Pierce tried to envision the geopolitics enveloping Bobby Okari. “How real is the threat of Islamic terrorists in the north?”
Caraway got up, pouring more coffee for them both. “The basis for
imagining
a threat’s real enough. The north’s borders are porous, and its expanses of desert are so vast and ungoverned that some envision it as ‘Af-ghantstan 2020’: a base for terrorist operations no one can control. It doesn’t help that bin Laden made a tape calling northern Luandia ‘ripe
for liberation.’ My personal theory is that he’s stoking our paranoia, hoping to draw in a visible contingent of U.S. troops whose presence will offend Luandian Muslims. But there’s a large pool of unemployed men in the north who despise the Karama government
and
our invasion of Iraq. It’s not uncommon to find infants named Osama.”
“Is there any hard evidence of jihadists in Luandia?”
“Some. Our satellites have located what they believe may be a terrorist training base in the north, and our intelligence people snared a guy with ten million dollars and a cell phone programmed to call jihadists in Saudi Arabia. But Luandia’s Muslims are Africans, not Arabs. They’re also Sufi—a decidedly gentler sect scorned by Islamic militants.” Caraway’s slight smile had an ironic cast. “Still, Karama knows how to play the terrorist card. His story is that he, and only he, is America’s bulwark against Islamic terrorists infesting the north.”
“What about in the delta?”
Caraway looked at him shrewdly. “Against an Islamic alliance with FREE, you mean? That’s not a natural fit. But some fear that Al Qaeda could become a shipper and refiner of bunkered Luandian oil, dramatically expanding its ability to finance expanded terrorist operations against the West.
“There’s precedent for that. Ninety percent of the drugs derived from poppies grown in Afghanistan are sold in Europe and come back as arms for the Taliban. The Iranians funnel petrodollars to Hezbollah. That’s led to another factor that strengthens Karama—our nascent military presence in Luandia.”
Pierce was genuinely startled. “I didn’t know we had one.”
“It’s not large yet. But we have military personnel in the north, training Luandian soldiers in counterinsurgency tactics. They’re potential targets for kidnappings or killings—God knows what we’ll do if
that
occurs. Nevertheless, the Pentagon wants to increase our military beachhead here. Even, some propose, in the delta.” Caraway checked his watch. “I’m about to get on a conference call with the State Department about Karama’s speech. Someone’s going to ask how pressing Karama about Okari helps us put more soldiers here.”
Pierce felt discouragement become anger. “They’ve got it backward,” he said. “To stabilize the delta you need the kind of social justice Bobby stands for. Kill him, and all the troops in the world won’t buy your nervous friends a good night’s sleep.”
“As it happens, I agree.” The ambassador seemed to reach a decision. “Come to my house for dinner tonight. There may be more for us to discuss, including what—if anything—
you
intend to do. I’m still not quite clear on your purpose here.” He raised his eyebrows. “By the way, what did you put on your visa application?”
Pierce smiled. “Vacation.”
“Oh, dear. That may have helped get you into Luandia, but it may also keep you here. The last intermeddlers in the delta who claimed to be tourists, three documentary filmmakers from Germany, were jailed by the state security services on charges of espionage. My friend the German ambassador can’t seem to spring them.” Caraway stood, offering his hand. “Make this trip a short one, Mr. Pierce. You don’t want the cell next to Okari’s.”
O
UTSIDE HIS HOTEL, A LUXURIOUS HIGH-RISE
, P
IERCE ENCOUN
tered a row of limousines guarded by armed soldiers. As he and Vorster entered, the lobby buzzed with blacks and whites on cell phones, the elite classes whose dealings with one another, so profitable for themselves, did nothing for Luandia or its people. A tall and imposing Luan-dian man in traditional dress swept past them, accompanied by a fawning deputation of Chinese. “That’s Ugwo Ajukwa,” Vorster explained, “Karama’s national security adviser. The man’s knee-deep in the oil business—legal and otherwise. The sight of him with the Chinese is not a happy one.”
Pierce went upstairs and left a detailed voice mail for the managing partner of his law firm, Larry Kahan, outlining his preliminary thoughts on how to save Bobby Okari. Then he scribbled notes for hours, assessing all he had heard through the prism of law until, exhausted, he prepared for dinner by napping.
C
ARAWAY’S ONE-STORY HOME
fronted a lagoon shaded by palm trees. They sat beside the water at twilight, on a patio illuminated by torches. “My own version of flaring,” Caraway said. “Keeps the mosquitoes at bay.”
The two men sipped glasses of single-malt scotch. After a time, Pierce asked, “How was your conference call with State?”
Caraway considered his answer. “Much as you’d expect. The self-styled ‘realists’ consider Okari a luxury on whom we should expend—at most—pious words. Others see Karama as the luxury. To them, our
obsession with this ‘global war on terror’ could lead to a disaster similar in kind, if not scale, to Iraq—the descent of a strategically important region into chaos. Imagine the choice between military intervention in the delta and letting the oil go.” Pausing, Caraway took a careful sip of scotch. “There’s only one principle agreed to by all: no one wants to back Okari if he’s a murderer.
“As Martel surely told you, some of the skeptics believe that Okari cares more for power than principle.” He held up a hand. “To begin, do you really think Okari was as naive about Karama’s character as he now suggests? There are those who argue that Karama was Okari’s ticket to ride, and only when that failed to work out did he turn to the Asari—that his ultimate aim is to become the ‘big man’ of all Luandia, its president. If Okari’s ambition is for himself, then nonviolence may be just another stratagem, as disposable as the rest.”
Pierce set his drink down. “I don’t believe that.”
“And I’m disinclined to. But FREE was cutting into his support, especially among the youth. Okari’s a man completely certain of his own rightness. In a place like Luandia, with all its tests and temptations, that can have a dark side.”
“He’s not stupid,” Pierce said. “Those lynchings were a disaster.”
“True. But Okari needed to hang on to his militants. He wouldn’t be the first revolutionary who told himself, ‘Just this once, for the greater good.’” Caraway’s tone became forceful. “You suggest that Karama arranged the hangings to justify a massacre. Ask yourself why Karama would perpetrate a lynching that makes him look bad
and
intimidates his cash cow, PGL. As for the massacre itself, I suspect it happened the way Okari says. But as long as Karama’s in power, it’s beyond our capacity to prove that and, some would say, against our interests to try.”
“Everyone knows who Karama is,” Pierce answered in disgust.
Glancing up, the ambassador gestured to a young American soldier who doubled as a messboy, suggesting that a first course would be welcome.
“We
know who he is,” he replied. “Karama sits at the top of a very slippery pole. To stay there he’s used surveillance, rape, torture, economic blackmail, secret prisons, and mass murder. He’s subverted the military chain of command by enlisting junior officers as spies. He’s mastered the art of whom to bribe and whom to kill.” The rhythm of Caraway’s speech slowed, as though to emphasize an important moment. “When I first met Karama as
ambassador, it was at three
A.M.
, and we were watched by North Korean bodyguards—the worst of the worst, recruited because they have no connection to Luandia. Karama was smart, articulate, even amusing. But by the end of the meeting I understood that he had no interest in me
or
my country. All that mattered was how he could use us to ensure his own survival.”
Pierce felt gloom settle around them like the night. “Suppose we’re both right,” Caraway continued. “That Okari didn’t order those men lynched, and neither did Karama. What then? One possibility is that someone’s playing Karama for reasons of their own, certain that he’d proceed against Okari precisely as he has. I think Karama’s genuinely afraid that the Asari movement might spell the beginning of a secessionist uprising that sweeps the delta.” Caraway propped both elbows on the table, his expression reflective. “Without oil, the game’s over for Karama. That’s more than enough reason to justify dispensing with Okari.”
Pierce finished his scotch. “So who would kill those oil workers to set Karama off?”
Caraway grimaced. “Luandia’s far too byzantine to know. But if Karama’s innocently proceeding against an innocent man, he’ll be that much harder to persuade.”
The first course arrived, a fruit salad featuring pineapples grown in Luandia. His appetite diminished, Pierce sampled the salad, then put down his fork. “For the sake of argument, suppose the U.S. made saving Okari a priority. What would we do?”
Caraway pondered this. “Try to figure out some sticks and carrots. But there’s no way we’d cut off military aid. And cutting off humanitarian aid would be pointless—there’s too little of it, and Karama wouldn’t care.”
“Suppose America were to boycott Luandian oil?”
Caraway emitted a mirthless laugh. “We
are
talking theory. We wouldn’t do it alone—the oil would just go elsewhere, maybe to China. The Europeans wouldn’t join us; they’re as addicted to oil as we are. As for other African countries, they don’t like helping whites push other blacks around, and several of their leaders resemble Karama more than Okari.” Fastidiously, Caraway wiped his mouth with a white napkin. “You’d also be surprised by Karama’s support in Washington. He’s got a small army of lobbyists trumpeting all the good he does for his people, headed by a former black congressman who, before he discovered
Karama’s money, pushed human rights in Africa. If you take on Okari’s cause, I’m certain he’ll try to stymie you.
“That brings me to Okari’s ultimate problem: time.” Caraway shook his head in bemusement. “I assume thirty days isn’t nearly enough for a lawyer to prepare his defense, even if the trial court wasn’t a joke. I can assure you that it’s not enough time for a mechanism as cumbersome as our government, faced with a country as complex as Luandia, to focus on saving the life of just one man.”
“You’re suggesting that it’s hopeless,” Pierce said in a toneless voice.
“Difficult.” As the messboy approached, Caraway fell silent, waiting until the man had filled their wine glasses. “You may wonder why I’ve asked you to dinner. You’re a lawyer and a free agent. You may be able to say and do things in America that a mere ambassador can’t.”
Pierce looked at him fixedly. “So could Marissa Okari. She’d be far more effective on TV or working Congress than I’d be. What can you do to get her out?”
“I took that up with the foreign minister. Karama won’t let her leave.” Caraway puffed his cheeks, expelling a long silent breath. “Though she’s an American, she’s also become a citizen of Luandia. An admirable gesture, and extremely shortsighted. Luandia won’t recognize dual citizenship. It’s more difficult to pry her loose, no matter how dangerous things get for her here.”
Glum, Pierce sampled the wine, considering his next remarks. “We’re leaving out PGL,” he said at last. “They have leverage with Karama
and
the White House.”
Caraway gave him a quizzical smile. “Why would PGL expend its capital on Okari’s behalf? Or, for that matter, his wife’s?”
“Because the army came to Goro in PGL’s helicopters and boats.” Pierce spoke quietly but coolly. “Bad enough to destroy a people’s way of life; worse to give them nothing for it in return. But it’s truly special to help a murderous autocrat and a psychopathic army colonel commit a mass atrocity against civilians. People like that get convicted of war crimes.”
Caraway put down his wine glass, staring at Pierce. In a measured voice, he said, “That’s a serious charge. Of one thing I’m certain: if PGL’s equipment was used, its people will claim they were unable to anticipate—let alone control—what Okimbo did with it.”
“They’re not virgins,” Pierce snapped. “Most likely Okimbo and his
soldiers were on PGL’s payroll; no doubt PGL asked Karama for ‘protection.’ They know damn well who these men are, and what kind of ‘protection’ they were likely to get.”
“So all that’s left for you is the small matter of proof.” Caraway’s voice held quiet irony. “When I first moved here, I bought a boat with an outboard motor for puttering around in this lagoon. One day someone stole it. When I went to the police, they said, ‘We have no gas. If you give us money to fill our boat, then we will find
your
boat.’
“So I did. And they
did.
Otherwise I’d have no boat.” Caraway poured each of them another half glass of wine. “I won’t belabor the analogy. Perhaps they stole my boat; perhaps they murdered the person who did. All I know is they brought it back.”
“In this case,” Pierce retorted, “they murdered Okari’s father. That means he can sue PGL in an American court. If they prove to be com-plicit in a massacre, I doubt they’ll enjoy the consequences.”
Caraway considered him. “Results take time. Law, like diplomacy, moves at glacial speed.”
Pierce smiled a little. “Yes. I’ve thought of that.”
“What you’re asking is whether I’d facilitate a meeting with the head of PGL.”
“That would be nice. Preferably before Karama throws me in jail.”
For a time, Caraway gazed out at the lagoon. “Let’s enjoy our dinner,” he replied. “For the moment, I think we’ve done sufficient business.”
The waiter served the main course, then dessert. It was only over coffee that Caraway returned to the subject of Pierce’s mission. “I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “In turn, will you accept a last piece of advice?”
“Of course.”
“You’d be better off leaving here and never coming back. But as long as you’re here, don’t assume that because Americans and Luandians share a common language, words share a common meaning. They don’t. Listen not only to what is said but to what the speaker may be trying to convey. If someone lies to you, don’t waste your time on outrage. The only useful question is whether he’s really trying to mislead you, or whether the lie’s so obvious that it’s meant to express a deeper truth. The most critical thing about anyone you meet is not their words, but their motives.” He smiled briefly. “That applies not only to Luandians, by the way.”