Rare Earth (18 page)

M
arc had felt no fatigue until they were in the air. Then it hit him hard, like someone threw a blanket over him and shut out the world.

They flew in the same Lear that had brought him north. The pilots were different, both female this time, but possessing the same crisp military precision. Marc sat across the narrow aisle from Levi Korban. Kitra's father had started talking in the departures lounge, explaining precisely what was behind their quest. He continued as they climbed on board and belted in, answering questions Marc had not even thought to ask. Levi waited impatiently as the copilot announced takeoff, raised his voice to overcome the engines' roar, and even followed Marc into sleep.

When Marc woke, Levi was there waiting for him. “Sorry. I drifted off.”

“I noticed.”

Marc excused himself and went back to the washroom. His watch said he'd been asleep for almost two hours, though it felt like only a few minutes. He wondered if Levi had sat there watching him the entire time. Waiting to restart their discussion. Marc decided the man had probably endured a lifetime's worth of waiting since his son had vanished and his daughter refused to come home.

Marc washed his face and dried it with a clutch of paper towels. As he stared at his reflection, he thought about the last dream he'd had before waking. He was standing beside Kitra, looking at a featureless two-room cube. The square house was one of many extending like petals around a squat desert bloom. In the dream, Marc had felt Kitra's arm go around his waist, and in that instant he knew he was looking at their home. He would live there, raise his children there, and be planted in this rocky earth. Far from any place he had ever imagined for himself.

Marc stared at his reflection and faced the question that had carried him into wakefulness. Could he live that life? In her world?

The plane's galley was situated up front, beside the door leading to the cockpit. Marc found two thermoses, one holding coffee and the other hot water. He asked Levi what he wanted, and poured the Israeli a mug of tea. Marc knocked on the door and asked if the pilots wanted anything. One took coffee, the other asked for a sandwich from a tray in the refrigerator. Marc carried the sandwiches and mugs into the cockpit, then loaded a plate and mug for himself.

He knew Levi was waiting to get back into his explanation. But Marc did not need to know more. He would never become an expert on rare earths. He knew enough to get the job done. His focus needed to be elsewhere. He could feel the man's stare but kept his attention on his supper.

When he finished eating, Marc pulled out the sat phone and made two calls. The first was to Charles, making arrangements to meet with the Kibera elders and asking him to book them hotel rooms under Levi's name. He cradled the phone for a long moment, then called the camp director and asked to speak to Kitra. Marc could feel Levi's gaze boring into him. He rose from his seat and carried the phone back to where the engines' noise offered a bit of privacy.

At the sound of her hello, all his one-sided conversations crowded in. “I've missed you. Missed hearing from you. Missed talking with you. Being with your family and in your homeland was hard without you. You were everywhere.”

She might have sobbed. He wasn't sure. The sat phone was good for communicating, but all emotions were tinged with metallic hissing. When she did not respond, he went on, “You were right to do what you did. To go to Kenya, seek out a future for your people. With Serge.”

“If only that were true.”

“You are your father's daughter. Even your mother says that. In spite of everything.”

“How is she?”

“A strong woman, like her daughter. Desperate to have you safe at home.”

This time the sniff was audible. “Wait a moment, please.”

He heard the phone settle, and the sound of Kitra blowing her nose, then, “Where are you?”

“Flying back to Nairobi. We should arrive sometime around midnight local time.”

“Is Daddy there with you?”

“Yes.”

“I miss you, Marc.” She almost broke down forming the words, “If only things were different.”

He spoke around his longing. “Kitra, your parents don't blame you for Serge's disappearance.”

“They don't need to. I blame myself. Guilty on all charges.”

“They both knew Serge would never let you go alone.”

She needed a long moment to say, “Serge started hunting for answers the moment he arrived. I tried to tell him it was dangerous, that our best hope was to come in and identify the materials and leave unseen. He wouldn't listen. He was certain the Chinese were intent on finding these new sources and claiming them all. That first week he obtained evidence the Chinese were bribing senior government officials to smooth their way. I begged him to go more slowly. But he was convinced if we did not hurry, we would lose our chance. And in order to block them, we needed cold, hard evidence.

“So Serge waited for another village to be evicted, then went on the hunt. Sometimes I thought he
wanted
to be abducted. Only this would gain us the answers. He was obsessed with uncovering the truth.” She blew her nose again. “He always said he was here to protect me. I know the truth now. He wanted to protect the entire country. That is who Serge was. Is.” She choked on the last word.

Marc listened beyond the words and heard how this beautiful woman was trusting him now. He wished he could reassure her, tell her everything would be fine in the end. But he could not taint this moment with false promises.

“You and Serge are so much alike,” she said. “Thank you, Marc. So much. For everything. Most of all, for hoping. For both of us.” Her voice sounded as though fear and sorrow had shrunk it down. “Now let me speak with Daddy.”

Levi talked with his daughter in Hebrew for a while. Then he switched to French. Marc glanced over at the change in language and saw that Levi was smiling. Marc assumed he was passing on a message from Kitra's mother. Levi switched back to Hebrew, then pressed the end button and handed back the phone. “She will leave the camp tomorrow, she says.”

Marc felt a thrill at the prospect of seeing her again. “Why didn't you go to Kenya? I know what the kibbutz council said. But if my son went missing and my daughter refused to come home, I'd still be there today.”

Levi nodded, as though he had been expecting the question all along. “Kitra gave me the only argument I could not refute. And then the community elders ordered me to stay. The two coming together like that was more than I could defy.”

“What did Kitra say?”

Levi drummed his fingers on the tabletop. “You should first know that I trained as an engineer. But I was a born manager. I never recognized that fact until my wife told me. She said I would never be happy unless I was in control. And she was right. The community had already been started at that point. A farmer and his family came to faith in Jesus. They took in friends, a professor at the Hebrew University who lost his job when he announced Jesus was the Messiah. Then others, and more still. They lived in such poverty, the conditions, the strain on the families . . .” Levi waved that all aside. He said, “My aim has always been the same.”

“Not just to survive,” Marc said, “but to thrive.”

“I want my clan to forge their rightful place in Israeli society. The majority of Israelis may disagree with us, but it is still our land. Our heritage. And faith in our Messiah links us to the ancient past, the present, and Israel's future.”

Levi's voice did not raise so much as take on a new timbre. Marc felt as though he glimpsed the man who had once been, back before tragedy struck. He rephrased his question. “How did Kitra keep you from coming?”

His smile carried the sorrow of a proud father. “She told me this was one place where I would never be in control. And if I tried, I would only make things worse.”

“And she was right,” Marc said.

Levi swiveled in his seat so as to face across the aisle. His features held the taut leanness of a man who had carried other people's burdens for so long he assumed they were his own. “My wife spoke to me last night. She said you were to be trusted. She said it was not a matter of bringing Kitra home. But bringing her home
whole
.” Levi's countenance reflected the light pouring in through the aircraft's windows. “Sandrine made me promise to trust you.”

Marc's reply was cut off by the pilot announcing their descent into Nairobi. He stared out a side window at the approaching city, yet all he saw was the squat, white cube of a home planted in an ancient desert, being buried in a land that was not his to claim.

A
lthough it was after midnight when they landed, Deb Orlando awaited them on the tarmac. She sketched a salute and a smile at Marc's appearance. After he had introduced Levi, Deb drew Marc aside and said, “Ambassador Walton said you would be needing some fresh papers.”

Marc accepted the new passport, opened it to the first page, and read his new name. “Mark Marcus?”

Her smile was refreshing. “The ambassador said it would be easy to remember.”

Charles was there to meet them as they left the terminal. He greeted Levi with solemn dignity, a Kenyan trait Marc was coming to value ever more highly. After witnessing firsthand some of the trials they faced, enduring a hint of the danger they lived with, he could begin to understand what strength of character was required to remain upright and regal.

They walked over to where Joseph stood beside a new armored Tahoe. Marc shook the familiar embassy driver's hand and asked, “Aren't you worried about driving me again?”

“Maybe a little, sir. Maybe even more than a little.” But he smiled as he spoke. “Miss Debs, she is a favorite of many at the embassy, sir. So I am here.”

They rode in silence and made good time. As they entered Kibera, Marc could almost smell the old cordite. He also noticed many young men on patrol. “Are there more guards than usual?”

“The elders have spoken,” Charles replied. “If there is more trouble, they will respond. Troublemakers will be banished. The people, they are determined there will be no trouble.”

Levi scrutinized the slum and the road and the people. He did not speak until they emerged from the embassy vehicle, and that was only to thank Joseph. The driver responded with a single nod.

Deb Orlando asked Marc, “Maybe I should stay out here and guard our ride?”

Marc agreed, thinking one strange Anglo face at a time might be best. Together they crossed the square and entered the church.

After Marc's introductions, Levi greeted the elders on the dais with a solemn dignity that matched their own. He accepted their compliments regarding his daughter with grave thanks. And he waited.

By the time the formalities were done, the church was packed. People came and settled in silence. The windows and doorways were all full. The air became clogged with odors, a thoroughly African combination of city and village. The hour of the night meant little. The reason for their gathering was too important to be ruled by the clock.

Finally Philip's uncle turned to him and said through Charles, “You have traveled to the Holy Land on our behalf. Searching for answers to our questions and your own. You have returned with the father of Kitra, a woman we have come to know and respect and trust. So now we ask you to speak, Marc Royce, and tell us what lessons you bring for us.”

Marc matched the chief's formal tone. “I thank you for allowing us to meet with you this night. I would ask that you first hear from Levi Korban, the leader of a clan and village in Israel.”

Philip's uncle asked, “You share your daughter's faith in Jesus?”

“I and all my clan. It is why we are joined together.”

“Speak then, Levi Korban. We would hear what you have to say.”

“My community makes high-tech components for the electronics industry. Israel is becoming the Silicon Valley of the Middle East. I tell you this because it is important for you to understand how I know about the problems you face. From Marc Royce we received soil samples taken from the refugee camp where my daughter works, which is now under threat. These samples contain what are known as rare-earth minerals. Most of these are not rare at all. But they are generally not found in high concentrations, and when they were first discovered the scientists assumed they were the rarest of elements. Thus their name.”

Charles translated in a continuous monotone. The elders focused intently on Levi and did not speak. Marc had no idea how much they actually understood, for they absorbed the Israeli's words with stonelike expressions. Behind him, the church was utterly still. Somewhere beyond a side window, a baby whimpered and was swiftly silenced. A dog barked. A truck lumbered down the road. Otherwise there was no sound save for Levi's words and Charles's translation.

“Most of the world's current supplies of rare earths come from ion absorption clays found in Inner Mongolia. This is a region in northern China. Earlier there were mines in Brazil and Australia and America's Midwest. But these have largely been tapped out. Other potential sources have been located in the United States, but up to now they have not been developed. Today China controls over ninety percent of the world's total production capacity.”

“The yellow men,” Philip's uncle stated.

Marc confirmed, “My superiors believe China is intent on gaining control of these elements worldwide in order to maintain their monopoly.”

“So we have these elements in the soil of our villages? This is why we have been expelled?”

“There is a type of mineral structure called placer sand deposits,” Levi said. “This is the richest potential source of these elements. The samples Marc Royce brought us contain placer sands with extremely high concentrations of the most valuable rare earths. The soil of your villages contains up to five hundred times greater concentration of rare earths than the Mongolian ore deposits, and they lie right on the surface. They would be easy to extract.”

For the first time the elders broke off their inspection of Levi. They exchanged glances. Then the Kisii elder spoke a few words. Charles translated, “What does this mean? When will we return to our homes?”

When everyone looked at him, Marc took a long breath. He replied, “I think it is time we confront this issue. I am sorry to tell you, you will never be able to return.”

A rush of sound filled the church like a tragic wind. Marc waited until the current passed before continuing, “I think it is time you all faced the future. I speak what I believe you have long suspected. The forces at work here will never permit you to go back to your traditional way of life. Not at these places.”

Levi added, “The latest estimates predict that there will be a shortfall of forty thousand tons of rare earths this year, and sixty thousand tons next year. This shortfall is only met because China has stockpiled the minerals. At current prices their profits will total six billion dollars a year.”

“And prices are rising steadily,” Marc said. “Do you understand what this means?”

“The entire world will demand our earth,” Philip's uncle said.

One of the other elders erupted in an angry tirade. Philip's uncle leaned forward and silenced him with a look. When the elder subsided, the chief nodded at Marc. “You may continue.”

“In my opinion the only way for you to take control of your future is to accept this dislocation as permanent. I have brought this man here because I believe he holds an answer for you. You need an ally. Someone you can trust to hold your own interests as important as his own. Someone who will act as a buffer to the outside world.”

“This is why Kitra and her brother came to Kenya?”

“To search out these elements,” Levi replied. “Yes.”

“And we should trust you because of your loss? I do not mean disrespect. But I question whether this alone is reason enough.”

“I understand.” Levi withdrew a small book from his pocket. “Since Marc told us of his plan, I have been praying for guidance. This is the answer that has come to me. In the thirty-first chapter of Proverbs, we are told this. ‘Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy.'”

Levi settled a hand on the open page as if drawing strength from the words. “This passage first came to me when I arrived at our community of believers in Israel. Followers of Jesus are ostracized in my homeland. Perhaps you have heard this. We suffer for our faith. I will not say we have endured anything like what you have experienced. But I will tell you that we have lost families and jobs and homes. I feel for you. I want to help. Is this why I came? No. It was tragedy that brought me here. I have lost contact with my son. . . .”

For the first time since the journey in from the Tel Aviv airport, Marc saw the man almost break down. Only then did he realize that total silence had captured the whole group. The entire church seemed to hold its breath. No one rushed him. No one moved.

Finally Levi managed to say, “I will be completely honest. My children came here searching for a way to create a firm hold for our own community. Right now we exist from one contract to the next. It is not hand-to-mouth, but it is close. We ffiight for our next job, for the next link in the chain of our future. My Kitra is a born leader. She looks beyond the horizon, searching always for what can make things better. She saw these rare-earth elements as a means to take a firmer hold on our destiny.” Levi took a long breath. “On behalf of my daughter, my son, and my community, I am here to offer you an alternative future. I feel that what Marc has told you is correct. The world's hunger for these rare earths is too great. You will never farm this land again. And yet there is a chance we together could wrest back control. Form a coalition. And build a future. Together. For all of us.”

Philip's uncle asked Marc, “This is your idea?”

“It is.”

“Tell us what you plan.”

“Extract the minerals here, refine them in Israel. Share the wealth, and the knowledge. Choose your young people, train them as engineers. Create a new future.”

“But the land has been taken from us.”

Levi said, “My community will invest in lawyers. And start an international public relations campaign. Your rights in the land will be defended. The extraction process used by the Chinese is the most polluting industry on earth. But there are new processes, none of which the Chinese have ever tried to apply. These reduce the pollution to almost nothing. The extraction process draws the elements from the earth. But they must be further refined, and separated, because most of these elements are joined and must be isolated before they can be used. We will form a joint corporation. We will train together, work together, and share profits equally.”

The chief asked Marc, “Your government does not object?”

“I have spoken of this with my superiors. There are only two American companies who could be involved. Both have lost millions in the Congo, where these sands have also been found, but not at this level of purity. These two companies are not willing to invest more at this time. My government's greatest desire is to keep this new source out of Chinese hands. Their primary objective is to weaken their global monopoly. They wish for these Kenyan minerals to be managed by allies.”

The council of elders pondered this for a time in silence. “We must speak of this among ourselves. We ask that you wait in the back for our decision.”

Levi rose, stepped down from the dais, then turned back and said, “At the airport, my wife reminded me of something she had told our daughter and son before they left for Kenya. This great valley you know as the Rift. It extends all the way to Israel. It is underground in my region, filled with alluvial soil. But as a geological feature, it actually ends very near to my kibbutz. My wife said that perhaps this is God's way of signifying a deeper bond between our communities than either of us had ever imagined.”

The chief rose to his feet. “It is good that our new friend Marc Royce chose to bring you. In our clan, the Luo, to call someone a teacher is a sign of great wisdom and authority. This word
teacher
, in Hebrew it is rabbi, is that correct?”

“It is.”

The chief extended his hand. “Rabbi Korban. We salute you.”