by Layton Green
“You know you’re not supposed to investigate without me.”
“Tell me Nya: as critical as time is to this case, and as unreachable as you always are, do you think that’s still a reasonable restriction?”
“Tell me what you found, then.”
Grey walked another block, letting the information hang in the air. “I met with Sir David Naughton.”
Nya stopped. “Fangwa’s alibi? I told you I’d already checked on that.”
“If I remember correctly, you called him.”
“Yes.”
“What’d he tell you?”
“That he was at Fangwa’s house the evening of the sixth,” she said. “Fangwa couldn’t have been at the ceremony.”
“Have you corroborated his story?”
“He is the corroboration.”
“You trust Naughton that much?”
“I have no reason not to. He sounded sincere on the phone, and his reputation is impeccable. Why would he take the risk? I see no reason for him to lie.”
“I see a very good reason for him to lie.”
She scoffed. “Which is? I don’t think Sir David Naughton’s in league with the N’anga.”
“Because he’s afraid.”
She paused. “Why would he be afraid of Doctor Fangwa?”
She looked away as she asked the question, and Grey said, “For the same reason you are. When I went to see Naughton, I saw fear in his eyes. Whether or not he’s lying about that night, he knows Fangwa, and he’s afraid of him. Did you know he met Fangwa in Nigeria?”
Her tone faltered. “In what capacity?”
“He claimed government business. I got the impression he threw that information out there because he suspected I either knew it or might find out.”
“What did he tell you? Did he confirm his alibi?”
“He did.”
“And you suspect he’s lying?”
“He’s been to Fangwa’s townhouse, whether or not it was that night. But judging by the look I saw on his face when I confronted him, I think he’s very afraid of our good Doctor, and quite capable of lying for him. Moreover, he knows Addison.”
“How?”
“Socially, through the Ambassador. Maybe not well, but there’s still a connection.”
“And?”
“I asked him if he knew anything about Addison’s disappearance, and he denied it. I don’t think he was lying about that.”
No response.
“Do you want to know what else I found out?”
Nya waited in the middle of the silent street. She stood with her hands at her sides, brown eyes proud and waiting. Grey hesitated. Not out of fear of confrontation, but because he didn’t want her to be involved. He was drawn to her, and he sensed she was drawn to him.
But things were about to get very uncomfortable between them.
“Doctor Fangwa arrived in Harare eight months ago,” Grey said. “According to what you told me, that’s about the same time the N’anga showed up.”
“That’s right.”
His face curled in disbelief. “C’mon, Nya. That’s too many coincidences. Naughton’s lying, the timing is perfect—how many other babalawos do you think arrived in Harare eight months ago? It’s Fangwa.”
“I don’t think so.”
Grey exploded. “What do you mean you don’t think so? What are you hiding, Nya? Why are you protecting him? Has he gotten to you? Are you part of it also?”
“What are you talking about!”
“How do you explain this?” he said, taking out the photo of her and Fangwa at the reception and shoving it in front of her face. “You two look like you have a lot to talk about in this photo. You keep deflecting suspicion off him—tell me, Nya, what are you hiding?”
She knocked the photo out of his hand. “How dare you—if you only knew-”
Grey felt a wrenching in his shoulders at the same time he saw Nya’s eyes widen. Somebody had grabbed him and was forcing his arm behind his back. Whoever it was, he was strong, and already assumed he was in control.
Instead of resisting, which is the natural reaction and which would have corkscrewed the lock even tighter, Grey spun into the motion, over-exaggerating it, leaving him face to face with two hardened eyes set in a scarred black face he’d never seen before. There were two more men behind the first man.
Grey’s sudden movement caught the man off-guard, giving Grey a split-second. He used it to head-butt the man in the middle of his face, shattering his nose and blinding him with tears. The man cried out, released Grey and stumbled backward.
Grey heard a scream behind him and grimaced: Nya. There was no time to turn. The next man was already on him.
The man reached high, and Grey snapped a kick to his groin, curling his toes at the end of the kick to ensure he reached the vulnerable part. The man doubled over and Grey grabbed him by the back of the head with both hands and kneed him in the face. He left him crumpled on the ground and moved on.
The third man was holding a long, serrated knife, and he grinned as he wove it back and forth. Grey did a quick evaluation: the man with the knife was no expert, but he had intent, which could be just as lethal. Knives are more dangerous than guns in most close quarter situations; a gun can only fire straight ahead, but a knife can cut from many angles.
“Stop,” a voice behind him called out, a familiar voice. Grey heard it somewhere in the back of his mind, but all his senses were concentrated on the man with the knife.
The knife man either didn’t hear the voice or ignored it. He lunged at Grey with his right hand, going straight for the abdomen. The man extended his body a shade too far, leaving himself open for a counterattack. And Grey took that opening.
As the knife lunged in, Grey threw his hips back, leaving the knife thrusting into empty space. At the same time, his left hand struck the nerve on top of the man’s forearm. The goal was to cause the man to lose his grip on the knife, but the situation was too fluid and he retained his hold on the weapon.
Grey’s strike was only a setup. The human body freezes for a split second after even a soft blow, and someone who knows exactly where he’s going next has a huge advantage.
Grey grabbed the extended forearm with both hands. He kept the knife at a distance, using momentum and the man’s own arm to pull himself forward and behind the man. Pain lanced through the hand Lucky had injured, but endorphins washed it out.
Grey stepped behind the man, released the arm and reached up with both hands. Now behind the man and facing the same direction, Grey grabbed the man’s face with both hands, gripping him by eye socket, nose—whatever ridge he could find. He bumped the man with his hips, finishing the process of breaking kuzushi—balance—that he’d started with his pull. As the man lurched forward, Grey stepped back and yanked the man backwards.
The man flew off his feet, upended by the sudden backward force and the painful pressure exerted on his facial organs. Grey finished the maneuver by taking another step backwards and slamming the man’s head straight to the pavement. He landed with a sickening thud, the knife clanging on the ground.
Grey spun to find Nya. A hard object struck him in the head, and he tottered for a split-second before falling to his knees, cutting his hands on broken glass from the bottle that had just been smashed across his skull. A foot shoved him flat on his stomach.
“Enough!” He heard the voice say again, this time right above him. It was West African, male, rough. He struggled to stay conscious.
“Look.”
The voice he’d recognized stood over him with a foot on his back; Grey managed to lift his head enough to discern his identity. The doorman from Lucky’s club.
Grey followed the doorman’s finger. Ten feet away another man held Nya from behind, a knife at her throat. Two more thugs stood behind that man, one of them the man whose nose Grey had broken. He held a long piece of iron; the other had a machete.
The man holding Nya pressed the knife into her throat. A thin li
ne of blood trickled down her neck.
The one with the machete snarled. “Not yet. We take dem back.”
The man holding Grey clicked his tongue in disapproval and dug his heel into the small of Grey’s back. He was heavy. “You’re lucky,” he said. “I cut first and then twist arms.”
Grey strained to turn his head enough to look the man on top of him in the face. “Do you realize you’re kidnapping two government agents?”
The man leaned down and slammed a meaty fist into the side of Grey’s face, thumping his head against the pavement. Grey gasped, and blood filled his mouth.
“Shut de mouth.”
“If you hurt her I’ll kill you.”
“The killing come later. Much later. And for this one,” he nudged his head towards Nya, “maybe not at all.”
Grey scanned the area as best he could. The man he’d pulled down was still lying on the pavement, unconscious. The one he’d kicked in the groin lurked at the edge of his vision, hunched over but aware. Three surrounding Nya, one on top of him, and another close, all with weapons. Not good.
He tried to wiggle to create an opening, but he couldn’t budge. He was held fast, and another blow to the head would send him out.
“Go get de car,” the thug holding Grey barked to one of the men.
“Where are we going?” Grey asked, bracing for another blow. He had to do something, say something. Being taken away was not an option. Their chances of survival worsened the closer they got to the trunk of a car.
“Shut up.”
“There’ll be an immediate investigation.”
The man laughed. “No bodies to investigate.”
Grey caught Nya’s eye. He saw fear, but fierce determination overlaying the fear. Good. They locked eyes, and she gave the slightest of nods. Grey had no idea what the nod meant, except to be ready. He kept talking, trying to distract the men.
“Lucky should have come himself,” Grey said.
“You see him soon enough.”
“I’m looking forward to it.”
The man reached back to strike Grey again when a pair of headlights swung around the corner and flooded the street. Grey saw the men around Nya flinch at the light.
Nya’s head moved to one side, and she bit down on the forearm of the man holding her. He yelled and dropped the knife, and she kicked him in the groin with the back of her heel. She broke free and ran straight towards the man holding Grey.
He tensed for action, although he still couldn’t move. He hoped she’d be smart and not get them both killed trying to save him.
In the few steps Nya took before she reached Grey, she reached into her pocket, grabbed something and threw it into the thug’s face, then kept on running. He couldn’t see what she’d thrown, but it didn’t matter. She’d given him what he needed: the man reared back to avoid the object, his foot loosening just enough to allow Grey to roll out from under it.
Grey rolled back into the man and pushed his shoulder into the side of the big man’s knee, causing it to buckle. He lost his balance and fell to the ground. It also distracted for a split second the other three who had started to chase after Nya.
It was enough. Grey leapt to his feet and ran after her, dodging the other men. He heard footsteps right behind him, and then a gunshot. He weaved and hunched as he ran, but didn’t hear another. He guessed they’d been instructed not to kill them, but he didn’t want to test that theory.
Nya had already turned a corner, and Grey burst forward, thankful for his daily need to pound out his demons with a morning run. He debated choosing a different direction from Nya, but he was afraid some of them would catch her. He drew closer, but she kept her lead. The woman could run.
Grey heard the car approaching behind him. The streets in the area were short and narrow, and Nya was turning corners and switching streets as fast as she could. But her strategy wouldn’t last long.
Adrenaline coursed through Grey, galvanizing him as it can only when one is running for one’s life. Nya turned another corner. He followed her, steps behind, as she emerged onto a major thoroughfare. Grey knew the men wouldn’t balk at the few nervous people in the street or the light traffic. There were no police in sight, no one was going to help them. Tires screeched: the car with Lucky’s men was seconds behind, now undeterred by narrow alleyways.
Then Grey recognized which street she’d led them to. Yes, Nya. One block ahead he spotted the sign for the Meikles. She’d circled back.
She crossed the street and he realized she wasn’t aiming for the hotel, but for the Land Rover parked across the street.
The men started yelling, and Grey made a final push. He caught Nya just as she reached her vehicle. He headed to the passenger door and heard the electronic beep of the remote lock right before he tumbled inside.
Nya pulled away, and he was thrown against the dashboard with a violent crunch as the car chasing them slammed into their rear. The Land Rover took the impact well, and he scrambled into his seat as Nya floored the gas. They accelerated down the empty street.
Grey exhaled a huge gasp of breath. He rubbed his bruised forehead and turned around to see a brown Peugeot right behind them. “Thank God you don’t have air bags.”
“I do,” Nya said, glancing in the rear-view and catching her breath. “I disengaged them. Carjackers in Harare like to crash into a car, set off the airbags and trap the owner.”
“Classy. Where’re we headed?”
“The Ministry. They won’t dare follow us there.”
They didn’t even follow them to the end of the block. As Grey watched, the brown car slowed and then made a U-turn, speeding off the way it had come.
“Either they realized where you were leading them,” Grey said, “or they have different orders. We should head to the Ministry anyway until we’re sure they’re gone.”
They drove in silence to her office, still flush with adrenaline. Grey glanced at Nya, stray hairs plastered with sweat against her face. A million questions flooded his mind, but he couldn’t get past the first one.
32
Nya stopped at the Munhumutapa building on Samora Machel, in between Second and Third. The grey, utilitarian city block housed various ministries, including the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the well-fortified entrance allowed Grey to breathe. Two guards approached as soon as Nya killed the engine, and retreated after she identified herself.
“Not going inside?” Grey said.
“I don’t feel like answering questions. I already have to explain the loss of my second gun in a week.”
“What’d you throw at the man holding me down?”
“A pen. People will react to almost anything thrown at their face, even for a split second, especially if it’s dark.”
“Quick thinking. It probably saved our lives.”
She fell silent for a moment, then shuddered. “We need to talk.”
“I think we do.”
“I want you to come to my house. It’s safe there, and you need help with your wounds.”
Grey felt his head. Matted blood caked the top of it, and it hurt to the touch. He did need to clean it. “There are hospitals.”
“You know that would take all night, assuming they have antibiotics this week, which is doubtful.”
She was right about that; he’d heard horror stories of the situation at the floundering hospitals, reduced to a skeletal state by the broken economy. The Embassy had a clinic, but he didn’t want to call in a doctor at this hour for a non life-threatening wound, nor did he want to have to make a report and answer questions.
Could he trust her enough to go with her? There was no doubt she’d been fighting for her life, but there was also no doubt as to what he’d seen in the photo.
“I don’t think so, Nya.”
She didn’t answer, but reached up and gently wiped the dirt and blood from his face. He stilled and watched her.
“I assure you there’s no danger. Call your Embassy and let them know where you’re goin
g, if you wish.”
He studied her face. Her eyes told him that tonight, at least, he was in no danger from her. He let his head fall back on the head rest. “Okay. I’ll come, and we’ll talk.”
• • •
The drive through the deserted streets of Harare didn’t take long. They headed north on Robert Tangwena Avenue into Avondale West, skirting the western edge of the northern suburbs. They drove down more jacaranda-lined streets and pulled up to a high brick wall capped with broken glass. Nya stopped the car in front of an iron gate, motioned for Grey to wait, got out of the car and deftly maneuvered a massive padlock. She undid the chain wrapped around the padlock, swung the gates open and drove through. She repeated the process to close the gate.
Two Alsatians sniffed Grey before running to Nya. She greeted them with tender hugs. “My security system.”
“I haven’t seen that many dogs in Harare. Given the security concerns I thought there’d be more.”
“Zimbabweans don’t believe in keeping pets in the house. And if the dogs are kept outside and someone wants to rob you, they toss poisoned meat over the wall.”
“That doesn’t worry you?”
“I let them sleep inside.”
Nya parked by the largest jacaranda Grey had ever seen, its knotted limbs and leafy branches providing a canopy for the entire area between the gate and the front of the house. Other trees and bushes peppered the sprawling garden, but except for the bulbous cross-shape of a few giant cacti, Grey couldn’t tell them apart in the darkness.
A flagstone walkway, crumbling in a pleasant Mediterranean manner, led to the rear entrance. Nya unlocked the door, and they entered a modest-sized kitchen soothed by warm cinnamon hues. A wall-length crack in the plaster supplied more declining charm.
Nya led Grey through a dining room filled with wooden furniture and a varnished parquet floor, and then through an archway into an enormous living room.
Beige carpet, frayed on the edges, covered the living room floor. Two batik-covered sofas sat against the distant side walls, as if in afterthought; the centerpiece of the room was the inviting, cushion-strewn open space in the middle. African art enhanced the room, and candles flickering within carved metal sconces spread a soft glow. In spite of the room’s openness, Grey felt he could get lost in it.
