by M A Moore
Amy slept for a while and felt much better when she woke up. She sat up gingerly and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wore an over-sized tee shirt with a large yellow soccer ball emblazed on it. She gave herself a moment to take in her surroundings before making the commitment to stand up. She wasn’t quite right yet. Looking around she saw a crib in the corner and a mural of African animals dancing along the walls. It was a nursery.
On the low white dresser next to the bed was a framed picture of Mike and a woman with a small infant in her arms. She picked it up to take a closer look. Waves of despair overtook her with such ferocity that she could not hold back the tears. She slid to her knees on the floor and began sobbing as she hadn’t in years. She rocked back and forth, cradling the picture to her breast and hugging herself with her arms. Waves of misery crashed over her, unrelenting and powerful. She wept at the betrayal of her cousin who she had cared for as a child, for the anguish of the mother and infant in the picture, at the hopelessness she felt for the children of Africa, both human and animal. She was falling into an abyss and she was powerless to stop herself. She didn't even try.
Mike charged into the room and found her sobbing on the floor. He knelt beside her clueless as to how to handle the situation.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she blurted out over and over, still rocking herself.
He took the picture from her hands and put it aside. He had no comforting words. He sat in the rocker and pulled her up onto his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and let her sob into his shoulder for long minutes, rocking gently.
After she had cried herself out she pushed away from him. Her breaths still came in shallow gasps. Her eyes, red and swollen, leaked a few tears. Her face was blotchy, and the bruises on her arms were turning shades of yellow and purple. She was a mess.
Her voice was calm, but raspy and hoarse from the cold and the crying. “I’m going to take a shower, and after it, I would like a cup of tea and an ice pack.” She slid out of his arms and moved to the edge of the bed, a little unsteady on her feet. She closed her eyes and made a conscious effort to steady her breathing.
Mike looked over at her. It was as if a switch had flipped. She went from hysterical sobbing to surrealistic calm. She explained herself soberly and without a trace of apology.
“The tea is because I'm dehydrated. The ice pack will get the swelling down on my face. This is not the first time I've had a crying jag, and it probably won’t be the last if I live long enough.”
Mike looked a bit confused and concerned, but said nothing. Amy seemed to understand Mike’s need for some explanation.
“I do know how to cry, Mike. I think I have demonstrated that beyond any doubt. I just don’t usually let anyone see me lose control like that. Tea and ice packs remove the physical evidence. “
Mike looked as though he wanted to speak. Instead Amy just said, “They would have thrown me to the lions if I had shown that kind of weakness.”
Mike helped her up, set her in the rocking chair, and left the room. He wasn’t sure who “they” referred to. But after knowing her for even a relatively short time, he could think of several possibilities.
When Amy appeared in the kitchen less than an hour later, her eyelids were still swollen, but her face wasn’t quite as blotchy. She had found some of Francoise clothes that fit, and she sat down at the kitchen table. He brought her a cup of tea in a mug with yellow daisies, and a plastic bag filled with ice. Amy looked around the room. It was small, but airy and cheerful in shades of yellow and white. The kitchen was open to a living room with a picture window that must have let in lots of light when the sun shone through. Right now the blinds blocked out any sunlight. The couch along the far wall had a pillow and a blanket tossed on one end as though someone had been sleeping on it.
She took a sip of tea. It was only lukewarm, but sufficient for her needs. She held the bag of ice over her right eye. Mike took it from her, wrapped it in a towel hanging on the refrigerator door, and handed it back to her.
“Thanks. When do we expect company?” she asked in her normal voice.
“Any time now. Their plane landed at the airport an hour ago.”
“I’m sorry, Mike,” Amy said between sips of tepid tea. Mike looked away. He didn't know for sure what she was apologizing for, and he wasn’t ready to talk about Francoise yet.
When they heard the knock at the door, Mike took his pistol from the counter, and held it behind him as he checked to see who it was. Satisfied, he set the gun back down, within easy reach if need required. He unbolted it to let the two men in. Without ceremony, Bonner stalked in and sat in the remaining kitchen chair. The man with the dreadlocks stood quietly next to him. Mike took a defensive position behind Amy's seat and waited.
“I am glad we found you, Dr. Mohr,” said the white man in the brown suit. “I am Stanley Bonner from South African Intelligence. This is a colleague, Ed Brown.”
Amy put down her mug of tea, and looked up at the black man with the dreadlocks. “We've met. You’re the one who passed me the cell phone in the airport. And you were on the trail at Victoria Falls.”
“It pleases me you remember,” Brown replied in a humble tone of voice. “We found this in the fynbos down the side of Table Mountain.”
He handed the well-worn purple backpack over to her. It was beaten up and dirty, but a quick look inside revealed her binocular case. For reasons she couldn’t explain, seeing it there gave her some comfort. She would search through the rest of it later. She placed it at her feet under the table.
“We want to ask you about your cousin Robert Widdon,” Bonner said in an authoritarian tone that he hoped would intimidate her.
Mike felt the temperature of the room drop by several degrees. He placed his hands on the back of her chair, and kept silent. She hadn't the chance to tell him what happened since they parted at Johannesburg's airport.
“Anything you want to know in particular?” she replied. Amy did not respond well to bullying.
“Any insights you have would be helpful. Start where ever you wish,” Bonner asked with a slightly less hostile tone of voice.
Amy was slow to answer. She took a couple of sips of tea and considered what she was willing to reveal.
“Robert Widdon is not his real name, but an alias he was using here in Africa. His mother believes he is an auditor working for a law firm in Washington. That is not all he is.”
Amy paused to take another sip.
“Robert disappeared almost four months ago now. His company hired me to come to southern Africa and find him.” She set her mug down on the table, and looked up at Bonner.
“Why would they do that, Dr. Mohr?” Bonner asked.
“It is a question that hasn't got a definitive answer.” Amy withdrew her gaze from Bonner and stared off to her left as if recalling a memory before she answered.
“I had done a consulting case for their firm in the D.C. area a few years ago. That’s how they said they knew me. I suspect that it was really Robert who wanted me in Africa. He needed someone who could make a positive identification in his scheme to fake his death.”
Brown looked over at Bonner, but said nothing.
“That part of his plan fell apart when I realized that the body they showed me in Zambia was not my cousin. No one knew that for a while, except for me.”
“And Mike here,” Bonner added.
“Yes, and Mike. I believe that you became involved in this whole matter soon afterwards, Mr. Bonner.” It dawned on Amy that Mike had most certainly shared that information with Bonner when they were still in Zambia.
It was Brown who answered. “Your cousin’s activities have been under scrutiny for a while. If he was dead, the investigation would have died with him.”
Amy spoke with an assurance that the three men in the room found disconcerting. “I am sure that was a part of Robert’s original plan. However, I knew the dead body in Zambia wasn’t him. It changed the game. At the time, I didn't know Ro
bert's ulterior motives for disappearing. I hoped he was just protecting one of his firm’s clients. The clay sample he gave me to assay was the first clue that there was another agenda. I didn’t know he planned an elaborate scheme to sabotage his client. Or to get millions of dollars out of local officials for mining technology that he had no right to sell.”
Amy picked up her mug and put it back down when she found it empty. “Or that he was supplying arms to terrorists.”
“What local officials are we talking about, Dr. Mohr?" Bonner inquired.
“I don't know. I assumed they were from Zimbabwe, or South Africa, but I’m not sure. For all I know the U.S. government could be behind all this. Robert is supplying arms to groups he thinks can de-stabilize the political situation here in South Africa. That’s about the only thing I know for sure.”
It was Brown’s turn. “More than just South Africa, Dr. Mohr. We became aware of him through his dealings in Kenya. He is responsible for putting arms into the hands of factions in Nairobi that have made targeted strikes on the airport and financial districts there. He has been on our radar for a several months now.”
Amy moved the ice pack to the other side of her face. “He has an arms shipment coming in by boat south of here. The plan is to distribute them in one of the unplanned settlements outside the city.”
Amy looked up at Bonner. “Exactly what are these unplanned settlements?”
Bonner explained. “They are really just shanty towns that grew up around South Africa’s major cities after the end of apartheid. Rural blacks headed out of the bush to find employment and a better way of life that they expected would come once they attained their civil rights. The government is erecting planned settlements with decent housing that include electricity and running water. However, the demand is much higher than construction can keep up.
Bonner stood up.
“Squatters come and set up cardboard shacks and attract others to do the same. If a landowner does not remove such tenants within twenty-four hours, the squatters have the force of the law behind them. Evicting them requires going through the courts. This is not an efficient process. The judicial system here is backlogged by months if not by years.”
Bonner started pacing.
“Building standards don't exist. Police enter by invitation only. Disease and fire are often the preferred means of getting rid of them. People move out to better housing once it becomes available, but there is never enough of it to catch up with demand. These settlements have their own rules, but unrest is always a reality. People are tired of waiting for promised improvements, and sometimes disputes get violent.”
Bonner stopped and faced her.
“I intend to help you stop him,” Amy stated.
Brown answered her. “Stopping him is only one of our goals. If he dies, another will just take his place. We want to find his supply chain and break it -at least for a while. Africa is a continent in transition. Whether it will remain a peaceful one is unknown. There are few left that have Mandela’s vision for the future. The young people don’t remember the times before apartheid was abolished by law. They are becoming increasingly impatient for change.”
“For jobs. For the ‘trickle down economy’ that seems to dry up before it finds them,” Amy said sarcastically.
“Exactly,” Bonner asserted. “Let us handle it, Dr. Mohr. We can’t allow an untrained civilian on this kind of mission.”
Amy reached over to the counter and took Mike’s pistol by the barrel. No one tried to stop her. She checked the safety, proceeded to remove the clip and dismantled the gun, putting the pieces in order on the table in front of her. Just as efficiently she reversed the process and set it back where she found it. She looked Bonner in the eye.
“You need me, Gentlemen. I am the only one who can positively identify both my cousin and his confederates. He did leave me to die on Table Mountain. And I know where the arms shipment is arriving.”
“Just tell us and we'll handle it”, Bonner said.
“I’ll tell you when we get there,” she replied staring into his face without blinking.
Stanley Bonner turned to Mike. “Does she know how to use this?” -referring to the gun.
“Yes,” Mike replied, remembering the picture on the wall of Sister Gertrude’s clinic.
Brown pressed her. “The storm that came through last night will disrupt any shipment by sea for the next couple of days. But we still need time to get our people in place.”
Amy replied, “If they spot you they’ll just abort the delivery. If your goal is to break the supply train, you‘d be better off letting it happen and catching them afterwards.”
Neither Bonner nor Brown were happy with the situation, but there was little either one of them could do about it.
Mike finally spoke up. “I assume you put out a notice that they found a woman’s body on Table Mountain.”
“The Mountain won’t open for business until later this afternoon, but we have a news release ready for when it does,” Bonner replied.
“Good.” Amy responded almost cheerfully. “Robert will assume I'm dead, and not come looking for me. What's more important, he won’t realize that I will be looking for him.”
Bonner capitulated. “Be ready to leave tomorrow morning -early. Feel free to change your mind and just tell us where the exchange will take place.” Bonner stood up, and Brown and Bonner prepared to leave. “We’ll be in touch.” Bonner directed his comment towards Mike.
Mike bolted the door behind them, and joined Amy at the table.
“You don’t know where it's happening, do you?” he asked, sure that he knew the answer to his question.
“Not exactly. But I have an idea. You do have any maps of the area south of here?”
“That would be Cape Point. Anything I don’t have I can get from the internet on my computer.”
“I’m also starving. Do you have any food around here?”
“Francoise cleaned out things pretty well before she left. I can get a pizza delivered.” Mike marveled at her recuperative powers over the last hour.
“I am more in the mood for Chinese.”
Within the hour Mike and Amy sat at the kitchen table eating dumplings and spicy chicken with broccoli. The ice packs had done wonders for Amy’s face and she looked almost normal again. The long sleeves of the shirt Amy had liberated from Francoise’s closet hid the bruises on her arms. After she ate something and drank two more cups of tea, Mike started asking questions.
“Where did you learn to handle a gun?” He asked casually.
Amy set down her chopsticks. “One of my students was my first teacher. His whole family had a hand in it. I taught a forensics course and I wanted to include ballistics because there was so much good physics in it. One day at school I lamented that I had never fired a gun and didn’t feel I qualified.”
Amy speared another dumpling with her chopsticks and dipped it into the soy and ginger sauce before popping it in her mouth. Chewing it thoughtfully she swallowed.
“One my physics majors, heard me and offered to take me to his firing range. All I needed to do is buy the ammunition. So I did. He and his whole family had military experience. With their assistance he spent the morning training me how to take them apart, clean them, reassemble them, and the afternoon firing them at targets.”
Amy eyed the remains of their meal spread across the painted white table. “Are you going to eat that last dumpling?”
“Help yourself.” Mike followed in the same vein, knowing her limitations could very well save both of their lives. “So you bought a handgun and practiced on your own after that.”
“No. I'm not particularly fond of guns. They make too much noise.” Amy’s grin was fallacious.
“This is not a joke, Amy.”
“I'm aware that.” Amy continued in a less jovial mode. “How well do you know Bonner and Brown? Are they who they say they are?”
Amy looked into Mike’s face with a coolness that caused him to
pause. “More important, do you trust them?”
Mike didn’t answer at once. Amy was still a puzzle to him. If the eyes were truly a window into the soul, how could Amy‘s blazing sapphire orbs change to such an icy stare in less time than it would take to flip a light switch? He wondered, again, who she really was. He knew he had not yet begun to plumb her depths. He finally answered her.
“I’ve had dealings with Bonner before. At least he was with SA Intelligence twenty-five years ago when they recruited me. But as far as trusting him with my life,” Mike paused before answering. “I don’t think so. Human life doesn’t mean a whole lot to him.” Mike stared off in the distance, recalling his experience with Bonner in Namibia, but he didn’t feel any need to elaborate at the moment. Mike poured himself another mug of tea from the pot they had brewed for dinner. “Brown, I don’t know. He’s too young to have been an agent when I was active in military intelligence.”
She put down her chopsticks. “I just have a bad feeling -comments my cousin made around his colleagues. Things his associates said to each other. Nothing in particular I can point to yet. Just a feeling. I hope I’ve learned a few lessons. I’m not very trusting anymore.”
“How about me? Do you trust me?” He needed to be certain.
The icy stare thawed somewhat. She considered a moment or two before answering, “More pluses than minuses on your side.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Mike replied honestly.
“Are you going to tell me what happened when you went to talk to Francoise?”
“Maybe later.” He still wasn’t ready to talk about it, and Amy could wait until he was.
“When I was on my way back from France, Bonner phoned and said you were probably in trouble. He thought that I was one of the few people you would trust.”
“How did he know I was in trouble?” Amy asked suspiciously.
Ed Brown contacted SAI when you turned on your cell phone two days ago. They've been tracking you since.” Mike added three spoons of sugar into the tea that sat in front of him. “Your pal Groton from the university has been under suspicion for a while too. They only decided you were not a willing participant when your cell phone made a precipitous drop of five hundred feet from the top of Table Mountain. The rest you know.”
