I still wasn’t sure about Emmanuel. But I knew Keyes, Jakjak, and I could not accomplish our mission alone. Maybe Jean-Pierre was just one bad apple; maybe Sanfia and Emmanuel were loyal to us. Keyes, Jakjak, and I discussed this further and concluded that we needed Emmanuel and Sanfia’s army.
I had no other choice. I called Emmanuel over to us.
“Get our army back together. And have Sanfia send me all the men she promised earlier. Every one of them, even the kooky ones.”
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
Emmanuel stammered. “Uh, too late to make contacts tonight. We, I, I’ll deliver all the men to you tomorrow.” Quickly regaining his composure, he added, “Why don’t you and your friends get some sleep so you’ll be rested?”
I looked at my watch.
With that, Emmanuel took all his men, including the one with the bullet wounds, and marched out the door. Keyes and I looked at each other.
Jakjak pulled out three cots. “I could use a little sleep. And so could the two of you.” Then, to give Keyes and me a little privacy, he carried his cot to the first floor, where he cleared enough rubble to sleep.
I pulled the two cots side by side. I undressed and lay beside Keyes, happy to find she was naked, too. I turned on my side, wrapped my arm around her, and kissed motionless lips. She was already asleep.
Private Landing Strip
Aleppo, Syria
9:32 p.m.
The beautiful lines of the Piaggio Avanti aircraft looked awkward with its silver and white body painted camouflage black and brown. In the past, Farok had used this aircraft for transporting heavy cargo from short landing strips. It needed only a 3,200-foot landing strip, while his Learjet 60s needed 5,000 feet and his 747s required 6,000 feet.
The Piaggio’s pilot circled to gauge the length of the runway. The air terminal had been damaged by fighting during the past month, and potholes pocked the longer runways. A Syrian military plane surrounded by twenty of Farok’s soldiers was in position at the end of the runway. As the Piaggio approached, flares were lit to outline the landing zone. The plane landed with plenty of runway to spare.
The back of the Syrian cargo plane lowered, and a forklift transferred the two lead-lined boxes to Farok’s plane. Farok’s soldiers circled the plane until it was ready for takeoff.
The Piaggio revved its engines to gain full power and then taxied down the runway. The heavy load strained the plane’s abilities, and the pilots struggled to get the Piaggio airborne. With the end of the runway only twenty-five feet away, the wheels finally left the asphalt. But there were still several fifty-foot trees to fly over. The pilot sighed as the plane cleared this last obstacle with only inches to spare.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Sanfia’s Safe House
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
10:30 p.m.
JAKJAK SAT UP IN bed. Iwa is here! He hadn’t felt the spirit since Baccus shot him, but now he felt a presence. Jakjak looked around but saw nothing. He tiptoed down the stairs and cracked open the door. There was the black cat, hovering over James and Keyes!
Jakjak cried out, startling me out of a sound sleep.
I jumped up and ran to Jakjak. He was trembling. “What’s wrong?”
He sat down on my cot with his head in his hands, crying.
“Jakjak, talk to me. Talk to me.”
He looked through tear-filled eyes. “Mesye Doktè, ain’t no good gonna happen to you and Madmwazèl Hart. They’s evil here. You two must leave. Right away!”
Just then we heard drums begin to beat. They sounded close.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“That’s my sanpwel. They’re casting judgment on somebody tonight. Someone will die!”
I was caught off-guard. “Judging? For what?”
He shook his head but didn’t answer.
Keyes had awakened and slipped on her clothes under the covers. “What’s happening?” she asked.
“The sanpwel that frightens Jakjak so much is meeting tonight.”
“Let’s go see,” she said as she jumped to her feet.
“No!” Jakjak said in alarm. “They don’t allow outsiders at their secret meetings. They’ll hurt you.”
“Will Emmanuel and Sanfia be there?” Keyes asked.
“O wi. And many important officials, too, even the mayor of Port-au-Prince and that Police Chief Conrad you asked about.”
Keyes ran for the door. “C’mon. Maybe Sanfia is in cahoots with the police chief. Let’s sneak up there and spy on them.”
“Please don’t go!” Jakjak pleaded.
“Listen to Jakjak!” I said firmly. “We don’t need any more trouble.”
“I gotta see what’s going down. It may save our asses.” She darted from the room.
I shrugged and Jakjak frowned, but we both ran after Keyes.
We followed her up the stairs and to the back of the house—but stopped in our tracks in the doorway. There, going up the hillside above the cemetery, was a long line of people carrying candles. They moved in a single-file that swayed back and forth, like a serpent climbing the hill.
“Let’s see where they’re going,” Keyes whispered as she crouched down and started running toward the hill.
“They’ll kill you,” Jakjak whispered behind us.
Kill us? That had to be another of Jakjak’s superstitious religious beliefs. Besides, I was as interested as Keyes was to learn the connection between Sanfia and Chief Conrad and maybe even between Sanfia and the terrorists behind the hijacking of Lars’ ship. I ran after Keyes.
The procession of at least a hundred people was walking up a dirt road, heading to a lighted area on the top of the hill. Hiding behind some thickets, we got as close as possible. The entire procession wore either black or black and red outfits. Ahead of the revelers, we could hear more people, all chanting to the rhythm of the drums.
I grabbed Keyes’ arm to stop her from getting any closer. We stood in the darkness watching the group pass by until Jakjak caught up to us.
“Listen to me, Doktè. This is my world, and you know nothing about it! You jes don’t know how powerful and evil they is here!”
As I looked into Jakjak’s pleading eyes, a chill went down my spine. I put my arm around him.
“We need to see what’s going on,” Keyes whispered, but her tone was insistent. “The judgment may be about the terrorists. Or us.”
Then, he turned to me. “I’ll do this just once. Next time, you’re on your own.”
He walked a few steps and stopped. “We must stay out of sight,” he said as he crouched over. “They’s a path over here.” He pointed at a totally clear walkway that paralleled the one the Haitians were dancing on. He’d obviously been to ceremonies there before.
We scurried up the alternate path and reached the crest of the hill before the line of dancers did. Hearing movement behind us, I whirled around, but it was just Jakjak, still trying to protect us.
We watched from behind dense shrubbery as a group of six drummers danced and pounded out staccato rhythms. The line of dancers bearing candles chanted phrases that even Keyes, with her linguistic talents, couldn’t decipher. Their bodies swayed back and forth as they moved slowly forward with a shuffling of their feet. They danced to a clearing in the trees and into a crude structure with a flat tin roof and a central pole. A wood fence separated the shelter from what looked like a larger building. As the line of people entered, they danced around the pole and the line tightened around it in concentric circles.
A single 40-watt bulb hung from the center pole, dimly lighting the area. The six drummers stood at the periphery of the shelter wildly beating the drums clutched between their knees. The high-pitched staccato of the smallest drums provided a driving background for the medium-sized drum that set the tempo. The largest d
rums sounded like thunder crashing nearby. The drumming drove the dancers to a frenzy.
In our hiding place behind a large bush, Keyes undulated her shoulders and hips and pumped her fists up and down, like the dancers. Her eyes were half-closed as her head swiveled back and forth. The ghostly light, chanting, wild movements, and captivating drums mesmerized me.
Jakjak grabbed my arm. I felt his whole body shaking, but I was excited and continued to watch the dancers. Only when he yanked on my arm did I turn to look at him. He nodded toward the drummers.
Squinting, I saw that a door was open in the wall behind the drummers. A distinguished man, tall and thin, wearing a crisply pressed white suit and a white necktie, stepped through the opening and into the enclosure. He was leading a procession of six people: three men dressed casually in conservative and sporty short-sleeved shirts, followed by three women. One of the women wore a white blouse and a wide, fan-shaped skirt. Another wore a flaming-red blouse and a long black skirt. A short, fat woman wore a red dress with lacy frills on the skirt and sleeves.
Suddenly, the drumbeat changed from fast and furious to a soft, uniform boom, boom, boom.
Through the doorway came two pubescent girls dressed in white, carrying a small black coffin. The tightly packed throng of dancers parted as the girls carried the coffin to the center pole, where they placed it on a waist-high table.
I turned to Jakjak. “Is this a funeral for a child?”
Jakjak hesitated before nodding.
The drums began to beat fast and loud again as a woman wearing a billowing, red, satin, floor-length robe with white fur trim came through the door. She was over six feet tall. A black veil covered her face. Moving with the same shuffled gait and swaying shoulders as the dancers, she slowly made her way to the coffin.
“Blessed be those that die before us. May the spirits enrich their souls.” As she spoke, the veil fell aside for a moment. It was Sanfia!
I looked at Jakjak, but he showed no surprise.
The girls in white removed the coffin and carried it through another door in the rear.
Sanfia said in a loud but distinguished voice, “I present to you Difinité Président.”
The man in the white suit came forward and spoke for two minutes to the group in a French-Creole language that I couldn’t understand at all. Next, Sanfia introduced Le Président Fondateur, Le Président Hounfer, and Le Prémier Ministre. All gave brief speeches in a mixture of Creole and French. I listened carefully to the speeches, but they were incomprehensible to me, filled with abstract terms I’d never heard before.
The three women were introduced as La Prémiere Reine, La Deuxième Reine, and La Troisième Reine. I did understand those words, which were in proper French. These women were the first queen, second queen, and third queen.
The third queen stepped forward and said a few words of praise to Impératrice Angelique Sanfina. As she did, Sanfia bowed.
I said to Jakjak, in no more than a whisper, “Sanfia is the empress of this sanpwel? The leader?”
But Sanfia reacted as though I had shouted. It was suddenly obvious that she had us, she’d just been waiting for the right moment. “Silans!” she screamed, pointing at us.
Jakjak turned to run away, with Keyes and I right behind him, but we were blocked by four large men. I didn’t even try to fight these giants. We were caught red-handed. The entire gathering of people turned and watched as they led us to Sanfia.
As we approached, I saw that Sanfia had again transformed into a short, bent-over, old woman. Emmanuel stood at her side.
Jakjak dropped to his knees and bowed his head. He was trembling.
Sanfia rhythmically moved her hands over Jakjak’s head. Something glistened on her arm. It was a watch, sparkling with gemstones. I didn’t remember her having it before. Maybe it plays some sort of symbolic role in this ritual.
The drums roared like thunder for a half-minute, then suddenly went silent.
Emmanuel nodded, and a bare-chested man wearing white Bermuda shorts came and faced Jakjak.
The man spoke in a loud, commanding voice. “Show me heaven.”
Without looking up, Jakjak touched the ground.
“Show me your mouth.”
Jakjak pointed to his butt.
“And your knee.”
His finger pointed to his ankle.
The man turned and bowed to Sanfia. “This man is one of our own.”
As two other men escorted Jakjak out the door, the bare-chested man turned to me.
“Take three steps forward.”
I did as he commanded, and the man slapped me lightly on the cheek.
He gave another command: “What color is the sky?”
Just as I opened my mouth to say “blue,” Keyes pushed me aside and answered, “Green.”
His next command was, “Touch your breasts.”
Keyes reached behind her and touched her back.
Sanfia’s cracked voice spoke loudly to the group. “No matter how true are her answers, she does not belong to us. Take them away. They have robbed the society of its solemnity.”
They led us through the door behind the drummers as their wild rhythms resumed.
I could hear Sanfia screaming over the drums as they threw us into a make-shift jail surrounded by chicken wire. Jakjak was there, squatting on the floor and crying.
I was perplexed, as was Keyes. “Jakjak, tell me what just happened?”
“Lordy, Doktè, I shouldn’a let you come here. Crashing a society meetin’ is just about the worst thing a person can do. They will judge and sentence us all.”
“Sentence us to what?”
“They’ll capture our spirits and commit us to eternal life.”
“Eternal life? That sounds like a good thing to a Protestant like me.”
Jakjak rose to his knees and hugged my legs. “No, no, no! It’s the worse thing that could ever happen to anybody. A bokor will suck your spirit from your body, and what’s left of you will be just like Benoit and Shaza!”
My eyes opened wide in surprise. “I thought Benoit was mentally handicapped from birth defects or brain injuries.”
“Doktè, I swear to you, two years ago, they was both as smart and physically able as me and you. Benoit was a lawyer. But when his father died, he claimed all the money from the sale of the family farm, giving his brother nothing. Shaza married the mayor of Monet’s daughter ten years ago, but he has three kids by his mistress. Both men were reported to the society. They was found guilty, and Sanfia stole both their spirits and put them in jars.”
He pointed to some shelves filled with a couple dozen Mason jars, all of which looked empty. “Their spirits are in two of them jars. Without they spirits, Benoit and Shaza are empty shells.”
“Sanfia can’t replace the law in dealing with such issues,” I said. “The judicial system of the Haitian government has the sole authority in criminal matters.”
“That be in your country. Here in Haiti, the societies are the law. They’s been that way since the days of slavery over two hundred years ago. It was the only law of the slaves, and it was right to have it—to control all those people. And it continues to be. The government takes care of things like fixin’ roads and providin’ schools. When one man wrongs another, it’s reported to the local society. The society meets and makes judgment whether he is innocent or guilty. If he’s guilty, the society gives the punishment. The governments and police never have nothin’ to do with any of that.”
Jakjak shuddered. He paused for a moment before continuing. “I’ve been part of this society since I was a boy. I’ve always known that the sins of one person against another are dealt with by the society ... Like the two of you comin’ to this meetin’ without an invitation. Your punishment will be the same as Benoit and Shaza. They’ll make zombies of you. And me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Vodoun Temple
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
11:46 p.m.
“ZOMBIES?” I LOOKED AT Keyes. “Zombies aren’t real. Benoit and Shaza looked like mentally retarded people, not like half-rotten corpses that walk around killing people.”
She shrugged. “I didn’t think zombies were real, either. Guess I missed that chapter.”
I helped Jakjak to his feet. “So we’re in trouble?”
“Doktè, you in deep shit. Nobody will never hear of you again. You be in that basement room, moanin’ and groanin’ like all those other zombies down there in Sanfia’s house.”
“Did Sanfia do that?”
“Yeah. She’s the most powerful bokor in this whole area. Most zombies are moved far from their homes, but Sanfia always keeps sixty of them in her five safe houses.”
“What does she do with them?”
“Zombies, they ain’t smart. Intelligence is what Sanfia takes from them and stores in them bottles. She calls the spirits in the jars the ti-bon-ange, the zombie astral. The living body, like Benoit, is the zombie cadavre,” Jakjak explained. “She works them on mostly government jobs, hard-labor like buildin’ roads and diggin’ ditches.”
“Government contracts? How does she get those jobs?”
“Didn’t you see all those important people out there? The Minister Definitive of the society is the mayor of Carrefour. The three présidentis are mayors of other districts.”
Jakjak turned to Keyes. “You should know that the Police Chief of Port-au-Prince, who Ingrid Duran talked to, is the Minister Premier.”
Keyes mumbled, “Not looking good for us.”
“Are all zombies capable of working like that?” I asked Jakjak.
“No. About half of them can work.”
“What happens to the ones who can’t work?”
Jakjak started shaking again and seemed hesitant to answer. “She buries them. They lives forever in their graves!”
I raised my eyebrows and shook my head.
The Zombie Game Page 14
