuel Sooleymon was the most famous college player in the country. A crowd soon gathered around him and he chattered away. Someone brought him a fresh beer. Some girls drifted over.

They were attractive and of all shades — black, white, and brown — and all appeared to be no older than twenty. Several strutted around in skimpy swimwear, others in tight shorts with revealing blouses. Murray, as always, began flirting.

A long table was set up in the main room and dinner was served. The guests were other agents who worked with Arnie, a couple of executives with the Heat, some coaches in the area, some friends from the neighborhood. The casual gathering gave the impression that in Arnie’s world a party such as this could materialize at a moment’s notice.

Where was Arnie? Murray asked Reynard, who said the boss was flying in and should arrive anytime now.

Other guests were arriving. Murray recognized Lynn Korby, a guard for the Heat, who had been injured for the past month. The team was on the road finishing up the season. The playoffs would begin in a week. The sighting of Korby made Sooley wonder if Niollo might show up, but Murray didn’t think so.

After dinner, a DJ appeared and cranked up the music. A dance floor emerged from the landscaping beside the pool and was soon crowded with gyrating couples. Behind a row of hedges a smaller party was under way in a large hot tub where half a dozen young ladies skinny-dipped and splashed around while balancing flutes of champagne. Sooley and Murray fell into lawn chairs and watched the show. Murray said, “Sooley, old boy, we’re a long way from Durham.”

They hung out, danced, drank beers, and otherwise partied until after midnight. With no end in sight, Sooley said he’d had enough. A porter showed them to their bedroom on the second floor, on a wing that resembled a designer dormitory. They retired to matching single beds and fell asleep with the sounds of the party still rocking below.

Reynard fetched them late the following morning and led them to a deck near the pool. A large canopy shielded the sun and a fan cooled the pleasant air. Arnie Savage was on the phone and jumped to his feet when he saw them. The phone disappeared. He introduced himself, shook hands warmly, and apologized for missing his party the night before. He offered them seats and within seconds a young lady was waiting to take their orders. Omelets, pancakes, ham and eggs, avocado toast, you name it.

Murray looked at Reynard and asked, “What are you having?”

“Poached eggs on avocado toast is always good.”

“The best,” Arnie said. “I’ll take that too.”

Murray said, “I like waffles and bacon.”

“Me too,” Sooley said quickly.

Coffee and juice all around.

Sooley had read so much about Arnie that he felt like he’d known him for years. He was usually rated in the top ten NBA agents, and with his impressive list of clients he was considered one of the most powerful. They were expecting a high-octane salesman, one ready to promise everything. Instead, they were immediately disarmed by Arnie’s deliberate cadence and soft voice. He spoke at three-quarter speed and seemed to dwell on each word. He wanted them to talk, and he hung on every word and never blinked.

They talked about their miracle season, the adventures at the Final Four. Of course he had been there. He hadn’t missed one in years.

The food arrived and they dug in. Arnie had played in college and still looked game-ready; said he ran ten miles a day and played a lot of tennis. Between bites, he said, “So, Sooley, I guess it’s okay to call you that, right? I mean, half the world knows you as ‘Sooley’ but do you prefer Samuel?”

Murray blurted, “Sooley’s fine.” Samuel nodded.

“Then Sooley it is. Mind if I ask about the process in selecting an agent? How far along are you?”

“Just getting started,” Sooley said. “You’re the first. Me and my consultant here thought we would pick out two or three and say hello. Is that the way it’s normally done?”

“There’s no set way to do things. That’ll work just fine.”

Murray, now the consultant, said, “So tell us where you see him in the draft?”

“Sure. My team and I have watched you play, live and on a lot of film, and we’ve talked to scouts at every level. On the plus side, and there are far more positives than negatives, there is the obvious size, speed, quickness, leaping, shooting, everything really. In my opinion you’re the perfect age. You’re a team player, you smile a lot, and as we all watched, the entire world caught a good case of Sooleymania. You handled it beautifully and every pro team would love to draft you.”

“And the downside?” Murray asked, attacking another waffle.

Arnie smiled and sipped his coffee. “Lack of experience. No high school ball. Only one year of college, or half a year really. Virtually every other player that will go in the first two rounds has been well known for years. Those four at Duke played on a national team when they were fifteen and everybody saw them. I don’t have to remind you that in the world of sports there are many stories of athletes who came out of nowhere, lit it up for a short time, then faded, never to be seen again. Are you a bolt of lightning, Sooley? Some worry about that. I don’t. There is also concern about your last game. You didn’t play well against Villanova and some critics couldn’t wait to pounce and say you choked under pressure.”

Murray said, “He scored fifty-eight against Duke.”

“I know. You asked about the downside. There it is. None of it bothers me, Sooley. I’m convinced you have the body, talent, and brains for a long NBA career.”

“So where do I fit?”

Without hesitation, Arnie said, “You’ve seen the projections. Lots of experts out there. We do a mock draft every day in my office and spend hours moving names up and down. There are the four at Duke, two at Kentucky, Nkeke at Oregon, Dokafur at Minnesota, all first years. Then Darrell Whitley at Villanova, Long at San Diego, the big Russian at Gonzaga, and Barber at Kansas. That’s twelve, and somewhere around there is when your name gets called.”

Arnie rattled these off as if he had every stat memorized and knew what every GM was thinking.

Murray said, “So, twelve at the highest.”

“Nine, maybe ten at the highest, fifteen at the lowest. Definitely first round, Sooley. I’ll negotiate a four-year contract with two years guaranteed.”

“How much?” Sooley asked.

“You know the Rookie Scale, and you know it depends on where you land. But something like ten to fifteen million is realistic.”

Sooley couldn’t suppress a smile, nor could his consultant. Reynard watched him closely and saw the usual signs of disbelief. Dreaming was unavoidable, but hearing the numbers from a veteran like Arnie was always a shock.

Sooley put down his fork and took a sip of orange juice. His mouth was suddenly dry. His late father had earned about $200 a month as a schoolteacher, and for only eight months out of the year.

Arnie waited, took a bite, then continued, “I’ll take my four percent off the top, standard. When the endorsements start coming, and little will happen the first year or so, I’ll guide you through them and take ten percent. Again, that’s pretty standard. And I guard the money, Sooley. I could write a book about pro athletes who’ve squandered millions and left the game broke. Not my clients. I have an investment team and we work hard to protect you and your money. My clients do well on the court, off the court, and in the markets.”

Murray asked, “So you manage the money?”

“I do. My rookie players get some cash up front to adjust to the lifestyle. You’re in the NBA now and certain upgrades are expected. Wardrobe, a sports car, gifts for family and friends, a nice condo. I strongly advise against purchasing real estate until there is a long-term contract and trades look unlikely, though I can’t always control the trades. Once you’re on your feet and all properly equipped, we decide on how much you need each month. We’ll set up an allowance but it’s determined by what you want. We never lose sight of the fact that it’s your money, not mine. However, if you decide to take all of it, then you can find another agent. Again, Sooley, I protect my clients. If they decide they don’t want my protection, then I’m wasting my time.”

Sooley had lost his appetite and was nodding along.

Arnie took another bite and gave him plenty of time to ask questions. Hearing none, he continued, “The biggest problem is the entourage. You’ll attract all manner of friends, new and old, and everybody will want something. You’re lucky to have a friend like Murray.”

Sooley laughed and said, “He ain’t gettin’ nothin’.”

They shared a good laugh. Arnie said, “You’ll need him. And you’ll need his mother.”

“My mother?”

“Yes. Ida. I had a long chat with her this morning.”

“No! You gotta be kidding. Don’t tell me she called you.” Murray was shaking his head, humiliated.

“She did.”

“I’m so sorry, Arnie. So sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“She’s just butting in. I can’t believe this.”

“Relax, Murray. We had a good talk. She considers you two to be her boys and she’s just being protective.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. My mother died when I was ten years old. Be thankful she’s there.”

Murray and Sooley exchanged confused looks. “What does she want?” Sooley asked.

“Well, she asked to see the agency agreement you and I will sign. Fine with me. I’m an open book, Sooley. There are no secrets, no hidden language. She’s a lawyer and it’s a good thing for her to take a look. Any objections?”

Sooley raised both hands, palms up, and said, “Look, whatever Miss Ida wants is fine with me. I can’t say no to her.”

Murray said, “She’s tough. She’ll probably want to cut your four percent.”

Arnie laughed and said, “That’s not gonna happen. I’m sure Miss Ida and I can find plenty of common ground. I’ve been negotiating with GMs and owners and shoe companies for almost twenty years.”

Murray said, “And I’ve been negotiating with her for twenty years. Guess who usually wins.”

“Well, she did say she wants you two home in one piece. And I promised.”

Sooley asked, “Can we stay till tomorrow?”

“Sure. Got an idea. I have a sixty-foot boat, nice little rig. Let’s take it out this morning and catch some fish.”

“Awesome.”

Chapter 54

Late Monday night, the Central players received emails from Coach Britt calling for a team meeting. By then it was no surprise he was leaving. Speculation had been rampant. Two websites did little more than track coaching changes in major college sports, and since the end of the season there had been the usual deluge of gossip about who was getting fired and who was moving up. At least ten major schools were getting new coaches.

They gathered in the locker room at 4 p.m., and the mood was somber. The seniors — Mitch Rocker, Roy Tice, and Dmitri Robbins — were invited, though they had played their last game. They had been recruited by Coach Britt and he wanted to say goodbye. And Sooley was there too, though everyone knew he wouldn’t be back.

As always, in those dreadful farewells, there was a sense of betrayal. The returning players had committed four years of their lives to the coach and his program. Suddenly, his program wasn’t good enough for them. He was moving on to bigger things and more money. On the one hand, they were happy for a coach they loved and wanted to succeed at the highest level. On the other hand, they simply wanted him to stay. As a team they had just accomplished the unthinkable and the future looked bright.

Lonnie made it as brief as possible. He said he had agreed to a four-year contract at Marquette and would be leaving town soon. He apologized for his departure, for leaving behind the guys he’d recruited, guys he loved, but such is the nature of the game. Everybody moves on; nothing remains the same.

He surprised them with the news that Jason Grinnell would be named as his successor. The players were visibly relieved to hear this. Not a word had leaked and there had been nothing online. Jason was popular with the players and had helped recruit most of them.

As his voice began to break, Lonnie thanked them for the great times they’d had together, and said he would always remember them. Then he wiped his eyes, smiled at them, and left the room in tears.

Jason Grinnell stood and took over the meeting.

Two days later, Sooley signed a contract with Arnie Savage and entered the NBA draft. Central promptly issued a statement. No one was surprised.

The contract had been combed through by Ida Walker, who wanted a few changes. Arnie’s lawyer had emailed it to her, and when she printed it and first held it she felt like she needed to wash her hands. But the more she wrestled with it the more comfortable she became. It was as straightforward as Arnie had promised. His lawyer was easy to work with. Hey, they were all on the same team and pursuing the same goals.

Sooley was slowly beginning to resent her attempts at surveillance and control. For Murray, her involvement was beyond irksome. Though he doubted he would ever have the courage to do so, he was toying with the idea of taking a gap year and working as Sooley’s assistant. His friend needed him now and his life was only going to get more complicated. And Murray was seduced by the money, the private jets, the girls, the reflected glory, the sheer excitement of living through an NBA season.

Dream on, he kept telling himself.

Classes finally ended on May 2 and Sooley barely made it to the finish line. How was a guy supposed to study when he wasn’t returning in the fall? How was a guy supposed to stay motivated and think about three more years of college followed by an eternity in grad school when he was about to make millions playing his favorite game? It was simply not possible. Nor could he be bothered studying for final exams.

The break came in the library one night when he was supposed to be preparing for a biology final but was really just killing time and staying away from his dorm room. Murray had it for a couple of hours. Reynard texted and asked how things were going. Sooley stepped outside into the cool night and called him. When Sooley said he was studying for finals, Reynard actually began laughing and couldn’t stop. Sooley indeed felt rather foolish.

“Got an idea,” Reynard said. “Instead of worrying about final exams, why don’t you ride down with me to Arnie’s place for a few days? He’s got a couple of NBA assistants in town and he thinks it would be a great benefit for you to work out with them and talk about the Combine. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”

Without hesitating, Sooley said yes.

He slept late the following morning and waited for Murray to leave. He crammed as much clothing, toiletries, and other assets as possible into a large gym bag and a backpack. When the black SUV rolled to a stop in front of the dorm, Sooley tossed his bags in the hatch and hopped in the back seat.

Leaving campus, it hit him hard that he would probably never come back, and that saddened him almost to the point of tears. He had arrived in August, a broken kid still reeling from the horrors at home, uncertain who in his family was still alive, if anyone. His father’s death had been confirmed but the rest of them were missing. Coach Britt had offered a sympathy scholarship, one that had paid off nicely.

He thought of Beatrice and how disappointed she would be to see him leaving school, but he couldn’t worry about that now. She might understand one day.

He waited until he was at South Beach before he texted Murray: “In South Beach at Arnie’s for a few days. Please don’t tell your mother. All good.”

To which Murray replied: “Douchebag!! What about final exams?”

“What about them?”

“I’m telling Mom.”

Arnie’s impressive spread did not include his own basketball gym, so he borrowed one from a private school around the corner. Late in the afternoon, on the drive to the gym, Reynard explained that Arnie was in Philadelphia meeting with Darrell Whitley of Villanova. If he signed him, the company would have two first-rounders, every agent’s dream.

Van and Herman were shooting baskets and waiting for them. Introductions were made and they seemed delighted to meet Sooley. Van was once an assistant with the Mavericks and Herman once scouted for the Magic. They were somewhere in Arnie’s orbit but their positions were not clear. Van took training seriously, and Arnie had asked him to guide Sooley through half an hour of stretching and slow movements, and to emphasize that the routine was now a part of his daily life. Once he was properly loosened, they began shooting drills. After days off, it felt great to bounce a ball again and take some shots.

During a break, they talked about the Combine. Van thought it was a good idea. Herman had reservations. Arnie had not yet decided whether Sooley should participate. About half of his clients did so, and he was known to be less than impressed with the event.

Each year the top sixty to seventy draft hopefuls were invited to the NBA Draft Combine, a three-day, media-heavy beauty pageant. The players were measured in every way possible: height with shoes and without, weight, body fat, agility, wingspan, speed, hand size, and vertical leaps — both standing and running. There were shooting contests, light scrimmages, lots of interviews and preening for the press.

Sooley was eager to go and strut his stuff. Herman said it wasn’t a good idea. His stock had never been higher. Why run the risk of a bad workout?

The practices continued each day, once in the morning and again late in the afternoon when the gym was available. The cast of coaches and players changed almost daily, as Arnie’s pals came and went. Some lived in the area but most were passing through, always on business related to basketball.

The longer Sooley stayed at Arnie’s sumptuous pad, the longer he wanted to stay. His finals were over, as if they mattered. School was out and Murray, his consultant, was hard at work hauling and stacking boxes for the food bank at $8.00 an hour.

He ordered a late breakfast and ate by the pool with whoever happened to stay in the house the night before. He met an incredible collection of coaches, scouts, former players, other agents, reps from shoe companies, and quite a few folks whose jobs were not well defined. Reynard whispered that most were hangers-on, guys looking for a cushy job in someone’s entourage.

Arnie was rarely at home. He was on a jet almost every day and relied on his staff to manage the house and the ever-changing lineup of guests.

Sooley really had no place to go. He leaned on Reynard to make sure he was not overstaying his welcome. To which Reynard laughed and said, “Come on, Sooley. You’re a first-rounder. Primos can stay forever.”

He talked to Murray every day and Miss Ida occasionally. He called his mother every Wednesday morning but had not mustered the courage to tell her about his change in plans. He slept late most mornings, took long walks on the beach, spent at least an hour pumping iron, and worked out with various coaches twice a day. When Arnie popped in for a quick stay-over they talked about the draft and the projections. Sooley, quite naturally, was keen to know where he might land, and thus where he would be living in the years to come. There were thirty teams from coast to coast, and some cities had more appeal than others. Not that it really mattered. The money would be glorious wherever he landed, but it was one thing to be a star for the Celtics or Lakers and something else to play for Sacramento. Like all players, he was dreaming of a lucrative contract with a storied franchise, one in a huge television market.

Arnie talked to general managers and scouts all day long and was still of the opinion that Sooley would go in the middle of the first round. Brooklyn, Denver, and Houston looked likely, but things could change in an instant as the draft neared. Each year brought a bewildering flurry of trades that sent players packing from one team to another.

In early May, Arnie decided that the Combine was not a good idea after all. The scouts had seen enough of Sooley. Indeed, no college player that spring had generated more interest and more footage than him. His speed, quickness, leaping, shooting, were all well-documented, and the Combine would only be more of the same. A bad workout, or one that did not meet lofty expectations, could only harm his stock. Sooley was disappointed but trusted his agent implicitly.

Then Arnie was gone again, off chasing another deal. Sooley begged Murray to hop down for a weekend of parties and girls, but his parents had him handcuffed to his job at the food bank.

Sooley met a girl. Her name was Valerie but she went by Val or Vallie, either one would work. She was one of the girls who hung around the pool in a skimpy bikini and enjoyed showing off her well-toned legs and abs. She said she had played basketball at South Florida until a knee injury ruined her career, and she was quick to show him the scar on her leg, the only blemish on an otherwise perfect body. They spent the first night together in Sooley’s room and had a late breakfast by the pool. The second night they went to her small apartment around the corner and rarely came up for air. She said she was twenty-four, sold real estate, and worked her own hours. By day three, Sooley was thoroughly smitten. Day four was a Wednesday, and he slept late and forgot to call his mother.

If Reynard had been around instead of on a plane, he would have warned Sooley that the girl was probably trouble. Arnie’s universe attracted many young ladies who certainly livened up the parties, but many of them were stalking the money and the big life. Arnie knew better than to get involved. He viewed his home as the entryway for his clients, a transition from the shelter of a campus to the glitzy world of big-dollar entertainment. Once they became professionals they would face more temptations than any college freshman could possibly imagine. He felt obliged to help them get ready.

As lenient as he was, Arnie tried to watch everything. His laid-back staff monitored their guests, took notes, and reported to him. Sex, booze, and pot were to be expected and there was plenty of it, but if the harder stuff was being passed around and consumed Arnie wanted to know about it. He had banned several dealers and bad actors. Same for gambling. If a player of his had a weakness for the spreads and tables, he did not hesitate to get involved.

Arnie was informed that Sooley had a girl and she appeared to be a stalker. He gave the word to watch them as closely as possible.

Chapter 55

The draft was held on June 8 at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn. Sooley invited Murray to the party and he eagerly said yes. Sooley also invited Murray’s parents but they declined. They didn’t want to spend the money and still disapproved of him leaving college. Sooley only made matters worse when he offered to pay their travel expenses to New York and back. They found the offer insulting, but held their comments. They would never, under any circumstances, spend money earned by young Samuel, nor would they humiliate him by rebuking his genuine effort to include them. As Ida said, “He just doesn’t know any better.” They politely declined, citing work obligations.

Vallie didn’t make the trip either, though not from a lack of trying. Arnie made it clear that, while the trip was planned as a celebration, there would be important business at hand and he did not want his prized client distracted. He did not want the woman near Sooley when they discussed contract negotiations. Sooley whispered to Reynard that, frankly, he was relieved and needed a break from the girl. At Reynard’s invitation, they detoured their jet to the Raleigh-Durham airport and picked up Murray, a guy who both Reynard and Arnie felt was a good influence on Sooley.

Arnie and company arrived a day earlier and set up camp on the top floor of the Latitude Hotel, a swanky five-star place three blocks from Barclays. In the penthouse suite, a buffet and bar was set up for anyone who wandered in. Along with Sooley, Arnie had signed Darrell Whitley from Villanova, a projected top ten pick, and Davonte Lyon from Auburn, another nineteen-year-old who turned some heads at the Combine. With three potential first-rounders, Arnie was the agent of the moment, and his headquarters became a hive of activity as team officials, scouts, reporters, players, coaches, and women came and went or just hung around to soak up the action.

Darrell Whitley arrived with a big smile and a bear hug for Sooley. They had last seen each other in Phoenix, in Central’s last game. Darrell introduced his two brothers and two friends. Sooley had only Murray in his entourage. How many would be enough? He would need to ask Reynard. Davonte Lyon appeared, said hello, and introduced three of his own men. Sooley really began to feel inadequate. The guys were in a fabulous mood and hung out for hours. Arnie had them booked for a fine dinner but afterward they were on their own. Darrell said he knew the city and they could hit the clubs.

The draft was televised live on ESPN and livestreamed on The Vertical. In Durham, Ernie closed the door of his cramped office and watched it on a small TV. Ida went to her conference room at Legal Aid and watched it with her staff on a much larger screen. At South Beach, Vallie went to a sports bar with some girlfriends and started drinking an hour before the draft. At Arnie’s home in South Beach, everyone — staff and guests — gathered in the small cinema in the basement and waited for the fun. Lonnie Britt watched from a hotel room in Des Moines where he was chasing a star recruit. Ecko was at home in Cincinnati and sitting in the den with his fifteen-year-old son. Former teammates, both from the South Sudan summer team and NC Central Eagles, tuned in to watch with anticipation and great pride as their beloved friend became a millionaire.

Sooley and Darrell had invitations to the Green Room, a staging area in front of the draft podium where they, along with their agents, families, and a few friends, waited for their magic call. The Green Room allowed the draft to move along nicely as the top picks, after hugging those who loved them, bounded up the steps and onto the stage where they held their new team’s jersey and posed with Commissioner Adam Silver. The invitations were carefully handled because of the possible embarrassment of a top player waiting and waiting and then finding himself relegated to the second round. This had happened, and to avoid it only the top twenty or so were invited.

The chosen gathered and slapped hands and ribbed each other, all trying to appear calm and cool and not the least bit nervous or concerned with what team would call their names, make them rich, and launch their spectacular careers. Sooley sat between Arnie and Murray, who seemed even more jittery than his friend. Imagine just being in the same space with twenty guys his age all of whom were about to start signing big contracts, and some of whom would even become all-stars, even legends.

The first pick went to the Timberwolves and Adam Silver announced the name of Tyrell Miller of Duke. The Green Room exploded with applause as everyone congratulated the top pick. Tyrell posed with the Commissioner and smiled for the cameras.

The next four picks went exactly as projected. After the fifth, Arnie, who was watching it all without notes and with a pleasant cockiness, said to Darrell, “You’re next, big guy.”

Cleveland chose Darrell, and as he took the stage Arnie whispered to Sooley, “They’ll trade him tomorrow. To Indiana.”

Sooley had no idea how to respond. The draft, with its lottery picks and especially with its deal-making and trading, was at times incomprehensible. Each selection sent dominoes falling in different directions. When Phoenix took Antonio Long from San Diego State, Arnie whispered to Sooley, “You’re going to Detroit but they’ll trade you to Washington.”

“Now?”

“No, number nine! How does Washington sound?”

“Where do I sign?” Sooley instantly liked the idea of Washington because it was a city he’d actually seen. Except for the March trips to Dayton, Memphis, and Phoenix, he had never left the East Coast. Durham was not far away. The Walkers would be practically next door. He’d seen the campus at Howard, the South Sudanese embassy, some of the monuments. Yes, Washington would work just fine.

When his name was called as the ninth pick, he stepped onto the stage, and some fans in the crowd began chanting, “Sooley! Sooley! Sooley!”

As his players partied in the big city, Arnie worked well into the night on the trades that sent Darrell Whitley to the Indiana Pacers and Sooley to the Washington Wizards. At seven the following morning, he had breakfast with Washington’s GM and ironed out the contract, a four-year deal worth $14 million, with half guaranteed.

Flying home, Sooley decided he needed a break from South Beach. He got off the plane with Murray at Raleigh-Durham and said goodbye, and thanks, to Arnie and Reynard. From the sleek Falcon they walked through the private terminal to the parking lot, and to Murray’s little blue pickup truck that was so old the odometer had stuck at 220,000 miles. The automated parking meter demanded $18 on a credit card, and Sooley happily paid.

Driving away, he asked, “Did you hear the part about the loan?”

“Not all of it. Arnie advances some money?”

“Yeah. I told Reynard I didn’t have a car and he said no problem. Arnie will loan me a hundred thousand now and I’ll pay him back in a month when the first check comes in.”

“Is that legal?”

“Reynard says it is. Says some agents loan players money long before the draft and that’s not exactly legal.”

“Yeah, that kid from Arizona State got caught a few years back, didn’t he? The NBA decertified the agent and he filed suit. It was a big scandal.”

“Well, Reynard says it’s okay now because I’m out of school and officially a pro. How do you like that?”

“Sounds okay. I guess we’re going car shopping, as soon as you pass the driver’s test.”

“Oh that. Look, Murray, here’s the deal. I need some help. I need to buy a car and find a place to live in D.C., right? I need to do a lot of things and they’re all pretty intimidating. I want you to help me out, at least for the rest of the summer.”

“You trying to hire me?”

“That’s it. Reynard offered to help but he’s a busy dude. And I trust you, Murray. What do you say?”

“How much?”

“Eight dollars an hour.” Both roared with laughter that went on and on, and when it died down they rode in silence for a while. The thrill, and disbelief, and giddiness of the past two days began to soak in.

Murray finally said, “You’ll have to convince Miss Ida. She won’t like it.”

“I’ll bet she likes it a lot more now, with fourteen mil on the way. Plus, I can talk her into it. She thinks I’m special.”

“You are special, Sooley.”

“Still Samuel to you.”

“Whatever.”

More silence followed, then Murray asked, “So what kind of car are you thinking?”

“A Ford Explorer, that SUV.”

Murray laughed and said, “No, no, Samuel. You don’t sign for this kind of money and drive a Ford.”

“I’ve made up my mind. Coach Grinnell has one and he let me drive it.”

“Coach Grinnell is married with three kids. You’re in the NBA, Samuel, and you can’t drive a Ford. You need some fancy sports car, like a Porsche.”

“I’m not ready for that. Plus, they cost too much. I saw a Porsche online for over a hundred thousand.”

“So?”

“So, I picked out a Ford Explorer for only forty thousand.”

“Wow. You have so much to learn.”

They stopped at a Wendy’s for burgers and fries, then drove to the Legal Aid office where Sooley got a hero’s welcome. Miss Ida had tears in her eyes as she hugged him and showed him off.

When they were alone in her office, she got down to business. She was pleased to hear of the trade and that he would be living so close. She explained, with little room for questions or disagreement, that she would prepare a simple will that would leave everything in trust for his mother and brothers.

“I never thought about that,” Sooley admitted.

“There are a lot of things you haven’t thought about, but I have. Health insurance, your visa. Other stuff. When do you expect to sign the contract and get the money?”

“In about a month.”

“Okay. The amended contract you signed with Mr. Savage requires that ten percent of the money comes into your bank account. He keeps the rest for allowances and investments. You understand this?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“So, you’ll need to add the name of someone else to your account in case the money needs to be accessed. This person can’t touch it unless something happens to you.”

“Why are you worried about something bad happening to me?”

“Because I’m a lawyer and you’re my client. It’s my job to worry about everything.”

“Come on, Mom,” Murray protested.

“Just do as I say, okay.”

“Arnie’s loaning me a hundred thousand until the big money comes in.”

“I assume that’s legal.”

“It is.”

Murray said, “He needs to buy a car. Wants a Ford Explorer.”

“That’s up to you.”

Sooley said, “I’d like to send some money to my mother.”

“We’ll talk about that. I’m not sure it’s safe. She’s already been robbed once.”

“But I want to help her.”

“I understand, Samuel. So do I. We’ll figure it out.”

“Can I sponsor her now and get them out?”

“Let’s talk about that later. I’m due in court in half an hour. We’ll talk tonight. What would you like for dinner?”

“A bottle of champagne.”

“You’ll get ice tea. Something to eat?”

“Yes, that baked lemon chicken you do, with the mushrooms and sauce.”

She smiled and said, “Whatever you want, Samuel.”

Chapter 56

The excitement of shopping for a new vehicle was crushed when Sooley flunked the driver’s test. He did okay on the road, though still mortified in eight lanes of traffic, but he missed too many on the written. He was embarrassed and admitted to Murray that he had found studying difficult. He had been distracted and did not take the exam seriously.

Miss Ida was amused by it and admitted to Ernie that the humiliation was probably a healthy blow to his expanding ego. The two agreed to allow Murray to work for Sooley for the remainder of the summer and run interference. He did need help on so many fronts. He was entering an exciting new world, but one with many potential pitfalls. And truthfully, there was no way to tell Murray that stacking tons of food in a warehouse was more important than helping a friend. It was an opportunity so unique that they put up only token resistance.

The day after the exam, Murray borrowed the family sedan and took off to D.C. with Sooley. They found a room at a downtown hotel and began scouting out swanky condos and apartment buildings. Sooley wanted something large with plenty of bedrooms for his mother and brothers, but Murray talked him down. He should start small and move up when necessary. The prices for all of them, large and small, were outrageous. Sooley was overwhelmed with the process but excited at having such a nice space all to himself. Murray convinced him to put down a $5,000 deposit for a new, unfurnished two-bedroom apartment in CityCenter, not far from Capital One Arena. The lease was for twelve months.

They stopped by the Wizards’ headquarters and met the front office, all of whom were thrilled to meet their new star. They had lunch with the GM in a fancy restaurant. Sooley took a call from the owner, a private equity swinger who had bought the team four years earlier for $900 million, according to online business magazines. The owner was eager to meet him and wanted lunch when he was back in the country. He welcomed him aboard and promised a great future together.

The Rauncheroo Reggae and Rap Music Festival was held in June every year at the Acropolis Resort on Paradise Island in the Bahamas. In addition to attracting tens of thousands of wild fans from around the world, it had become known for getting the biggest acts in hip-hop and island music. It was also a favorite of celebrities, the place to be seen and often touched by adoring fans. Murray had heard of it, Sooley had not, but the night before the draft Darrell Whitley and his gang were talking about the party while they hung out in a Brooklyn nightclub. It was a three-day blowout, with lots of girls, many from Europe. As soon as they returned from Brooklyn, Murray mentioned it to Sooley and the two checked it out on social media. They drooled over the thousands of photos and it became abundantly clear that the festival was not to be missed. It was favored by plenty of actors and pro athletes, some big NBA names wanting to blow off steam after the season, and some football players taking a break before their training camps. And the lineup of singers and musicians included virtually every name they could think of. Sooley mentioned it to Vallie, who, not surprisingly, was all in. He talked to Whitley and the two of them devised a plan. They would invite Reynard and lean on him to get a jet. Two first-round draft picks could not be expected to arrive on commercial flights.

The day after they returned from the house-hunting trip to D.C., Sooley mentioned over dinner that he needed to see Arnie in South Beach and discuss some endorsement proposals. Murray should go too. They did not mention the festival to Ida and Ernie because they did not want the drama. Sooley was growing weary of their nosiness and Murray was itching to return to Arnie’s place in Miami.

The following day they flew down on Delta and arrived at the mansion in a lowly cab. Reynard was excited about the trip and had secured tickets and accommodations, along with an airplane. Arnie, who was divorced, had attended the festival two years earlier and said he might join them later. Whitley arrived with Jared, one of his brothers, and Reggie, his “manager.”

Murray liked that title and from then on introduced himself as Sooley’s manager.

They slept late the next morning, then loaded into two limos for the ride to the airport where a sleek Gulfstream 6 was waiting. Their party consisted of Sooley, Murray, Darrell, Jared, Reggie, Reynard and his girl Meg, and Vallie. For good measure, Sooley had invited two of Vallie’s friends, Tiff and Susan, a couple of attractive former athletes who hung around Arnie’s pool. A total of ten on a jet that could seat fifteen. The flight attendants were pouring champagne before they buckled in. More bottles were opened and consumed during the fifty-five-minute flight to Nassau. There, a string of colorful limos waited to collect the rich and famous who were arriving by the dozens.

They checked in at the Acropolis and found their rooms. Sooley’s grand suite had two bedrooms, one for him and Vallie, the other for Murray, Tiff, and Susan. The sleeping arrangements were not exact but no one seemed to care. There were at least three sofas in the suite. They had a long lunch at a massive buffet near one of the pools and enjoyed people-watching. The concerts started around two, no schedule was strictly adhered to, and a mob gathered around the open-air stage. Loud rap echoed throughout the resort, which had a thousand rooms, no fewer than eight pools, water slides, hot tubs, saunas, three casinos, and restaurants and bars everywhere. Fans poured in, few of them over the age of thirty, and various languages could be heard. Sooley was often recognized and proudly posed for photos.

It was unbridled hedonism with seemingly no rules.

Murray liked cards, especially blackjack, and late in the afternoon, when they finally lost the girls, he and Sooley slipped into a casino for a few hands. It was much quieter at the tables and they appreciated the retreat from the music. Sooley spotted Alan Barnett of the Knicks playing all alone at a high-end table. He was rumored to be one of the biggest gamblers in the NBA and a hellraiser to boot. Rudy Suarez, the all-pro quarterback for the Vikings, stopped by and said a quick hello to Barnett. How cool was that? Sooley couldn’t wait to start playing and winning and meeting other famous athletes like himself.

He lost $500 in his first hour and took a break. It would take a long time for him to adjust to burning cash. Murray, though, was winning big and didn’t want to leave his table. Sooley went to a bar, got a beer, and watched the action on the floor.

After dark, the festival crowd swelled to capacity as 30,000 rowdy fans packed around the stage. There was no seating, just a crush of humanity, with each person holding a drink and bouncing to the relentless, pulsating beat. The night’s headliner, Dock Ripp and his bad boys from Philly, were scheduled for eight. They went on at ten and the music got even louder, the crowd even rowdier. Sooley was in the thick of it, dancing with Vallie, making out, groping, and taking an occasional break at a bar.

When the music stopped at 2 a.m. the crowd relaxed and hit the bars. Sooley and Vallie were drenched and exhausted. They went to his suite, showered, and fell asleep. There was no sign of Murray.

They slept until noon and had brunch and champagne by a pool, in a secluded part of the resort. Murray found them and was quick to report that he was up $4,000 at blackjack. Sooley observed that maybe it was time to cash in his chips, but he had bigger plans. He ate with them as they watched the people. After he left, they changed and jumped in the water for a lazy afternoon by the pool. Darrell, Jared, and Reggie found them, as did Tiff and Susan. The men could not help but gawk at the endless parade of string bikinis.

The second night was similar to the first, with one notorious act after another. During a break, Sooley bumped into Darrell, who informed him that he had met Wazy Starr, a TV actress, and she and some friends were planning a late-night party in their suite. Sooley and Vallie were tired of the music and the crush of people, and eventually made their way to the party on the eighteenth floor. The suite was twice the size of Sooley’s and was packed with people he did not know. Murray was not in the crowd. Jared Whitley rescued them and introduced them to Wazy, who was stoned out of her mind. A thick fog of marijuana smoke hung just above their heads and everyone seemed to be hitting a joint. Vallie took one, gave it to Sooley, and he took a hit. At a dining table some Hollywood types were laughing over lines of coke. A waiter appeared with a large tray of plastic cups filled with some sort of rum punch. Vallie grabbed two, gave one to Sooley, and they drifted to another group. Someone recognized him and he smiled for a camera. He was light-headed but thoroughly enjoying himself. A tall blonde asked for another photo and Sooley happily held her close. Vallie eased away, looking for another drink. The blonde said her name was Jackie and she worked in “film.” She tugged his hand and led him to another room where the music was louder. Sooley looked around, wanting to find Vallie, but she was nowhere in sight. Jackie clung tight and at the first chance kissed him on the lips, then asked him where he was sleeping that night. In his room, he said. She asked for the number and he laughed it away. She grabbed two rum punches off a tray and handed one to him. She reached into a pocket and pulled out some small pills.

“Ever try these?” she asked.

“What are they?”

“Mollies, and they’re wonderful. A couple of these and you can go all night long.” She took one, swallowed it, and washed it down with the drink. If she could do it, so could he.

Sooley knew that Molly was another name for Ecstasy, a drug he had only heard about. But for a little pot here and there, after the season, he had no experience with any drugs.

She handed him three more and said, “Save these for later. I’ll come find you.”

He took them and quickly stuffed them in a pocket. Jackie said, “I see trouble.”

Sooley turned around and saw Vallie at the door, talking to another girl.

Jackie said, “Let’s hook up later, okay?”

“Sure,” he said, eager to get away from her. He found Vallie, who did not seem irritated, and they decided to leave the party. They returned to the concert where everyone was dancing. Sooley began to feel sharper, happier, quicker on his feet, and his vision, blurred by alcohol and pot, was suddenly sharper. Vallie was all over him and at one point asked, “Who was that girl?”

“Don’t know, babe, never saw her before.”

Sooley danced like crazy and felt like he could take the stage and belt out a few numbers of his own. He had never felt so exhilarated, so invincible. When Vallie left to fetch drinks, he followed behind her, and quickly swallowed another Molly.

When the music ended, they made their way to the suite, where Murray had another party in the works. Tiff and Susan were dancing by themselves while four guys Sooley had never seen before watched and egged them on. Sooley suddenly felt dizzy, lethargic, and lead-footed. Though he had been sweating for hours, he noticed that his forehead was extremely warm. Not to be outdone, Vallie stripped out of her tight tee shirt and began dancing with her friends. Murray started dancing with them as another group arrived with bottles of champagne. The party was too much fun to miss, so Sooley eased into the bathroom and swallowed another Molly.

Chapter 57

Murray awoke to screams. Vallie was standing in his door, hysterical. “He’s not moving! He’s not moving! Do something, Murray!”

He found a pair of gym shorts, pulled them on, and almost fell over. His head was splitting and his vision was blurred, but suddenly none of that mattered. He raced to the other bedroom where Vallie stood gawking at Sooley on the bed, partially covered by a sheet.

He was wearing gym shorts and nothing else, and he was as stiff as a board. Murray jumped on the bed and shook him vigorously while he pleaded with him to wake up. Tiff and Susan watched in horror as Murray tried everything to revive him. Finally, he stopped and backed away, and the four of them gawked at the lifeless figure.

“What did you give him?” Murray yelled at Vallie.

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. He was drinking and there was a little pot, but nothing. I swear, Murray, I gave him nothing and I didn’t see him take anything.”

He called the front desk and pleaded for a doctor and an ambulance. He called Reynard’s cell but there was no answer. “Get dressed,” he barked at the girls, and he pulled a sheet over his friend. He sat on the edge of the bed and started sobbing.

Two medics rushed in, followed by a man in a dark suit, security. As Vallie, Tiff, and Susan sat on the sofa and wiped their faces, and with Murray hovering, they checked him with a stethoscope and grimly shook their heads. A second man in a suit, the house detective, arrived and surveyed the situation. He began asking questions. None of them had given the deceased any drugs, they swore. The detective did not believe them. Murray assured him that his friend was not a drug user. Sure they had been drinking, and too much, and they had smoked pot, but nothing more serious. He did not believe them.

When Reynard finally arrived, he almost fainted when he realized what was happening.

The detective saw a pair of shorts in a chair and asked who owned them. Vallie said Sooley had worn them the night before. He went through the pockets and found a single pill. One look, and he said, “Ecstasy. Where did he get it?”

The four, and Reynard, were clueless. And no one believed them.

They wrestled his body onto a stretcher, one built for average people but not long enough for a man who stood six feet eight. They covered him with sheets and tucked them tight, but his bare feet dangled off the end.

“Don’t leave this room,” the detective growled as he followed the stretcher.

When they were gone, Reynard looked at Murray and said, “We have to make some calls. I’ll call Arnie. You call your mother. We have a PR guy who’ll prepare something. It’s gonna be awful.”

“It already is,” Vallie said, sniffing.

Murray’s thoughts were an incomprehensible mash of fear, blame, disbelief, dread, loss, and excuses. The only thing that was clear was that he could not imagine calling Miss Ida. He finally stood, wiped his cheeks again, walked to the other bedroom, with his phone, and closed the door.

Ida left her office in tears and drove home where Ernie was waiting. They were almost too stunned to speak, so they sat in their dark den with ESPN on mute, waiting for the news to break. At 12:02, a bulletin interrupted SportsCenter, and there was the smiling face of Samuel Sooleymon, his death in the Bahamas now confirmed. Age eighteen, dead from a possible overdose.

The news spread fast and their phones began buzzing.

Ecko Lam was in Juba, scouting talent for his summer Under 18 team and getting it ready for the showcase, when his wife called with the news. He went to a locker room and closed the door. Later, he sat his players down and told them that Sooley, their new national hero, was dead.

Lonnie Britt was in his car on a Milwaukee freeway when he took the call from Jason Grinnell. He barely managed to pull onto the shoulder where he sat for a long time and tried to collect his thoughts.

On campus, a group of students gathered in front of The Nest and sat on the front steps crying. It was a Sunday in June and the gym was locked. Other students drove by and joined them. Two more showed up with the first bouquet of flowers and a poster with Sooley’s smiling face in the middle of it. Handwritten above in bold letters were the words: “So Long Sooley. Love Always.” The crowd grew and before long a news van from a Durham station stopped with a crew sniffing for a story, but the students refused to say anything on camera.

After being released by the police, Reynard got his group together and most of them left Nassau as soon as possible. He and Murray stayed behind to do whatever one does with a dead body. On the flight home, the Gulfstream was as somber as a morgue.

Arnie passed them somewhere over the Atlantic. He and his lawyer had quickly chartered a smaller Lear and were sprinting to Nassau. Reynard was forbidden from leaving the hotel and couldn’t meet them at the airport. They took a cab to the resort and were briefed by the police, who were still investigating. They had recorded statements from all those around the deceased and were still looking for an unknown woman, an American, tall and blond, who was seen briefly with Sooley last night. The body was at the morgue and awaiting a decision about an autopsy, which could take up to two weeks. However, in some cases the autopsy could be expedited. There was little chance the police would release the body to be sent home for an autopsy, but that decision would be made by the Governor.

Arnie’s lawyer hired the largest law firm in Nassau, one with plenty of connections. He wasn’t worried about criminal prosecution. Indeed, so far the only possible crime was possession of illegal substances by the deceased himself. Arnie, though, had learned years ago that it was always safer to lawyer up.

Jackie heard the news as it roared through the resort. She whispered to her best friend that it was time to head back to the States.

The death was certainly sad and shocking, but the festival was in its last day and the party must go on. The music began at two.

After the initial numbness, Ecko began to attach one thought to another, and he was worried about Beatrice. It was unlikely she would hear the news. How could she? Where would it come from? But Sooley had become such a famous person throughout his country, and with four million South Sudanese refugees scattered in camps and settlements there was a chance that the news could make it all the way to Rhino Camp South.

He called Christine Moran’s cell but there was no service. He waited an hour and tried again. No service. Being a Sunday, maybe things were slower. She answered the third time and Ecko reintroduced himself. They had met briefly in early December when he visited the camp. She said that she remembered him, then listened as he broke the awful news. Then, he asked the mother of all favors: Would she find Beatrice and tell her Sooley was dead?

Christine was horrified at the thought and quickly declined. Ecko pleaded with her and tried to explain that there was no one else to do it. He was in Juba coaching a team and he couldn’t leave. Who else in the world could even get to Rhino?

Christine said she would consider it but needed some time. She rang off and immediately called the Doctors Without Borders office in New York. Of course, it was closed on Sundays. She called a DWB friend in Paris, at home, and asked him to verify the story. She said her coverage was not good and gave him a sat phone number to call back in one hour. He did so and verified the death.

By then Christine realized that she had no choice. She had seen more death than most war veterans, and she had seen it so many different ways, and she thought she was hardened enough to handle anything. But not this. She had come to know and admire Beatrice. Telling her that her oldest son was dead was unthinkable.

She huddled with two nurse friends and they decided it would be best to do it in the hospital, in a private area where Beatrice and the boys could grieve. There would be sedatives available.

Christine thought about taking one. She sent an errand boy to fetch the family.

By late Sunday, several hundred students were at The Nest, hugging, crying, supporting each other. Dozens of bouquets covered the front steps, and posters honoring their hero lined the sidewalk. Candles were passed out, to be lit after dark.

Ida called the Mayor and asked for two patrol cars to be parked in front of their house. There had been some traffic, a few knocks on the door, and they were in no mood to deal with reporters or anyone else. The television had been turned off. Jordan was flying in from Houston where she was spending the summer clerking for a law firm. Brady was headed home from Boston.

And Murray was at the resort waiting for the authorities. It wasn’t clear who would make the next few decisions, but “the Governor” had been mentioned a couple of times by the police.

As they killed time, Murray, Arnie, and Reynard agreed to stick together and not point fingers. Sooley had wanted to attend the festival. He wanted to celebrate and have some serious fun. It was his idea to join forces with Whitley and ask for the jet; his idea to invite the girls; his idea to stop by the last party. At some point the night before, he got some Mollies and took them. No one forced him to. That, for Murray, was still hard to believe. Sooley was not a drug user, Murray said over and over. They had lived together for almost a year and Murray knew him inside and out. The guy did not use drugs! He was proud of his body, his stamina, his talent, and he was determined to become a star.

Murray went along with the plan to deflect blame while not beating up on Sooley, but he knew what was waiting for him at home. He knew that his parents would always feel that he had led Sooley astray. He did not look forward to facing them alone.

Murray called them every other hour. He called the funeral home in Durham. He found a funeral home director in Nassau and hired him. He called the airline to arrange the transfer of the body — $4,000 to ship it out, $2,000 to receive it at home. Arnie was covering all expenses. Murray worked the phones with a purpose and he made calls out of boredom.

Arnie was impressed.

Late Sunday night, the police called to say the autopsy would take place in an expedited manner, at nine o’clock in the morning, in Nassau. In the opinion of the chief detective, the autopsy was not that significant. The cause of death was obvious. He no longer believed foul play was involved, though his investigation would proceed until terminated.

He said, “Looks like the young man had too much fun.”

Chapter 58

On Monday afternoon, Arnie and Reynard jetted back to Miami. They offered Murray a ride but he politely said no. He needed to take his friend home.

On Tuesday morning, he left Nassau on a Delta flight, his seat by the window. Somewhere below him in cargo, there was another passenger, his beloved friend, in a coffin. Sooley loved to tell the stories of his trip from Juba to Orlando the summer before, how it was the first flight for every kid on the team, how they had been so excited they couldn’t sleep the night before, how the trip took thirty hours and by the time it was over they were no longer infatuated with air travel.

That was his first flight. This was his last.

Murray began wiping his eyes before takeoff, and he put his sunglasses back on and wept.

Regardless of how tough he acted in front of Arnie, he was blaming himself and he knew he always would. And so would others. And there was nothing he could do to convince himself or anyone else that he had not failed Sooley.

He bit his lip to keep from sobbing, and he had never ached, physically and emotionally, so much in his life.

On Wednesday, Ida and Ernie made the decision to hold the memorial service at The Nest. Central’s President lobbied for this and finally convinced Ida that the school, and especially its students, wanted to pay their respects in a grand way.

Ernie wanted a private ceremony at Sacred Heart Church with a quick burial afterward. At first Ida seemed to lean that way, but Murray agreed with the President because he knew the students wanted to take part in the farewell. Murray was functioning well and taking care of the details. Ida was not.

He posted a statement online announcing the service would be held at 3 p.m. Saturday afternoon at the gym, open to all. A private funeral Mass would be held the following day at the church.

Then he dealt with the press. Would it have access? Could the service be televised? Who would be speaking? Would there be music, and by whom? Murray battled away and had several conversations with Campus Security.

The autopsy report contained no surprises. The illegal drug MDMA, an acronym for its chemical name 3,4-methylenedioxymethamphetamine, and commonly known as Ecstasy or Molly or any one of a dozen other street names, was present in the body. The one pill found in Sooley’s shorts was a tablet containing 120 milligrams of MDMA. At least two and perhaps three were taken in the five hours before death. The lab that made that tablet also added caffeine, ephedrine, and cocaine. His blood alcohol level was.20. The deceased was quite intoxicated. Marijuana was also present in the blood. His body temperature increased to a dangerous level and resulted in total kidney failure, the cause of death.

Arnie’s lawyers in Nassau succeeded in preventing the autopsy report from being released.

The backboards were raised. The court was covered by rows of perfectly matched folding chairs, all filled. The gym was packed — the floor, the movable bleachers, the permanent seats, the aisles. The mourners sat still and somberly as a ladies’ choir sang a soft funeral hymn. When they finished, there was a noise in the rear and a door opened. A priest in a white robe appeared and the casket was behind him. All 4,000 stood and turned to watch the procession. Eight Eagles walked beside the casket, each with one hand on it. Behind, two by two were the rest of the team, then the coaches, led by Lonnie Britt, who held his wife’s hand. Behind the coaches was the family — all of the Walkers, Ida and Ernie first, Murray and Jordan, then Brady.

The procession moved slowly down the center aisle as a string quartet played “Amazing Grace.” They parked Sooley at the foot of a makeshift stage and below a pulpit borrowed from a church. The priest motioned for all to sit and by the time the crowd settled in, women were sobbing. Another mournful hymn from the choir only rattled the emotions even more.

Murray, out of frustration, had finally banned all cameras, except for ESPN. They had agreed to broadcast it live and share footage with other outlets. When Lonnie Britt walked to the podium he knew he was facing a wide audience.

He began with “Sooley. Sooley. By the time you said his name, and saw that smile, you knew that you loved him.” With the composure, cadence, and preparation of a seasoned preacher, he talked about the kid from South Sudan. No one fought to hold back tears, including his coach.

After another hymn, Murray stepped forward to struggle through a eulogy he still could not believe he was being called upon to give. He choked up, battled on, got a few laughs, and finally quit when he was overcome. He returned to his seat beside Ida, who patted his knee and whispered, “Nice job. I love you.”

On big screens, they ran a collage of Sooley bantering with reporters, of him soaring through the air with unforgettable dunks, of him bombing away from mid-court. He never missed, and the crowd managed to cheer and cry at the same time.

Chapter 59

Two days after the burial, and with the Walkers still sleepwalking through the aftermath, Murray finally forced himself down to the basement to go through Sooley’s things. His laptop and cell phone were on the ping-pong table, untouched. Murray didn’t have the heart to try and access them, and he didn’t know the passcodes anyway. He didn’t want to know what secrets, if any, they held. He did know that Sooley had been spending more time on social media. After the first-round upset of Duke, back on March 17, Sooley’s fame spread like crazy and he was the talk of the sports world. His Facebook followers went from 20,000 to 400,000 in a matter of days. He posted more photos, chatted with his fans, and shared insights into the tournament. As Central advanced and became the epicenter of March Madness, his numbers skyrocketed. By the time the team traveled to Phoenix for the Final Four, and Sooleymania was raging, over five million fans liked his page. They followed the draft closely and he played to his audience. His shocking death left everyone clamoring for more and the number doubled.

Murray looked at his page almost daily, but the brokenhearted messages from his fans were often too much to read. Emotions were simply too raw. He would swear off, leave the page, but return the next day for a quick look.

He went through Sooley’s backpack and rifled through a pile of notebooks and sports magazines. In a daily planner that had been rarely used, Murray found some notes that were intriguing. Stapled to one page was a business card for a company called Aegis Partners and an “Advisor” named Gary Gaston. He opened his own laptop and a quick search revealed little about the outfit. It was based in Bethesda and advertised itself as a player in the vague field of “international security.” On the back of the business card, Gaston had evidently scribbled his cell phone number. Murray called it and a voice curtly announced, “Gaston.”

Murray explained who he was and what he was doing and was surprised when Gaston said, “Oh, I knew Sooley pretty well. Even met him once, just a few days ago when you guys were in D.C. looking for an apartment.”

Murray was surprised and said, “I didn’t know that.”

“You were taking a nap and I went to your hotel. The Hyatt. Met Sooley in the bar and we hit it off.”

“Mind if I ask why you were talking to Sooley?”

“Well, first, I’m very sorry about what has happened. It’s quite a shock and I’m sure you guys are reeling right now.”

“We are. I was Sooley’s closest friend and I never heard him mention you or your company.”

“We’re very private, that’s our business. We do a lot of work in Africa, complicated stuff I can’t go into, but from time to time we’re hired to extricate people and bring them here.”

“Extricate?”

“That’s it. Sooley was convinced he was about to make some money, I guess he was right about that, and he wanted to hire us to get his family out of the refugee camp in Uganda.”

“And how do you do that?”

“Look, I prefer to avoid the phone as much as possible. Same for email and texts. Everything leaves a trail.”

“Okay. I noticed that your firm’s website doesn’t say much about your firm.”

“We don’t advertise, okay? Sooley found us through a nonprofit that works with refugees.”

“He knew them all, didn’t he?”

“I guess he did.”

“So, you can’t tell me anything?”

“Sure I can, but not over the phone. If you want a cup of coffee, I’m happy to explain things.”

“When can we meet?”

Gaston put him on hold for a moment, then said, “Day after tomorrow work for you?”

“Sure. When and where?”

“I don’t know. Look, I’d like to help. I really liked the kid, watched the draft and all, love college basketball, and I was excited about doing the job. I have some time. Let’s meet halfway and have lunch.”

“When and where?”

“Looks like Charlottesville is three hours for you, about the same for me. My wife is from the area, so let’s meet there. Day after tomorrow.”

Over dinner, Murray briefed his parents, who, given his recent history of unexpected trips, were skeptical. But he had little else to do, now that his job as a manager was over, and he was not to be denied.

He drove three hours to Charlottesville and met Gaston at an outdoor café on the downtown pedestrian mall. To his pleasant surprise, Gaston was African American, about fifty, and instead of the black suit Murray expected, he wore a gray designer jogging suit with state-of-the-art Adidas sneakers. The air was hot but their table was in the shade. They ordered ice tea and salads, and Gaston began talking.

He was a graduate of the Naval Academy and had spent a career in military intelligence before joining Aegis a few years earlier. Without much background about what the company did or did not do, he said he knew Africa quite well, had traveled throughout the continent, and had many contacts.

Murray went through a windy narrative of how he met Sooley and the delightful year they had just been through. Gaston seemed to know many of the details, especially about the season. He said, “The contract was reported to be worth fourteen million. Don’t suppose Sooley got his hands on any of the money, did he?”

“No. He had not even seen the contract. His agent said it would take about a month after the draft. That’s all history now.”

“Too bad.”

“Everything about it is tragic. You used the word ‘extricate.’ Can we talk about that?”

“Sure. We were putting together a plan and Sooley was excited about it.”

“How was it going to work?”

The salads arrived and they began eating. Gaston said, “First, we were to arrange paperwork for his mother and brothers. Ugandan passports, visas, applications for entry into the U.S., basic stuff. We’d make arrangements with certain people in the Ugandan government to sort of look the other way. Not surprisingly, they’re not at all hesitant to get rid of some refugees. They’re trying to feed a million and the number keeps growing. We’d facilitate their removal from the camp, take them to Kampala, give them nicer clothes and new identities, and put them on a plane bound for the U.S.”

“Easy enough.”

“Easy enough if there’s plenty of money. The most expensive part is the air transportation. Commercial flights won’t work because there are no nonstop flights between Kampala and here. You have to stop and change planes. Stops mean more nosy people in customs asking for paperwork. We had a failure last year that has turned into a mess.”

Murray took a bite and waited for more. “Care to talk about that?”

“Briefly. We had a project involving a Somalian family living in a refugee settlement in Kenya. Their relatives here scraped together some money and we decided to try it. It was a mistake. The family could not afford a private jet. No one can, unless, of course, someone in the family happens to sign a big NBA contract. Anyway, we got the family out of the camp, got them on a commercial flight from Nairobi to London. British immigration can be tough and they stopped them at Heathrow. Their phony paperwork was discovered, all hell broke loose. The family is now stuck somewhere in the U.K., in custody, and will probably be sent back to Somalia, where they will not be safe. Needless to say, that was our last project involving commercial air travel.”

“How does the private jet work?”

“Well, it’s a seven-thousand-mile trip that takes between thirteen and fifteen hours, depending on wind, weather, stuff like that. There is only one jet with that range. A Gulfstream G650.”

“I’ve been on a Gulfstream, thanks to Sooley, of course.”

“Most Gulfstreams don’t have the range. It has to be a G650.”

“How much does the flight cost?”

“Three fifty.”

“Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”

“Yep. Roughly thirty hours in the air, terminal to terminal, at ten thousand bucks an hour. Plus four pilots, expenses, profit, it adds up quickly. The entire trip takes four to five days, if everything goes smoothly. And few charter companies want to go to Africa.”

“Would the charter company know the real story?”

“No. Our documents are really good, that other story notwithstanding. Their pilots would have copies of the passports and ID cards, but once Sooley’s family was cleared by Uganda customs, then they’d have been home free. Until they arrived here.”

“What would happen here?”

“Well, Murray, that’s where Miss Ida would step in.”

Murray almost laughed. He shook his head in disbelief and asked, “How do you know my mother?”

“Sooley thought of everything. He knew that she could handle U.S. Immigration. When the plane landed in Raleigh, the family would surrender to Immigration, same as hundreds do each day at the borders. They’d be detained and taken into custody. She would immediately seek asylum, get an expedited hearing, and get them released and placed in a nice house pending their trial, which could take months.”

Murray was still shaking his head. “What would happen to the charter company? I mean, surely they would get in trouble.”

“Probably, but we were counting on a small fine. Again, we were hoping Miss Ida could deal with Immigration. Since the amount of the fine is unknown, it was the one figure we weren’t sure of.”

“So how much was the entire operation?”

“Half a mil. As I said, virtually no one can afford it. We’re talking about refugees and their families, folks who have nothing.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“It is. It takes some cash to grease the skids in Uganda. There are other expenses and my time is valuable. I have to make the trip to guarantee everything works well.”

“Might I ask if your company has pulled off any of these extractions?”

“Two, but I can’t go into details. Let’s just say they involved wealthy Syrian families here who wanted their people out of the camps.”

“So, this is not your primary line of work.”

“Oh no. We deal mainly with hostages and kidnappings. We rescue people and get them out. Unfortunately, kidnapping is big business in the developing world and we have some expertise.”

Murray shoved his salad away and said, “It sounds as if this extricating business requires a fair amount of criminal activity.”

Gaston smiled and took a sip of ice tea. “Depends on how you define it. If you want a laugh, go online and search ‘fake passports.’ You’ll see a hundred sites brazenly advertising the preparation and sale of fake passports. That’s a crime. We buy them all the time, so, yes, in one sense we’re breaking the law. But there’s little harm and almost no enforcement. And, I’m sure that somewhere in Uganda there’s a law on the books that prohibits the bribing of customs officials. Or maybe there’s not. At any rate, it’s a way of life in the Third World. It’s simply how business is done. Sooley understood this and was willing to take his chances. His hands wouldn’t get dirty. He would pay our fee and we would take care of the rest.”

Murray marveled at the extent of Sooley’s planning, and without a word to his roommate. “I can’t believe he didn’t tell me about this.”

“It was happening pretty fast. He made contact with me about two weeks before the draft, when it looked like he would indeed go in the first round. The money was almost within his grasp. He would have told you eventually because he needed Miss Ida.”

“I guess so. He was a smart guy.”

“Very smart, and very determined. We were excited about helping Sooley because, obviously, he had the money. Or at least the prospect of it.”

“That’s what he dreamed about. Getting his mother and brothers over here.”

“I’m sorry we can’t help, Murray. Those poor folks will spend years in that camp, won’t they?”

“Probably so. And Sooley can’t help them.”

“I assume his mother has heard the news.”

“Yes. Some aid workers in the camp told her.”

“That poor woman.”

“She’ll never know how close she came.”

“Mind if I ask what happened in the Bahamas?”

Murray shrugged and said, “He had a bad night. Got some pills from a girl. Sooley wasn’t a user, not even close. He didn’t smoke pot until the season was over, and then he didn’t like it. He’d have a few beers, nothing more. It’s so sad. He was a great guy.”

“He was. I’m very sorry.”

“Thanks. And thanks for your time.”

Gaston paid for lunch. They shook hands and promised to keep in touch.

Chapter 60

Murray took as much time as possible driving back to Durham. He was in an even worse funk and the thought of spending another night with his parents in a gloomy household was not appealing. Over dinner, he described his trip to Charlottesville and the lunch with Gary Gaston. They were amazed at Sooley’s plans to extricate his family, big plans that had not been shared with them.

July Fourth came and went with no hint of a celebration around the Walker home. Jordan was there for a few days but not even she could lift their spirits. On July 6, Murray drove to Charlotte where the first round of the international showcase was being held. Ecko would be there with his latest installment of young South Sudanese talent. Central’s new head coach, Jason Grinnell, would be there, along with Lonnie Britt, no doubt watching Ecko’s players more closely and hoping to discover another star.

He found them at the Spectrum Center, home of the Hornets, and they invited him to the coaches’ suite to hang out with their friends. There was a lot of talk about Central’s miracle run to the Final Four, and Murray enjoyed the attention.

That night, over a long dinner with the three coaches, they tried hard to talk about anything but Sooley. It didn’t work. All four men were deeply wounded and still stunned by the loss. Each took turns telling stories of how friends and strangers had reached out to them and offered to help. Sooley had thrilled the basketball world and touched many people, many of whom were still eager for some connection to the kid and his remarkable story. Jason Grinnell said that the Central program had received over $50,000 in small gifts from fans everywhere. Ecko’s program had also received many small gifts to support players in South Sudan.

He said, “Sooley still has millions of followers on social media. I check it all the time and some of the comments almost make me cry.”

Jason said, “I tried to look too, but it’s overwhelming.”

Ecko said, “Here’s an idea, Murray. You should try to capitalize on Sooley’s popularity. Why don’t you consider starting a foundation in his name with the proceeds going to something like humanitarian relief for our people?”

Lonnie added, “Great idea. I’ll bet you could raise a fortune.”

Jason said, “And how about a few bucks for dear old Central?”

Murray said, “How do you start a foundation?”

Ecko said, “It’s easy. Everybody’s got a foundation. The one I work for has some lawyers who’ll guide you through it. All you need is a mission statement, a cool website, and somebody to run it. It doesn’t have to be fancy. Post the link on Sooley’s social media and I’ll bet you’ll get an amazing response.”

“Don’t you need IRS approval?” Lonnie asked.

“Sure, but you can get started as that is pending,” Ecko replied. “I’ve heard the lawyers talk about it. I’ll bet your mother knows the ropes. Her Legal Aid is a nonprofit, right?”

“Oh yeah. You never hear them talk about profits. What’s the mission?”

Lonnie said, “It could be three-fold. First, humanitarian relief for refugees. Second, to support youth basketball in South Sudan. Third, to raise money for scholarships in Sooley’s name at Central.”

Ecko said, “The three of us can serve on your board, along with anyone else you want. We’ll see how much money comes in and decide how to give it away.”

Jason smiled and whistled and said, “This could be huge.”

For the first time in memory, Murray arose early the next morning and hustled back to Durham. He bought sandwiches and took them to Ida’s office for a working lunch. Typically, she was skeptical of any idea or scheme that tried to profit off Sooley’s name. He objected to the word “profit,” and she apologized saying she had used the word carelessly. Of course, there were no thoughts about making money. She had not seen him so engaged and excited since he and Sooley had returned from the draft in New York. She suggested that they discuss it with Ernie over dinner and sleep on it. That was all the approval Murray needed.

Borrowing from the funds that Sooley had borrowed from Arnie, a loan that so far had not been mentioned by the agent, Murray spent $4,000 on a website design, $2,500 on legal advice, and $2,000 on a nineteen-year-old kid who ran his own company specializing in online marketing. He opened a bank account, rented a post office box, and read with discomfort the proposed bylaws and IRS regs sent over by the lawyer.

On July 19, one month to the day after that horrible Sunday morning at the Acropolis, The Sooley Fund was launched. The website featured a beautiful color sketch taken from Murray’s favorite photo of his friend. There was Sooley, with the ball held high over his head, and a wicked smile on his face, soaring high above the rim for another rattling dunk. There were photos of the refugee settlements, the starving children, of healthier teenagers playing basketball on dirt courts, and a tribute to the great Central team that had so captivated the sports world. The website and social media pages were linked to each other in every way possible.

By midnight of launch day, over 50,000 viewers had visited the site and 11,000 had sent money, a total of $148,000. Murray forced himself to close his laptop and he tried to sleep. By noon the next day, the money was at $305,000 and the deluge was on. The Fund was going viral.

Sooley’s popularity was astonishing. His tragic death only heightened the public’s desire to help in some small way. The comments and condolences were overwhelming and poured in with the money.

After seventy-two hours, more than 100,000 people had paid by credit card, with the average gift at about $8. After four days, the Fund topped $1 million and Murray was giving interviews.

He sent a long memo to his board — Ecko, Lonnie, Jason, and Ida — and described in detail Sooley’s desire to extricate his family and his plans for doing so.

With the board’s approval, he called Gary Gaston.

Chapter 61

Three weeks later, Gaston arrived at the Walker home for a preflight briefing. He brought with him an African American woman named Silvia, who he described as one of his associates. She specialized in “extrication logistics,” something as vague as Gaston could possibly make it sound, but the Walkers were not about to ask for any clarification.

A week earlier, Gaston had explained to Murray that a woman would be a nice addition to the team because Beatrice and the boys might feel more comfortable around her. They were likely to be thoroughly rattled if not traumatized, and women handled those situations better. There was some loose talk about Ida making the trip, though she was not keen to go. That talk got nixed when Gaston explained that he and Murray, along with whatever woman they took, would run the slight risk of being arrested upon their entry into the U.S. The charge could be aiding and abetting an illegal entry. Gaston was prepared to risk such a minor charge. Murray was undaunted. Ida preferred not to be arrested and flatly said no. She needed to stay behind and organize the legal team and deal with Immigration. Gaston said that with two prior extrications, both involving Syrians, the planes landed in Bangor, Maine, where Immigration was not known to be as aggressive as, say, Miami. The families surrendered to the authorities, were detained, and Immigration never pursued anyone for aiding and abetting.

Over dinner at Ida’s table, Gaston walked them through each step of the extrication and answered all their questions. He showed them the forged passports for the Sooleymons. Using photos that Ecko had taken with them in December, the forger had done what appeared to be a masterful job of producing Ugandan passports. Since Sooleymon was a familiar name throughout East Africa, and Beatrice, James, and Chol were not uncommon, their new passports used their real names. Murray had been able to obtain their birthdates from Ecko.

Gaston expanded on the story he had told Murray about the failed extrication a year earlier at Heathrow. The paperwork had been fine, but the Immigration official became suspicious when the mother flubbed her fictitious birth date.

Ernie wanted to know what could go wrong. Several things that they knew of and several that no one had ever heard of. The biggest fear was the airplane. The Gulfstream 650 had a range of 7,500 miles and Entebbe was 7,300 miles from the airport at Raleigh-Durham. Flying west, they would certainly face headwinds, and if they were strong enough the jet might be forced to make a pit stop. Landing anywhere but the U.S. was risky. However, the pilots would monitor the weather closely and would know what they were facing before they took off. Plan B would be to land in the Canary Islands, a favorite fueling stop for international flights and a place known for customs agents who could be convinced to look the other way. Gaston had contacts there.

There was always the chance that trouble might erupt at Rhino Camp South and prevent a quiet exit by Beatrice and the boys. There were other risks, but on the whole Gaston and Silvia were confident.

After they said good night and left for their hotel, Murray went to his room and finished packing. As he did almost every hour, he checked in with the Fund, now at over $3 million and counting. He had been forced to hurriedly hire a part-time secretary to deal with the details and make sure the donors, all 265,000 of them, were properly thanked. Their systems were upgraded; more powerful software was added. Murray was chasing his tail and in need of full-time help, and the last thing he needed was a trip to Uganda.

But he wasn’t about to miss the adventure.

Before they were buckled in, the copilot welcomed them aboard and briefed them on the flight. Thanks to a tailwind, their estimated flight time was only thirteen hours. Thirteen sounded only slightly better than fourteen or fifteen. Just minutes before their scheduled 11 a.m. departure, the flight attendant took their drink orders and handed them lunch menus.

The jet seemed plated with gold. The leather recliners were soft and deep. The carpet was thick, plush. A mahogany dining table sat midway aft, and beyond it were two sofas that folded into beds, complete with silk sheets. Screens were everywhere and there was an endless selection of movies and channels.

It would be Murray’s third trip on a private jet, and something told him it would probably be his last. Classes started in two weeks and it was back to the grind. Then basketball, without Sooley and without Coach Britt, and a season that looked less than promising.

Murray found a chair in the rear, kicked off his shoes, buckled himself in, and vowed to enjoy the trip.

The two soldiers were Ugandan Defence Forces, the usual troops seen around the camp. They wore the standard green fatigues, shiny black boots, smart black berets, and, as always, had Kallies strapped over their shoulders. They found Beatrice behind her tent tending to her small plot of vegetables. They were friendly and polite and asked her to step away for a private word.

They informed her that she had been selected to move to a newer section of Rhino Camp South, to a nicer home. Keep it quiet. She had heard the rumors of new housing to replace their rotting tents, but those rumors had been around for months. The refugees spent half their time sifting through rumors, or creating more of them.

They returned to her tent where a third soldier was waiting with two army duffel bags. Beatrice balked and said she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. Her close friends lived on each side of her and she wouldn’t go without them. The soldiers smiled and said her friends would make the move tomorrow. Within minutes, she had packed everything she owned — clothing, blankets, pillows, tins of food, some notebooks from school, and two plastic jugs for hauling water. The soldiers carried the duffels as they left the area. Beatrice looked back at her tent, her home for the past year, and wondered if she would ever see it again. An army jeep was waiting. The soldiers helped Beatrice into the front passenger’s seat and tossed her bags into the back where another soldier was sitting. The jeep weaved slowly through the settlement and came to its edge, near the school. Standing in front under the shade of a tree was a teacher with James and Chol.

Beatrice asked the driver, “Why are we getting the boys?”

“We have a surprise. You’ll like it.”

The boys squeezed into the back seat of the jeep and waved to their teacher. They had never been in a jeep before. In fact, they could barely remember their last ride in a motorized vehicle, the old pickup owned by their uncle in Lotta.

Their rides would only continue to be upgraded.

As they left Rhino, Beatrice was concerned. Again, she asked the driver, “Where are we going?”

“To Kampala, then to America.” She was stunned and speechless. They rode for almost an hour over a busy, wide gravel road, dodging supply trucks and troop carriers. At the airport, a small Ugandan air force cargo plane was waiting as another one landed and taxied to the warehouse.

In the rear seat, the soldier asked the boys, “Ever been up in an airplane before?”

They shook their heads no and watched wide-eyed as the jeep stopped next to the cargo plane. Beatrice had never considered air travel, and thus had no opinions about whether or not it was for her. However, at the moment she was stricken with fear and didn’t want to leave the jeep. The soldiers gently coaxed her out with promises of safe travel, and a visit to the big city before leaving for America. Once inside they strapped her in, the boys too, and wished them well. The two engines sputtered to life and the old plane shook itself. Two cool pilots in aviator shades turned around, smiled at them, and gave them thumbs-up. Beatrice was too stiff to move, but the boys were grinning from ear to ear.

Murray, Gaston, and Silvia were lounging under a wide umbrella by the pool, sipping drinks with no alcohol, and waiting, for the second day in a row. In the bush, the best-laid plans often go awry, and the delay was being blamed on some confusion regarding cargo planes. It didn’t matter and it wasn’t a big deal. Delays were always expected. There were worse ordeals than hanging around Kampala Serena, a five-star hotel in the middle of the commercial district.

Gaston’s phone rang and he got to his feet. He said, “One hour. Great.” He put the phone away and nodded at Murray and Silvia. They went to their rooms, changed, and returned to the lobby where they waited. The family arrived in a white van with no military markings, proof that Immigration had now taken over. The driver was an officious-looking man in a suit. He slid open the side door and helped Beatrice to the pavement. The boys followed and all three stood frozen, unsure of what to say or do, or where to go. The Serena hotel was a vast and beautiful building, and they had just driven through the chaos and congestion of a big city, their first ever.

Gaston stepped forward and said, “We represent your American family. We’re here to take you home.”

Murray smiled at the boys and said, “I’m Murray. I lived with your brother and he was my best friend.” They immediately recognized him from the videos Samuel had sent. They awkwardly shook his hand.

As they entered the lobby, the always courteous doormen smiled and then exchanged looks. Three well-dressed Americans and three bewildered and somewhat ragged refugees from the bush.

It came as no surprise that the boys wanted lunch. They had never eaten in a restaurant before, neither had Beatrice, and once their bags were checked in, they followed Gaston to a corner table where they could talk. And talk they did. As Beatrice realized that they were indeed headed to America, she had many questions. The boys asked Murray what they should eat and he ordered cheeseburgers and sodas. And, of course, they wanted to talk about Samuel.

For people who had slept last night on the floor of a tent, and every night for the past year, and who spent hours each day waiting in endless lines for food, and who had lost half their family and all hope in the future, and who had no idea why they had been plucked from the camp, the moment was simply overwhelming. Beatrice cried a lot, and then she laughed, and ate, and tried her best to understand Murray as he tried his best to explain how a nonprofit worked in the U.S. He finally gave up and said, “Let’s just say that Samuel is responsible for this.”

After a long lunch, they escorted the family to their large room with two beds. Murray showed them how to work the shower and toilet. From the balcony, he pointed below to the beautiful pool and told the boys he would take them swimming as soon as they changed.

Gaston called the front desk and organized a van to take them shopping, and he and Silvia left with Beatrice to buy new clothes. It was imperative that the family, now full-fledged Ugandans, looked the part of well-documented immigrants headed for America. If a customs agent somewhere checked their luggage, he would find some nice new clothes and nothing out of the ordinary. And new clothes were certainly needed. Staying clean in the camps was impossible, and the dirt and grime had become part of the fabrics.

In the pool, Murray marveled at how skinny James and Chol were. They were already tall for their ages, eleven and thirteen, and he could almost count their ribs. He had never seen kids so thin in America. As they frolicked in the water he watched closely for the slightest hint or sign that they shared the same marvelous DNA as their brother. They could not swim so they stayed in the shallow end, and as he listened to them chatter and play he remembered many wonderful stories Sooley had told about his little brothers. He said James looked just like him, and he was right. He said Chol would be the best basketball player in the family. They would soon see about that.

Water became the topic. Water in the pool. Water in the tub. But especially water from the tap that ran nonstop and they could drink all they wanted. The boys took shower after shower, and Murray didn’t have the heart to tell them that in Durham there would be a monthly water bill. When they were bored with the shower, they returned to the pool.

Murray recalled that the team managers had been amazed at how little water Sooley consumed.

After another fine meal at dinner, they met in Gaston’s room to walk through tomorrow’s schedule. So far, each leg had gone as planned. Gaston often smiled at how far a little cash could go in the developing world. Cash under the table certainly worked back home as well, it just took more of it.

Chapter 62

Ida believed the optimum time to land at Raleigh-Durham International was around two or three in the afternoon. Though she had been negotiating with Immigration and Customs Enforcement and thought they had an understanding, she knew from experience that things could go wrong. She might need an hour or so to run to Immigration Court, where a judge was on standby.

They left the hotel in the same van at 4 a.m. and drove an hour to the airport at Entebbe. Gaston thanked the driver and tipped him heavily. He’d been tipping a lot in Kampala. A woman with the same sense of authority as Ida Walker met them at the general aviation terminal and led them inside. The word “Customs” was embroidered above the pocket of her shirt and she seemed to own the place. It was deserted and there was little traffic in this corner of the sprawling airport. She collected all six passports, pointed to a pot of coffee in a corner, and disappeared. On the tarmac, their beautiful jet was glistening in the lights as the pilots went through the preflight routines.

James and Chol wore matching khaki shorts, white golf shirts, and white socks and sneakers. Beatrice had found a bright yellow gomesi, the floor-length traditional dress of Ugandan women. She would have preferred something from her own country, but for the moment she was pretending to be Ugandan. At any rate, the three looked adorable and gave every indication of being a prosperous family headed to a new adventure in the United States.

Without asking for their ID cards, the customs official brought the passports back stamped and ready to go. Two men in uniforms scanned the bags and put them on a cart to be pushed to the jet. Clearing customs took less than fifteen minutes. On board, Murray introduced the family to the flight attendant, a person he now knew well. She situated them in a club area with four large chairs and asked what they wanted to drink. Of course, the boys were hungry and they were soon talking about breakfast.

James, the clown and a spitting image of Samuel, said to Murray that this plane was a bit nicer than the Ugandan cargo twin they had used the day before. Murray showed the boys around, stepping around the feet of the adults, and promised that they could watch as many movies as they wanted over the next fifteen hours.

At 2 p.m. Eastern Time, Ida and her team gathered in the lobby of the private terminal at Raleigh-Durham International. She had two lawyers from her office with her, and she asked Tyler Guy, Sooley’s pro bono immigration lawyer, to join them as well. Ida had been working with the International Rescue Committee, and Ms. Keyser was on hand. She had met Samuel the previous September.

Four ICE officers arrived and things were immediately tense. Ida managed to lighten the mood with some banter, but the ICE boys were not easy to mollify. They had a job to do: to arrest and detain people caught entering the country illegally.

When the Gulfstream landed at 2:10, it was directed to a place on the tarmac fifty yards from the terminal. By the time its engines were cut off, three ICE SUVs were waiting, all with as many flashing blue lights on as possible.

On board, Silvia sat with Beatrice and the boys and tried to reassure them. She said, “I know we’ve been through this before, but there’s no way around what’s about to happen. You will be arrested and taken away, but you won’t be locked up for long. Whatever you do, smile and be polite to the agents. They’re just doing their jobs.”

Now that reality had hit home, Murray had a knot in his stomach. Why go to all the trouble of sneaking in refugees if they’re just going to be arrested? But, he knew his mother was in charge.

Gaston collected the fake passports and ID cards from the family, and said, “Just keep smiling. Everything is going to be fine.”

Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. Ida and her team watched nervously from inside the terminal. Finally, the jet’s door opened and ICE agents walked up the steps. Ten more minutes passed. Ida had been promised that she would be allowed to speak to the family before they were taken away. Finally, Murray appeared, and was followed down the steps by Silvia, then James, Chol, Beatrice, Gary Gaston, then the ICE agents. The three were not handcuffed and were led into the terminal where Ida stepped forward and said, “Welcome, Beatrice. I’m Samuel’s American mother and I’m delighted to meet his real one.” They embraced, and kissed on both cheeks, and Ida was struck by how tall Beatrice was.

Murray introduced James and Chol and for a few awkward moments they chatted and welcomed them to American soil.

As promised, the ICE agents then, rather gently, handcuffed all three and led them away. They were driven to a federal detention facility near Raleigh where Beatrice was placed in a cell on the female floor. James and Chol were placed together in a juvenile wing.

They knew a brief stint in jail was unavoidable, but it was still unsettling to be behind bars. James and Chol laughed at the fact that the night before they were hanging out in the luxurious Serena hotel, while the night before that they had gone to sleep in their tent at Rhino Camp South.

Compared to the tent, the cheap bunk beds in one corner of their cell didn’t look so bad.

U.S. law requires that any person who enters the country illegally and requests political asylum be detained by ICE for as short a time as possible before being brought before an Immigration judge.

At ten the following morning, Ida and her team were waiting in the courtroom of the Honorable Stanley Furlow, a former intern at Legal Aid and a Central law school graduate. Beatrice and the boys were brought in, all smiling, all wearing what they had worn on the plane. They spent a few minutes talking to their lawyers and getting oriented. Judge Furlow called their case and proceeded to separately ask all three the same basic questions. There were no real issues to contest, not at that point anyway. In a trial several months down the road, the government could argue that the three did not meet the requirements for asylum, but that was another fight for another day.

Some paperwork was passed around and the lawyers whispered to their clients. After about an hour, Judge Furlow ordered the family released to the custody of their sponsors, Ernie and Ida Walker, and a date for their trial would be set later.

A small caravan left downtown Durham and ten minutes later turned onto a street near Central’s campus. The house was one of three in a triplex. It was new and had been built by an affordable housing coalition in partnership with the city. Murray had kicked in some money from the Sooley Fund. The home’s exterior walls were a bright yellow and almost matched Beatrice’s gomesi.

A crowd was already there. The IRC had rounded up a dozen South Sudanese refugees in the area and invited them to the open house. Most of Ida’s staff was there, along with Ernie. Coach Grinnell and his wife had stopped by.

When Beatrice and the boys walked up the sidewalk, the crowd clapped and yelled, “Welcome to your new home.” When they stepped inside and saw the furniture, the pretty pictures on the wall, the rugs, and a table covered with food, they were overcome.

Late in the afternoon, long after the guests were gone, Ida asked Beatrice if she wanted to visit the cemetery. She replied that she was ready for it. The families took two cars and drove ten minutes to Rustling Meadows Memorial Park, a modern-style cemetery without vaults and tombstones. All the graves were identical and were laid out in large perfect half-moons that covered a long rolling meadow.

They parked by the chapel and walked along perfectly landscaped trails until they drew close. Ida stopped and pointed to a newer grave with red dirt and fresh flowers. Murray took James and Chol by the hand and led them closer. A new granite plaque read: “Samuel Sooleymon, Born August 11, 1997. Died June 19, 2016.”

Both boys started to cry and wiped their cheeks. Murray backed away and watched as they each leaned on their mother.

It was a heartbreaking scene, and neither Murray nor Ida nor anyone else could begin to imagine their pain.

Two days later, after work, Murray stopped by the house and collected James and Chol. He had told them to wear their new sneakers. He drove them to the campus and parked outside The Nest, in Coach Grinnell’s reserved space. He proudly showed them his own key, opened the side door, and led them through the underground hallway until they emerged onto the court. They tried to absorb the place, with its shiny wood floors, its thousands of maroon seats, its banners hanging from the ceiling. In one corner there was a huge photo of Sooley in action.

Murray said, “This is where he played.”

They roamed around the floor, from one end to the other, trying to connect with the history left behind by their big brother, but they were too overwhelmed. Murray found a rack of balls and tossed out a couple. Chol was thirteen and already pushing six feet. He bounced a ball twice, pulled up, and fired away from 20 feet.

Nothing but net.

Chapter 63

On a spectacular autumn day in early November, a small crowd gathered, by invitation only, in front of the McDougald — McLendon Arena, also known as The Nest and the home of the Eagles. Under an oak, and with a gentle breeze scattering leaves, they sat in folding chairs and waited for the unveiling. Next to a small podium was the reason they were there. Under a maroon-and-gray drape, there was obviously a work of art or piece of sculpture.

The guests included all members of the current Eagles team, along with their coaches and managers. A dozen or so staff from the AD’s office. Another ten from the President’s. Some student leaders. The Walker and Sooleymon families and some of their close friends. About a hundred in all. A larger celebration had been discussed, but the brevity of the event dictated a smaller crowd.

There was only one short speech. The President took the podium and began, “Thank you for coming. This will not take long, but it will be something you will remember for a long time. We gather to honor the greatest hero in our school’s history, and to unveil a bronze image of him that will last forever. Sooley arrived on this campus a year ago, an unknown student-athlete who could not go home. This university gave him a scholarship and took him in. We had no idea what was coming. We freely gave to him and could not envision what he would give in return. He took us places we’ve never been, and, frankly, never thought we would go. He played the game with an enthusiasm that was contagious, and he played it with a talent that grew with each game and reached heroic levels. We will never forget Sooley, his big smile, his boyish excitement, his exuberant love of the game, and his intense loyalty to his teammates. We will never forget what he did for this university.

“Back in August, his roommate and best friend, Murray Walker, approached me with the idea of memorializing Sooley with something permanent here on campus. We met with our art department and the ideas began. What you’re about to see is a bronze image of the great Sooley in action. It was commissioned by one of our own, Ronnie Kelso of Wilmington. I’ll ask Sooley’s mother to come forward and do the honors. Ms. Beatrice Sooleymon.”

Across the street, a group of students stopped to watch. Others joined them.

Beatrice stood in the first row and took three steps. The President handed her a small cord, which she pulled gently, and the draping fell to the ground. Everyone clapped politely as Beatrice admired the likeness.

It was Sooley, soaring through the air, the ball cocked high, and ready for a dunk. At its base was a plaque that read: “Sooley. In 2016, Sooley played 20 games and became the most popular player in college basketball. He led the Eagles to the Final Four. And then he was gone, but he will always live in the hearts of those who saw him play.”

From across the street, the students began chanting, quietly and respectfully: “Sooley! Sooley! Sooley!”