by Brad Taylor
And she meant it.
There was so much anger boiling forth I didn’t think I could contain it. It was reaching critical mass. I stood up, my hands in the air, and said, “Shoshana, Johan isn’t a friend. I never said that. He’s just someone we’ve run across.”
She slapped a wall, hard, growling like an animal and growing more incensed. She said, “Jennifer said you could have brought him down, but you did not. She said you saw something in him.”
In a soothing voice, I said, “Hang on, hang on. You’re reading into this.”
She thrashed uncontrollably, like a child throwing a tantrum, then screamed, “Am I reading into him torturing my husband? My partner? My world? You fucking knew this guy, and he’s the one that has my life!”
She grew still and said, “He has my life. And you knew it. You knew it all along.”
Johan was a man I’d crossed in Morocco a year ago. He had been working for a sleazebag American defense contractor—a man who was trying to protect himself from being found complicit in terrorist attacks. Like 9/11.
Johan had done some bad things, but he’d realized he’d been duped and then had set about righting the wrongs. At the end of the day, he’d ended up helping to stop a catastrophic attack on US soil, but I was never sure of why he’d done it. He wasn’t a friend, but he was someone I understood. Even given that, I’d kill him in a heartbeat if it meant getting Aaron back. Something Shoshana no longer believed.
I said, “We ran across each other on our last mission, but he’s not a friend, and I had no idea he was here.”
Her eyes lidded, and she said, “You fucking liar.”
And that was enough. I stood, my fists balled, and both Jennifer and Brett jumped up, realizing I was dropping into her world.
I leaned into her space, vibrating in anger. “You ungrateful bitch. I saved your fucking life. I would give my life for you. And you don’t even see it.”
She lashed out with a fist and caught my chin, a hard, snapping blow, throwing my head back. Jennifer jumped between us, but I knew it wasn’t necessary. If she had wanted to harm me, she wouldn’t have used a punch.
I rubbed my jaw and said, “You done?”
She gave another guttural moan and then drove her fist into the wall, punching through the Sheetrock.
I said, “Is the Mossad going to pay for that?”
She whirled back at me, and Jennifer ducked out of the way. I said, “Stop it. Now. It’s getting a little old.”
She wound up for more combat, then melted right in front of me, all the anger leaking out, leaving a scared child in its wake. She said, “Help me. Please. Pike. They have Aaron.”
She had never asked for a single thing in her entire life, and her words gutted me, because there was nothing I could do to alleviate the pain.
I said, “We will, Shoshana. We are. We’re trying to unravel the thread right now. Let us check out that warehouse. My target is Tyler, and I need evidence against him to continue. I need to see what’s in that warehouse so I can give the Taskforce a plausible reason to continue. You made the key, and we’ll use it.”
Shoshana had proven more innovative than I would have thought, finding a hobby shop with a 3-D printer in the time we’d left her. She’d loaded the flash drive into it and had a plastic key created, using the photo she’d taken and the program from the Taskforce. The hobby shop hadn’t cared what she was doing, as long as she paid.
I saw the dark angel begin to bloom, and she said, “Screw the warehouse. Let’s go get that fucker Johan. He knows where Aaron is.”
I said, “We can’t do that. We still work inside a construct. Aaron isn’t here, in Cape Town. We aren’t going to save him by running amok. We’re going to save him by working the problem.”
I knew it was bullshit, and the statement itself disgusted me, but I couldn’t have her interdict our only thread.
She shook her head and said, “That’s just more words. We can’t wait for that. We need to wrap up the people at that meeting. If not Johan, take out Tyler.”
“Tyler won’t give us Aaron. He’s a braggart. And he’s my main target. You heard them talk about payment. That wasn’t money. That was something else. The Taskforce thinks it knows what that is, but they need to be sure. If I want to continue, I need to build a pattern of activity against him. Not take him out without sanction. All that’ll do is get me pulled and Aaron dead.”
She snatched her purse from the table and said, “I’m not waiting. I told you what would happen when your mission crossed over mine. I’ll do it alone.”
She started stalking toward the door and I said, “You still have my Taskforce phone?”
She whirled around, digging into her purse and saying, “You want it back? Fine.” She tossed it onto the table next to the door. “Take the damn thing. I don’t need it.”
I said, “I didn’t ask because I wanted it back. I asked because you never fucking use it. Although I’d like you to.”
She stopped but said nothing, waiting.
I forged ahead. “The guys are talking about a HALO jump and training natives. This problem has gotten bigger than the initial mission. I have to see what’s going on. I’m required to develop the target.”
She said, “And you think America will care about some criminal activity in South Africa? When it doesn’t have anything to do with terrorism? Why would they let you continue?”
I said, “Let us check out the warehouse, and let me worry about selling it.”
She looked like she was going to attack me again. I held up a hand and said, “Why don’t you go locate our beacon? Instead of peeling Johan or Tyler apart, go take a look at the guy from the meeting, as someone not affiliated with the Taskforce.”
It took a second for my words to penetrate her head. When they did, I saw the dark angel blossom, and it was scary. Her eyes bored into mine, and everyone in the room ceased to exist except for me and her.
She said, “You mean that, Nephilim?”
Jennifer half rose from her chair, understanding what I was doing. Before she could stop it, I said, “Yes. For Aaron.”
I walked over to the table, picked up the Taskforce phone, and handed it to her, saying, “Blood, text her the picture of the target you took inside the Long Street Hotel.”
He did as he was asked. She turned without a word and left.
The room was silent for a moment; then Jennifer said, “Jesus, Pike, she’s going to kill that guy.”
I leaned against the counter, my hand tapping it unconsciously, wondering if I’d done wrong. I said, “Yeah, she might, but we’ve got nothing else to go on, and the Taskforce won’t give us sanction, no matter what we find in that warehouse. We won’t see any evidence of nuclear triggers. All we have right now is the mention of a payment.”
She said, “Pike, we don’t work like this. We can’t let her do this.”
I locked eyes with her and said, “Aaron’s worth it. No matter what.”
She looked at Brett, and he nodded, saying, “If it were me, I’d want you on my side. Fuck the Oversight Council.”
44
Aaron took his small bowl of rice and scuttled out of kicking range of the guards, settling in next to Thomas. Thomas looked at him with a little bit of admonishment, and Aaron knew why. Although he was starving, he knew the price.
He duckwalked over to the communal bowl and kicked in his share of rice, then came back to the wall.
Thomas said, “You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Like Aaron had a choice.
He chuckled and said, “I know. If I want to die, I can eat that rice.”
Thomas’s face grew stern, irritated at the suggestion. He said, “You do what you want, when you want. I don’t ask anything of you.”
Aaron said, “Yes, you do.”
Thomas put his bowl on the ground, glanced to make sure t
he guards were out of earshot, and said, “Who are you? Really?”
The question brought a stab of regret. It had been two days since General Mosebo had visited, and Aaron knew his time was drawing to a close. The clock was ticking faster and faster. Sooner or later Mosebo would return, and when he did, Aaron would be faced with a choice. Sacrifice his life in defense of Alex, or simply let them have their way with her.
He didn’t like the options, because he was sure that no matter what happened, they would have their way with her. He would just be dead.
He’d given up hope on Shoshana. Not that he didn’t think she was searching for him, but she had nothing to go on. His mind refused to think of the inevitable: They’d killed her. That simply wasn’t possible. Still, in a small recess of his soul, the thought grew. And with it, a desire for vengeance.
If that was true, then he had no reason to pretend or cover anything he was doing with the Mossad. His loyalty worked as an ingrained thing, but there was a limit. If what he loved had been killed, and the Mossad could have prevented it, then they’d forfeit the right to his soul. He could take the pain and blood for himself—hell, he’d signed up for it—but if they’d stood by while Shoshana had been hurt, then they’d reap what they sowed.
But he still had a problem: Alex was being held and he had no means to get her out, unless he went full-on crazy, trying to escape. He might not make it, but the action might be heinous enough to draw a press crew, even in this backwater. They would probably kill him, but if it was reported in the news, the world would be different. It might get her an out.
Thomas saw his change in demeanor and repeated, “Who are you?”
Aaron said, “I’m the man who’s going to get out of here.”
Thomas scoffed and said, “You still don’t know where you are, do you? There is no ‘out of here.’ We’re inside the military base of the Lesotho Special Forces. You get out of this prison and you still have to escape the base. It won’t happen.”
Aaron said, “Maybe not, but I can promise one thing: I’ll get out of this prison. That I know I can do. You asked who I am; I’ll return the favor. Who are you?”
Thomas smiled and said, “I’m like you. No reason to be here.”
Aaron dropped his bowl and said, “Apparently so. Look, I don’t have the energy to continue with this dance. My name is Aaron Bergmann. I was hired to find out about illegal diamond trades. I got caught up in something much bigger. That’s my story. What’s yours?”
Thomas set his chipped bowl on the ground and said, “I’m a political prisoner.”
Aaron felt a wisp of a smile starting to form, and Thomas held up a hand, saying, “I know that’s what you would expect me to say, but it’s true. I was threatening the lifeblood of the politicians here, and I was removed. To this hellhole.”
Aaron leaned forward and said, “Don’t hand me that shit. Lesotho isn’t Sierra Leone. It’s stable, and has been that way for years.”
Thomas smiled and said, “It’s stable because of our natural resources. Resources that are being exploited at the expense of the people.”
Aaron rolled his eyes, and Thomas chuckled. “Yes, I guess I do sound a bit like Che Guevara. But it’s true.”
Aaron heard his statement and was intrigued. He said, “How do you know about Che Guevara?”
“I was never meant to be a politician here. I was destined for greater things. I left home at the age of twenty-one to attend the University of Chicago, on a USAID scholarship. I earned my bachelor’s and master’s in economics, and then my PhD in international relations from Georgetown. I had my sights set on the world stage, not Lesotho. I had no intention of coming home.”
Thomas gazed at the wall, lost in thought. Aaron said, “So why did you?”
Thomas shook his head, remembering. Perhaps regretting. He said, “My nephew left school at the age of fifteen. He enrolled in one of the local initiation schools, and he died. It was a tragedy. A mess.”
“Initiation school? You mean he left to learn a trade?”
“No. There is a Basotho tradition from a long time ago where the young men leave the villages and head into the mountains for months, learning to be men of the tribe. In the old days, it was just a tribal tradition. In the modern day, it’s all about money, sanctioned by the government of Lesotho. It had died out in my generation, only being conducted in the extreme rural areas. After the fall of white rule in South Africa, it regained prominence. Then, with the introduction of AIDS, it became something of a rite of passage that held more than simply becoming a man. My nephew was attending one of these so-called schools and died in the mountains. They refused to bring him to medical care because the initiation rites are extremely secret. If he’d have lived until the school was over, he could have seen a doctor. He did not.”
Aaron said, “What are these rites about? Hazing? Beatings?”
“No, not at all. That’s not what killed him. Truthfully, most of the schools are based on tribal instructions about taking care of family, tribal traditions, and that sort of thing, but one thing they do is circumcise the members. Since HIV has become so prevalent, the population has a misguided notion that circumcision will prevent infection, which is another thing driving the enrollment to these schools. A tribal healer does it with Lord knows what. My nephew bled out.”
Thomas looked at him with an embarrassed grin. Aaron said nothing. No words came to mind.
Thomas waited a bit and, when no derision surfaced, said, “So I came home to help the family, then to fight the schools, trying to get some laws in place to ensure the safety of the men—boys—participating. One thing led to another, and I was running for office.”
His eyes glowed, and Aaron saw the true believer come to the fore. “This country has so much going for it, and yet the government steals it all, allowing the population to live in squalor. One in ten houses has freshwater, because we send all of it to South Africa. The dams block the flow, for Johannesburg’s use, and the villagers still use buckets in a muddy creek. We have mines that produce the biggest gem-quality diamonds on earth, and all that profit goes to private companies outside of Lesotho. We have nothing to show for our richness, unless you count being the highest per capita nation on earth infected with HIV.”
Thomas had worked himself into a little bit of a frenzy, his voice rising with the crescendo of an itinerant preacher. He realized the mistake and quieted down.
He said, “You asked me how I got here, and it’s pretty simple. I seemed to resonate with the population when I was fighting against the initiation schools. One thing led to another, and I was running for parliament. And I was popular. This was before I understood what running for the government meant. You were either on the inside or you were an ineffectual flea. I became neither, which made me a problem. General Mosebo was the solution. He worked with the prime minister to get me removed from the equation.”
Aaron nodded, but something didn’t ring true. Against his better instincts, given the man and his brood were keeping him alive, he broached it. “So why are you still breathing? Why not just kill you and bury you in a cesspool somewhere?”
Thomas smiled and said, “I honestly don’t know. I’d like to think it’s because I have too much power, even in here, but I know that’s not true. They could make me disappear completely, permanently, so why keep me alive? I mean, my family has no idea where I am. I wasn’t arrested on charges, there was no publicity, so why keep me alive?”
He turned to the lone window and said, “I think it’s because they fear me. The people love me, even as they don’t know why, and because of it, the government fears making me a martyr. I’m like the Count of Monte Cristo, or the Man in the Iron Mask. Someone they should have killed years ago but did not.”
Aaron smiled at the references, which a simple criminal from the country of Lesotho would never have heard of. Clearly, the man was what he professed.
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Thomas returned to Aaron and said, “I think of those pieces of literature daily, fantasizing about them. Someday, the government will regret not killing me, just like the men in those books. And then you showed up.”
Aaron said, “So? Why do I matter?”
Thomas smiled, his teeth gleaming in the darkness.
“Because, Mr. Death, you’re going to make the fantasy real.”
45
Tyler barged into the small lobby of his hotel, his head still full of steam from the meeting at the castle. He was brought up short seeing Stanko Petrov sitting in the lobby. The security man rose at his entrance, meeting him at the bank of elevators.
He said, “You don’t look pleased.”
“That fuck Armstrong isn’t paying until after the mission.”
“That wasn’t the deal. You gave them the arms, you should get payment.”
Tyler said, “They seem to think once we’re paid, we won’t have any incentive to continue with the transportation agreements.”
He punched the elevator button with a grim smile and said, “Truthfully, they have a point. If that operation turns into a mess, there’s no way I’d risk my aircraft going back in. Now I have no choice. Hassan is not going to be pleased.”
“You still want me to take care of the loose ends? Or wait?”
“No, go ahead. They don’t matter anymore, but remember, no signs of violence.”
“That’s not an issue. The warehouse guy wants to be paid in drugs. I’m meeting him now. He’ll get a blissful sleep.”
The elevator opened, and Tyler put his hand on the door to keep it from closing. “What about the Durban contact?”
“I’ll figure it out. He may not be a threat, but if he is, I can fly out there tomorrow. He’s looking to get paid as well, so it’s not like he’ll run from me.”
“Okay. I gotta Skype meeting with Hassan. Might as well give him the bad news.”
“Will he still pay? We’ve put in significant time and money for this little adventure.”
