Part 6 (1/2)

Chapter 118.

THE TV WAS tuned to CNN. A British reporter was speaking over an image of an upscale housing complex-white two-story buildings in neat rows, shot from high above.The overlay read ”Breaking News-Summit Oil Residential Compound, Bonny Island, Nigeria.””Never before have families been taken,” the reporter was saying, ”and certainly never this number of live hostages. In an e-mail to the international press, People for the Liberation of the Niger Delta now have claimed responsibility for the incident-with these shocking images attached to their message.”The screen switched to grainy infrared video.Dozens of people sat along the floor of a dark hallway. Their heads were covered and hands tied, but it was easy to tell there were men, women, and children on the film. Some of them were crying, others moaning piteously.”Those are British and American citizens,” Amba.s.sador Oweleen informed me. ”Every one of them. Consider yourself lucky to get a flight out of here at all.””What flight? When?”He held up a hand, looking back at the TV. ”Look at this, will you? Do you see what's happening?” Armed troops were streaming out of a truck single file.The British reporter went on: ”Government forces have established a perimeter around the entire complex, while economic pressure mounts internationally.”With more attacks promised, oil-production facilities are shutting down regionwide, approaching an unprecedented seventy percent slowdown, which is considered to be catastrophic.””Chinese, French, Dutch, and of course US interests in particular are at stake. Under normal trade conditions, Nigeria provides about twenty percent of American oil.”A phone buzzed on the desk. Amba.s.sador Oweleen picked it up. ”Yes?” he said, and then, ”Send them in.””Sir,” I tried again. ”I'm not asking for much. I just need to make one phone call-””We'll get you a shower and some fresh clothes right away. And we'll take care of any immigration issues. We can get you a new pa.s.sport right away. But then you're gone. Forget about your manhunt. As of right now, it's over.”I finally snapped at him. ”I don't need a shower! Or fresh clothes. I need you to listen to me. I just witnessed a reporter named Adanne Tansi being murdered at the Kirikiri Prison. She was writing an important story that has relevance to the violence near the oil fields.”The doors to the office opened, and Oweleen's eyes s.h.i.+fted right past me. It was as though the moment I raised my voice, I'd lost him. He didn't even respond to what I'd said.He spoke directly to the double marine escort waiting there. ”We're all done here. Take Detective Cross downstairs and get him cleaned up for travel back to the US.”

Chapter 119.

THE TWO MARINES were polite and respectful enough but very mission oriented as they escorted me to a subbas.e.m.e.nt locker room.It had tall wooden lockers and a faded carpet, a tiled steam room and whirlpool, and a small area for showering. As promised, I was given a fresh towel.One of the marines asked me my trouser, s.h.i.+rt, and shoe size and then left. The other marine told me I had about ten minutes to shower and dress, so I ought to get started. Both of the marines were black-probably no coincidence there.There were four stalls, each with a curtained changing cubicle in front. I stood inside the last one, my mind racing while the clock ran down on my time in the country.What was I going to do? There were no windows in the room, and there was only one exit. I turned on the water, just to sound busy.Then I leaned in and let it pour over my head.Suddenly my whole body was shaking. I was remembering Adanne, and that had to stop, for now, anywayA minute later, I heard someone moving around outside. A curtain slid open and closed. One of the other showers was turned on.Someone was humming that James Blunt ballad that was always on the radio, the one where he keeps repeating the word beautiful.I took off the remnants of my s.h.i.+rt. Then I stuck my head under the water again, and leaned back out, dripping on the floor.”Hey, can you get me another towel?” I asked the guard.I had noticed there were stacks of them by the entrance when we'd come in.”Why do you need two?” he leaned inside the shower and said.”Are you kidding? You saw the way I look. And smell.”He shook his head but went to get the extra towel.”Thanks,” I called.I immediately stepped over to the other cubicle, holding the curtain rings to keep them from singing on the bar.Whoever was showering next to me had hung his clothes on a hook in the changing stall.I rifled through the pants pockets and found just what I was hoping for-a cell phone.Seconds later, I was back in my own stall-just before the marine looped a white terry towel over the top of the bar. ”You'd better pick up the pace,” he said from outside the curtain.I turned the shower up as hard-and as loud-as it would go.Then I dialed Ian Flaherty's number.He answered himself.

Chapter 120.

”FLAHERTY,” I SAID. ”It's Alex Cross.””Cross? Where are you?””I'm at the consulate. I'm in Africa. They're sending me out of the country. It's going down right now. I need you to talk to someone and get it stopped. I'm close to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d, the Tiger.”He didn't even pause before he answered. ”No can do. I can't cover for you anymore.””I don't need you to cover for me. Adanne Tansi is dead-he killed her. I need you to make a call or two. I can break this case now.””You don't get it,” Flaherty said. ”You're done over here. Game over. Go home and stay there. Forget about Abi Sowande. Or whatever his name is now.”The water in the other shower stopped. The man in there started whistling. I hit the heel of my hand against my forehead, putting it all together. Flaherty hadn't been covering for me at all. 1 had this all wrong, right from the beginning.”I was covering for you, wasn't I?” I said.The whistling in the next stall stopped for a second and then continued.”That's why you wanted people thinking I was CIA. I was out in the open. While you played covert, I was a useful distraction.””Listen.” I could hear in Flaherty's voice that he was done. ”I've got to run. We saved your bacon a couple of times. Be thankful. There's a war going on here. Get the h.e.l.l out of Dodge-call me from the States.””Flaherty!”He hung up at the same time that the shower curtain flew open.The marine who'd fetched the towel was there and looking totally p.i.s.sed off. He pushed me into the wall and pinned my wrist. I didn't struggle with him. For one thing, my shoulder was howling with pain. When he reached for the cell phone, I just opened my hand and let him take it.Game over, all right.I was going home.Whether I wanted to or not.Honestly, I had mixed feelings.

Chapter 121.

I LEFT THE consulate pretty much the way I'd left Kirikiri-as a captive. This time, of the American government. I wondered if I could possibly get away again. And did I really want to?One of the marine escorts drove, while the other sat in back with me. Worse, they had handcuffed me to him. I guess they'd decided I wanted to do this the hard way.The main gates to the consulate were closed as we drove toward them. No one was waiting to get in anymore.The demonstrators had swollen in number, though. They were lined along the fence, holding on to it like they would jail bars, cursing against all things American, as well as the life that fate had dealt them.Once we were through the main gates, the crowd closed in around us.Bodies pressed against the car windows, palms slapped on the gla.s.s, and fists beat the roof. I could see anger and fear in their eyes, the frustration of lifetimes of injustice and misery.”What do these people want?” the young marine in back with me asked. His name tag said Owens. ”Those hostages in the Delta are Americans and Brits. They're probably going to die.””What do they want?” the marine at the wheel said. ”They want us not to be here.”And n.o.body wants me here, I was thinking, not even the Americans. n.o.body wants to hear the truth either.

Chapter 122.

THE ROADWAYS TO Murtala were even more crowded and bustling than the last time I'd been here-if that was possible. We parked at the very same air base Adanne and I had used to go to Sudan. We had to take a shuttle from there.The bus was jammed with American families presumably headed home or at least out of Nigeria. Everyone was talking nonstop about the terrifying hostage drama in the Delta. No one had been freed yet, and everybody was afraid the hostages would be killed soon.The surprise to me was how little attention anyone gave to two men handcuffed together. I guess these people had other things on their minds besides me and my marine guard.The terminal at the airport was overflowing, noisy, and as chaotic as the scene of a bombing. We burrowed our way in to a security office to arrange a walk-through to the plane.Apparently the handcuffs weren't coming off until I was buckled in tight and pointed toward home.The waiting area was packed, like everywhere else, with all eyes turned toward a single TV. It was tuned to an African channel.The female reporter had a Yoruban accent, just like Adanne's, and it was the strangest thing, but that's what finally put me over the edge. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I began to shake as if I had a fever.”You okay, man?” the marine cuffed to me asked. He seemed like a good man, actually. He was just doing a job, and doing it well.”Yeah, yeah,” I said. ”I'm fine.”Still, I wasn't the only one crying in the room. With good reason. Nigerian troops had moved in on the Bonny Island complex in what was supposed to be a ”rescue mission.” Instead, all thirty-four hostages were now dead. Open fighting had broken out all through the Delta region. Riots were reported in at least two other states in the south.The images of the slaughtered hostages were shocking by American news standards. The hostages were lying on the floor of the corridor, adults and children both. The bodies were slumped and fallen, draped over one another, with bloodstained clothes, and hoods still over their heads.One woman near me let out a piercing scream. Her family was still down in the Delta. Everyone else was quietly fixated on the screen.”Governors' offices in Rivers, Delta, and Bayelsa states have issued warnings,” the reporter went on. ”Local citizens are urged to avoid all but the most necessary travel for at least the next twenty-four hours. Full curfew is in effect. Violators will be arrested, or possibly shot.”The marine cuffed to me, Owens, spoke. ”Your plane is boarding. Let's go, Detective Cross. h.e.l.l, I wish 1 could go with you. I'm from DC myself. I'd like to go home. I miss it. You have no idea.”I took a number from Owens and promised to call his mother when I got back.A few minutes later we were all being led out to the airplane. I heard someone call my name and I looked to one side, toward the terminal building.What I saw there froze my blood and seemed to change everything.Father Bombata was looking right at me, and he raised his small hand and waved.Standing beside him, towering over the priest-if he was indeed a priest-was the Tiger. Abi Sowande. The monster ran his thumb across his throat.What was that supposed to mean-that this wasn't finished?h.e.l.l, I knew that.It wasn't over by a long shot. I had never given up on a case yet.But maybe the Tiger already knew that.

Part Four

HOME AGAIN, HOME AGAIN.

Chapter 123.

I KNEW I had failed.And I knew, and had known for a long time, that I'd already witnessed and investigated enough murders and bloodshed to last me for a couple of lifetimes. Nothing had prepared me for the insane mayhem and horrors of the past few weeks: torture and episodes of genocide; suffering by innocent women and children; finally, the senseless murders of Adanne Tansi and her family.I wanted nothing more than to escape into sleep for a few hours on the plane to London, where I would eventually connect with a flight to Was.h.i.+ngton.But I couldn't stop the terrible nightmare images from my time in Africa: Again and again I saw Adanne's murder and rape by the monstrous Tiger.And what had come of the murders of Adanne and her family? What had been accomplished beyond a failed chase after the killer called Tiger? Wliai of all the other deaths here that would never be avenged, or even properly memorialized? What of the secrets Adanne had shared with me?I woke with a s.h.i.+ver as the flight descended into London's Gatwick. I had slept some and now I felt groggy and had an upset stomach and a splitting headache.Maybe it was just my paranoia, but the Virgin Nigeria flight attendants seemed to have avoided me for most of the trip.I needed water now and an aspirin. I signaled the attendants, who were collecting cups and soda cans before we landed. ”Excuse me?” I called out.I was certain the women had seen me signal, but I was ignored by them again.Finally, I did something I don't remember ever having done on a flight. I hit the ”Attendant” b.u.t.ton. Several times. That got me a stern look from the closer of the flight attendants. She still didn't come to see what I needed.I got up and went to her. ”I don't know what I've done to offend you-,” I began.She cut me off.”I will tell you. You are a most ugly American. Most Americans are that way, but you are even more so. You have caused suffering to those you came into contact with. And now you want my help? No. Not even a cold drink. The seat belt light is on. Return to your seat.”I took her arm and held it lightly but firmly. Then I turned and looked around toward the cabin.I was hoping to see someone watching us, someone who had spoken to the flight attendants about me.No one seemed to be looking our way. Nor did I recognize anyone.”Who told you about me?” I asked. ”Someone on the plane? Who was it? Show me.”She shook herself loose. ”You figure it out. You are the detective.” Then she walked away and didn't look back. That angry face of hers and the mystery of her anger toward me followed me all the way home.

Chapter 124.

THE NEXT TWELVE hours of the trip pa.s.sed very slowly, but finally I arrived in Was.h.i.+ngton. I wasn't able to reach Nana to tell her I was home. So I just grabbed a taxi waiting at Reagan International and headed to Fifth Street.It was a little past nine and the nighttime traffic was heavy, but I was glad to be in DC again. Sometimes it feels that way when I come home after a long, hard trip, and this time certainly qualified. I couldn't wait to be in my own house, my own bed.Once I was in the cab, I got lost in a kind of jet-lagged reverie.No one had any idea about the carnage and suffering until they actually visited parts of Nigeria, Sudan, Sierra Leone-and there were no easy answers or solutions either. I didn't believe that the violence I had seen came from regular people being evil. But those at the top were, at least some of them.And then there were psychopaths on the loose, like the Tiger and the other killers for hire, the wild boys. The fact that terrible conditions might have made them killers hardly seemed to matter.The irony that kept jabbing at me was that I'd spent the last dozen years chasing murderers in the States, and it seemed like child's play now, nothing compared with what I'd seen in the past weeks.I was shaken out of my reverie when the cab slid over to the side of the road. What was wrong now? I was home, and still misfortune followed me? What-aflat tire?The driver peered back and nervously announced, ”Engine trouble. I am sorry. Very sorry.” Then he pulled a gun and yelled, ”Traitor! Die!”

Chapter 125.

SOMEBODY WAS STUBBORNLY ringing the front-door bell at the Cross house. Ringing it again and again and again.Nana was in Ali's bedroom, putting him down the way he liked her to, lying in bed next to him until the sweet boy drifted off to sleep as she whispered the words of a favorite story.Tonight the book was Ralph S. Mouse, and Ali wouldn't stop giggling at every page, often a couple of times on the same page, saying, ”Read it again, Nana. Read it again.”Nana waited patiently for Jannie to get the front door. But it rang again, and then again. Persistent and rude and maddening. Jannie had been making a cake in the kitchen. Where was that girl? Why didn't she answer the door?”Now who can it be?” Nana mumbled as she pushed herself up and out of Ali's bed. ”I'll be right back, Ali--Janelle, you are trying my patience, and that's not a good idea.”But when she got to the living room, Nana Mama saw that Janelle was already at the door-which was flung wide open.A strange boy in a red Houston Rockets basketball s.h.i.+rt was still ringing the bell.”Are you some kind of a crazy person?” Nana called out as she hobbled quickly across the foyer. ”Stop that bell ringing this instant! Just stop it now. What do you want here so late? Do I know you, son?”The boy in the Rockets jersey finally took his hand off the bell. Then he held up a sawed-off shotgun for Nana to see, but she kept coming forward until she protectively held Jannie.”I will kill dis stupid girl in a second,” he said. ”And I will kill you, of woman. I will not hesitate jus' 'cause you de detective's family.”

Chapter 126.

IT ALL HAPPENED so fast in the taxi and caught me completely off guard and unprepared, but I saw a chance, and I had to take it.I didn't think the cab driver was an experienced killer. He'd hesitated instead of just pulling the trigger and shooting me.So I lurched forward and grabbed the gun and his hand at the same time.Then I smashed his wrist against the taxi's metal part.i.tion. I smashed it again as hard as I could.The man yelped loudly and he let go of the gun. I pulled it away and swung it toward him.Suddenly he ducked low and then flung himself out the front door.I jumped out the back door, but he was already scampering down a gra.s.sy hill. Then he disappeared into a thicket of woods off to the side of the highway.I had a shot with his gun, but I didn't take it. He'd called me ”traitor.” Just like the flight attendant.Did he believe that, or was he doing what he'd been told?I pictured the man's face, gaunt, a goatee, maybe in his midtwenties. A soldier? A thug? His accented English showed hints of a Nigerian dialect. So Who had sent him after me-the Tiger? Somebody else? Who?I tried not to speculate on conspiracy theories right now. Not here, not yet.The keys were still in the ignition, and without much deliberation 1 decided to drive the taxi home. I'd call Metro once I was there.But what would I tell them-how much of this strange and disturbing story?And how much would I tell Nana? She wouldn't be happy to see me like this: driving a cab-taken from the driver, who had wanted to kill me.

Chapter 127.