To show fear, Pierce sensed, would mean failure and perhaps increase the danger to Bobby and himself. “What I have to say is between you and Bobby Okari. No one else is meant to hear it.”
Karama showed no flicker of expression. Then he held up his hand again, snapping his fingers. “Go,” he said.
At first Pierce did not know for whom these words were intended. Then Ajukwa spoke sharply: “This is a trick.”
Still Karama stared at Pierce. With deadly softness, he said, “So I am not equipped to deal with tricks? Then perhaps you think I should not be president.”
Ajukwa’s expression became veiled; over Karama’s shoulder, he gave Pierce a measured nod, as though he had marked him well. Ajukwa’s footsteps as he left made no sound.
“Speak,” Karama said.
Pierce felt his time trickling away. “All Bobby wants,” Pierce said, “is hope for the delta. To kill him would be like executing Mandela. You’ll unleash hell.”
“Nelson Mandela?” Karama repeated with contempt. “I have yet to hear from him. So perhaps Okari is not as important as he imagines himself.
Only
I
can make him so by keeping him alive; the world will think him too sacred for me to hang. Okari is only useful to me dead.”
Karama’s implacable reasoning gave Pierce pause. “You can make him useful alive,” Pierce answered. “Spare him, and the world will see you differently.”
“You babble Okari’s pieties,” Karama snapped, “mistaking poetry for power. He believes himself to be the world’s darling, too rare a soul to be executed by a simple military man. But who is to stop me? PetroGlobal? They owe their stockholders the profits I can give them. The Chinese? They kill their own Okaris by the thousands, including in Tibet. The Africans? South Africa helped keep Mugabe in business, and Mugabe has no oil. America? As long as they get their oil and save their precious soldiers, the day after I hang Okari he’ll be just another black corpse.
“True, there will be noble speeches about his sacrifice, the indomitability of his spirit, the obligation of those who survive never to forget. But the world is a forgetful place. Your cars will run; your youth will go to the movies; your president will thank me for my friendship. Soon Okari’s people will remember him, if at all, as the murderer of three Asari oil workers. If this pathetic plea is all you came for, you’ve wasted my time.”
Pierce had no time for hesitation: Karama’s last phrase, seemingly a throwaway, might be an invitation. “There’s something more,” Pierce told him.
From the darkness of the zoo came the bestial growl of a lion. “There is only one thing of interest to me,” Karama said in a low voice. “What you implied at the trial.”
Pierce reached for his last reserves of determination. “Some of this I know,” he said. “Some I believe. What I know for certain is that you’re surrounded by a web of deceit. Ajukwa urged you to trust Okimbo. Ajukwa forced PGL to hire Van Daan. Ajukwa ships oil stolen by General Freedom. Okimbo let General Freedom escape from prison. General Freedom hit PGL’s facilities and raided Petrol Island. Every step empowered Ajukwa and FREE. And every military action by FREE enabled Henry Karlin—Ajukwa’s American partner—to make a killing in oil futures.”
Karama’s face showed nothing. “There’s one more thing,” Pierce continued. “Okimbo and Van Daan planned to wipe out Goro a month
before
the lynchings, knowing this would decimate the Asari movement and
empower FREE.” Pierce slowed his speech, speaking each word emphatically. “Ajukwa knows you well. He knew you wanted to be rid of Bobby; he knew that you believed Bobby wanted the delta to secede. So he ordered Okimbo to lynch those men on Asari Day, certain that you’d blame Okari and give Okimbo a free hand. Then he counseled you to execute Okari. With Okari dead, General Freedom has more power. So does Ajukwa, his ally—”
“Give me evidence,
oyibo.”
“Before the lynchings, Karlin placed another bet on oil futures. He
knew
the price of oil was going up, because Ajukwa knew about the lynchings before they happened. If you get records of Ajukwa’s bank account, I’m confident you’ll find millions in kickbacks in the last three months—”
“Ajukwa’s rich already,” Karama interrupted. “I have made him so.”
“Not as rich as you are. There’s only one way to become that.” Pierce softened his voice. “In Luandia, money is power—you know that better than anyone. So are friends in the military, like Okimbo; and a well-armed militia leader, like General Freedom. Ajukwa wants to be president.
“You know how to make your enemies speak the truth. I suggest you ask Ajukwa if he’s Jomo.”
Karama stared at him. Pierce had the eerie sense that Karama could read his thoughts—could tell that, despite his weaving of facts and guesswork, Pierce had no idea if his surmise about Ajukwa was true, any more than he could predict what this accusation, reverberating in Karama’s brain, might cause this man to do. Then there was the most dangerous imponderable of all: if Karama himself had ordered the lynchings, the whole of Pierce’s argument turned to vapor. In a tone of molten anger, Karama said, “You forget Okari’s history. Long before these men died, he spat in my face. He refused a position in my government. He used his gifts to hold me up to ridicule.” A corrosive envy filled the words. “No matter who carried out the lynchings, Okari disdained me as a man. There is no balm in my soul for that.”
Pierce stared into the pieces of black glass. “Nor is it a cure,” he answered, “to kill Okari for Ajukwa’s reasons.”
Impassive, Karama folded his arms. “Do you wish Okari to live?” he said at last. “Then tell him he must start his life all over again, like a baby
crawling on his knees. Only now he will crawl to me.” His voice became commanding. “It is not enough for him to disown your lawsuit. He must go on television to denounce his movement; ask his followers to abandon their secession; apologize to me for his disrespect; and beg my forgiveness in memory of our former friendship. Oh, yes, and confess to murder.” Karama’s smile, a gelid movement of his lips, raised the flesh on Pierce’s neck. “If his speech is truly pleasing, I will let him rot in jail until the last ember of his movement has died. Then I will set him free to roam the world, yesterday’s man, trying to resurrect his tattered reputation until his testicles turn to raisins.
“Tell him that. And if he finds death more attractive, tell him that his wife and I will watch his final spasms on film, in the moments before I enjoy her for myself.” Karama’s voice became as intimate as a whisper. “Did he tell you we once shared a woman? When he is dead and you are back in America, I will not have to share Marissa Okari. I will leave the rest to your imagination, Mr. Pierce. She will not be able to tell you about it.”
Pierce felt the awesome power of this man to inspire fear and hatred overcoming his self-control.
“You cannot do that.”
“Because she’s American? Perhaps the people of your country will rise up as one, demanding her salvation, and this single half-black woman will replace the ravaged women and starving children of Darfur.” Karama gave a terrible laugh. “I haven’t checked today. Has your president sent troops on their behalf?”
Pierce could not respond. Karama watched his face, and then the trace of a smile played on his mouth. “You are heartsick, I see—no doubt for your friend Okari. But I am not without mercy. If Okari crawls to me, I will forswear his wife and let her return to the country she abandoned. Then, perhaps, you can have her.
“I trust you to persuade Okari on her behalf, and yours. Then you won’t have to wish in secret for a client’s death.” Pointing to the door, Karama said softly, “Go to him while he’s still alive. Neither Okari has much time.”
Karama turned his back and walked to the edge of his zoo. “Sleep, my darlings,” he said into the darkness. “There’s much for us to do.”
Pierce walked in the other direction, scarcely conscious of his surroundings. From the tangle of emotions one thought surfaced: Karama had not refuted his accusation of Ajukwa.
W
HEN
P
IERCE CLIMBED INTO THE
SUV, V
ORSTER LOOKED AT HIM
keenly. After that, he asked no questions. Neither spoke. Only after they passed through the entrance to Savior Rock, headed for the hotel, did Pierce take out his cell phone.
Though it was past two
A.M.
, Caraway answered. “This is Damon,” Pierce said. “I just saw Karama.”
“After I did? What’s your impression?”
“He’ll kill Okari if it suits him. Karama thinks we and the rest of the world will do nothing. To him, Bobby’s a secessionist, a test of his power. But his feelings are far more personal than that and include Marissa.” Pierce struggled to capture his feelings. “It was worse than I’d imagined. He’s completely rational, and utterly insane.”
“Yes,” Caraway responded in a tone of weary recognition. “Tonight he spared me the overt psychosis. But he brought up Okari on his own: he says he needs a free hand to ‘stabilize’ Luandia, and wants us to back off. It’s clear that this is his condition for giving us what we need to rescue our soldiers.”
Staring at the empty streets of Savior City, Pierce felt despair seeping into his soul. “We have human rights groups appealing to the presidents of the U.S., South Africa, and France, and the prime ministers of England and Australia. But Karama thinks it’s all a joke.”
“Karama,” Caraway answered, “understands geopolitics. In my latest conversations with the Europeans, they seemed most concerned about being
seen
as caring. We’ll get public statements asking for clemency, and
nothing with any bite.” Caraway’s tone betrayed frustration. “As for us, events are moving too quickly. In the best of times, it’s hard to focus the full attention of the government on anything less than a Cuban missile crisis. Now our crisis is these soldiers. By the time that’s resolved . . .”
His voice trailed off. After a moment, Pierce asked, “Have you figured out who Al Qaeda in Luandia is?”
“No. Karama claims not to know. Perhaps that’s even true. But some of our intelligence people wonder if they exist. That leaves some pretty novel theories.”
“Including that they belong to Karama,” Pierce said. “Or maybe Ajukwa.”
Caraway did not answer directly. “If so, we’ll get our men back—just as soon as they’ve served their purpose.” His tone grew pointed. “Whatever the case, the kidnappings drove up the price of oil by four dollars a barrel. Okari’s death would spike it more.”
Pierce hesitated. “When I met with Karama,” he said, “I floated a theory about Ajukwa. The short of it is that Ajukwa’s involved with Okimbo, Van Daan, and General Freedom in a scheme to acquire more money and more power. One aspect of which is lynching these workers and blaming Okari.”
There was a long silence. Softly, Caraway inquired, “How did Karama react?”
“I’m not sure. But I sensed him taking it in.”
“God knows what he’ll do with that,” Caraway answered. “You’re toying with the psyche of a murderer.”
“No doubt. But Karama offered to spare Okari’s life. The offer is so bad it’s almost credible: in return for mercy, Bobby has to apologize to Karama, repudiate his movement, confess to murder, and spend an indefinite time in jail—from which he may never emerge.” Pierce paused. “He finished with threats about Marissa. I believe in those.”
There was more silence. “If you’re asking about Ms. Okari,” Caraway said, “there’s nothing new. It would be better for all of us if she weren’t here.”
“Well, she is,” Pierce snapped.
Caraway’s voice was level. “What I’m saying is that you know people. I’m aware that she’s watched by soldiers. But if there’s some unofficial way to get her out, we have an embassy in Accra. Ghana’s fairly close.”
“And if I can’t manage that?”
“Then Okari should consider Karama’s offer, no matter how humiliating. As my grandmother used to say, you’re a long time dead.” Caraway paused. “There’s a story about Karama. During one of his entertainments—the videotape of a particularly gruesome execution—a colonel fainted. Standing over him, Karama said, ‘And he calls himself a soldier.’ I don’t want the Okaris to become another grisly test.” The ambassador’s voice flattened. “I’ve said enough. If I hear something you should know, I’ll call.”
Hanging up, Pierce sat back, silent. As they neared the hotel, Vorster said, “This doesn’t sound good.”
“No. But I’ve got a question for you.”
“What is it?”
Pierce turned to him. “If I could get Marissa clear of the compound, is there a way to take her to Accra?”
Vorster puffed his cheeks. “I do business here. So does Dave Rubin. Something as volatile as this can’t have our fingerprints on it.”
Pierce felt disheartened. “And so?”
Vorster hesitated. “I know someone—a Frenchman with a plane who’s crazy and likes money. Maybe . . .” He shrugged. “I don’t know that he’s still around. If he is, and wants to do it, then he’d have to get himself to Port George. It could take time.” He studied Pierce. “How would you slip her past those soldiers? I don’t think there’s enough money in Luandia for that.”
“That’s my problem. Can you work on this?”
Vorster frowned. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Then just drop me at the airport. I’ve got to see Okari while I can.”
I
T TOOK SEVEN
wasted hours for Pierce to book a flight; another six to reach Port George. Clellan flew with him. By the time they reached the barracks, dusk had fallen.
“I’ll wait,” Clellan said. “Good luck.”
When Pierce presented himself to the sentries, Major Bangida appeared. “Okimbo wants to see you,” he said.
This is what Pierce had anticipated, and dreaded. He followed Bangida inside.
Okimbo looked up at Pierce with his hands flat on the desk, as
though preparing to rise. His eye did not blink. With silken quiet, he said, “You are here by the grace of President Karama. You’ll be allowed to leave only for that reason. But should you break any of our laws, from now until you leave our country, you will belong to me.”
That Okimbo expressed this as a simple statement of fact made his words more chilling. “Go see your friend,” Okimbo told Pierce. “This is his last chance to save all three of you.”