Whiplash

16

Nuri put his hand into his pocket, slipping his fingers around one of the video bugs as he followed Commander John’s men into the building. It would be risky to bug the headquarters — but well worth it.

“Come,” said Commander John, looking at Hera as he spoke. “My brother is always at his desk. He will be very pleased to meet distinguished visitors.”

The pews, altar, and other religious items had been removed from the church years before. A few chairs and small tables formed different islands in the interior, but for the most part the space was filled with bundles of clothes and bags of rice and other supplies, which shaped half walls and low partitions. Three overhead fans pushed warm, stagnant air around the room. Sticky no-pest fly strips, the type outlawed in the U.S. for environmental and safety reasons years before, hung from the rafters, occasionally snapping in the fans’ breeze. A scent of sweat mixed with something sharp like cinnamon and dust.

Four of Uncle Dpap’s aides were sitting on chairs on the right side of the building. They looked up when Nuri entered, but went back to talking among themselves when they saw Commander John.

The floor of the chancel was raised about a foot higher than the nave, and it was here that Uncle Dpap had his desk. Six young soldiers sat on the floor nearby, their rifles either in their laps or next to them.

Uncle Dpap was speaking on a satellite phone. His smooth, almost polished forehead extended into a bald scalp; his face looked babylike despite his age, which was fifty-five. No flaw or blemish marked his deep black skin. He frowned as the conversation continued, yet looked serene, a father confident of his place in the world, and of his progeny’s place as well.

Nuri spotted a perfect place for the bug, on the side of a filing cabinet near a cluster of rolled-up, dusty maps. He popped a piece of gum in his mouth and began chewing furiously.

“We will wait,” said Commander John. He looked at Nuri. “You have a piece for me?”

“Sure,” said Nuri. He reached into his pocket for the package. It was going to taste like cardboard, but it was useless to explain that.

Commander John took the entire package, slipped a piece out, then pocketed the rest. Nuri raised his hand to ask for the gum back, but Commander John ignored him.

“Tilia, translate for me,” he told a young woman at a desk behind Uncle Dpap. “We have an important visitor and must impress them.”

Tilia got up slowly and walked over.

“She will help with my English,” Commander John told Hera. He understood her Arabic well enough despite her accent, but having a translator brought prestige, and the whole point of the visit was to impress her. Besides, Tilia could translate from the village language, which was less arduous to speak.

“Look at this map,” Commander John told Hera, taking her elbow and steering her to the far wall. “This is the area where our people live. Our ancestors toiled in this area for many years.”

Tilia translated dutifully. Her English was close to flawless; she had lived in England as a child and returned there for college. She had joined Uncle Dpap, to whom she was distantly related, after her parents were killed by Sudan government troops.

“There were lions in the foothills once. My people chased them away. Ferocious lions,” Commander John told Hera, emphasizing the word “ferocious” as if there might be some doubt. “There are stories — true or not, I do not know — of people facing them with just their bare hands.”

“She won’t believe that,” said Tilia, who didn’t believe it herself.

“I said, I am not sure it is true. Tell her.”

Tilia knew Commander John was trying to impress the woman, and also knew that he would fail. He was constantly on the make — any female new to the village, African, European, got his attention, until he bedded her or she left the village. Tilia herself had only been spared his advances because Commander John suspected his brother was sleeping with her, an impression Tilia encouraged, though she was not.

Nuri, meanwhile, walked casually across the room and, after a quick, surreptitious glance, ducked down to tie his shoe…and plant the bug.

At times like this, just after placing a bug, there was often a moment of doubt, a dread certainty that he had been seen. That fear seized him as he rose, and for a second he found himself dizzy. Blood rushed from his head. His muscles tensed, ready to fight.

Nuri forced himself to breathe slowly. One breath, two…there were no explosions, no accusations, no one grabbing him by the neck and dragging him away.

See, he told himself. Nothing to worry about. The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Nuri turned and walked toward the center of the room. As his apprehension receded, a low-grade euphoria swept into its place, encouraging him that he could do practically anything. If his dread had been misplaced, so was this optimism, and he tried to tamp it down, folding his arms and feigning interest in the map Commander John was using for his pseudohistory lesson.

Uncle Dpap was still on the phone. He was pleading with a man in South Africa to send him ammunition — his troops had only a few hundred rounds, hardly enough to defend themselves, let alone launch an assault. The South African claimed he did not have any ammunition for sale, and refused Uncle Dpap’s efforts to persuade him to find some.

The tidbit of conversation was invaluable to Nuri. For one thing, it practically eliminated the possibility that Luo had been killed by a competitor: anyone that motivated would have already made his pitch to replace him.

Confident that the bug was picking up the conversation, Nuri turned his attention to Tilia, who was frowning deeply as she translated. She’d be a perfect target to be turned as a spy, he realized: well-placed, intelligent, with a small taste for expensive things, if her rings and watch were any indication.

He smiled at her. She didn’t notice.

When Uncle Dpap finally got off the phone, he called Commander John over for an explanation. The African’s face lit up and his chest swelled. He put his hand around Hera and introduced her.

Nuri decided it was time to deflate some of the rebel commander’s interest, if not his lust. “This is my wife,” he said, putting his arm around Hera’s shoulder from the other side. “We work together.”

Commander John frowned. He had no qualms about cuckolding a man, especially a westerner who had strange ideas about bones. But clearly he would get no further with Hera while Nuri was around.

On the other hand, it explained her strange attitude toward him. Clearly, he thought, she would return his smiles if her husband was out of the way.

Uncle Dpap, though annoyed at the interruption and preoccupied by his supply problems, managed to feign some interest in the scientists. The discovery of large monsters on nearby land would not surprise him, he said; many tales told of fierce creatures who held sway before the land was tamed.

Then he let the conversation lag. He had many things to do.

“Well, thank you, Your Excellency, for taking the time to meet us,” said Nuri. “You must come and visit sometime.”

“Your camp is in Red Henri’s territory,” said Uncle Dpap. “I think we’ll leave it to him.”

“I see.”

“These things are not something for you to be involved in, or concerned about,” said Commander John. “If there is a conflict, you should come to me.”

“Yes,” said Nuri. “But we wouldn’t want to be involved. Good-bye.”

Abul had waited on the bus, sure it would be stripped clean if he left it. Nearly a dozen boy soldiers leaned against it, sheltering themselves from the sun while they chattered in high-pitched voices.

Nuri and Hera came down the steps, practically running. Hera went straight to the bus, but Nuri went back into the store — he wanted to preserve the cover story that they had come to town for supplies.

If the storekeeper was puzzled by his earlier disappearance from the bathroom, he didn’t mention it. Nuri bought some canned food, overpaying just enough to make the shopkeeper look forward to his return.

“Let’s go,” Nuri hissed under his voice as he hustled up the steps into the bus. “Go.”

Abul started the engine and leaned out the window to scoot the soldiers away. They didn’t respond until he put the bus in gear. Even then they seemed barely to notice, edging off the bus as it slowly moved forward.

“Go back the way we came,” Nuri told him.

“I know.”

Abul turned around at the side of a wide lot beyond the center of town, giving his passengers a good view of one of the shantytowns where the bulk of Uncle Dpap’s followers stayed. The street was so narrow he had to maneuver back and forth several times before finally managing to get in the proper direction.

“They’re looking for ammunition,” Nuri told Hera. “That’s interesting.”

“He told you that?”

“No, I overheard him.”

“Why did you tell him I was your wife?”

“That was just to get Commander John to stop leering. I wanted us to be able to get the hell out of there.”

“You’re an ass.” Hera put her head back against the seat. “If we had taken our rifles, no one would have messed with us.”

“We’re undercover. Scientists don’t carry rifles.”

“They’ve never seen scientists before. Everyone goes around with guns.”

“It would have put them much more on their guard.” Nuri blistered. “Listen, I’ve been out here a lot longer than you have.”

“I’ve been in Sudan before, Nuri.”

“Not here.”

“Darfur was worse than this.”

At the front of the bus, Abul did his best to pretend he wasn’t hearing their argument. He stopped at the checkpoint and gave the soldier the second half of the ten dollar bill. Then he headed back toward Base Camp Alpha, happy to be out of the rebel village. Becoming a millionaire, he decided, was a dangerous business.