by Todd Moss
“Ahhh, hello,” said Papa, unable to contain the smile on his face.
“Bonsoir,” she replied wearily. Papa noticed her eyelids were heavy and tired. She forced a smile.
“So, is it true?” he asked excitedly. “I’m sorry to ask so rudely, but I have to know. Is it true?”
“Yes,” she said, dropping her smile.
“Let me hear it from you.”
“It is done.”
“You did it? Tell me.”
“Solomon Zagwe is dead.”
“How exactly did it happen?” he asked.
“I’m sure they’re reporting this news in Ethiopia, Papa. It’s just like they’re saying in the press. An explosion at his house last night. A few minutes before midnight local time.”
“An explosion? Really?” Papa checked the screen to confirm their call was encrypted. “That’s not your style.”
“I didn’t choose the weapon. If it was up to me, I would have hung Zagwe by his toes, cut off his balls, and watched him bleed to death.”
“That’s not your style, either, Jessica.”
“I know,” she conceded, slightly embarrassed. “But it would have felt good to do it with my own hands. To see his face, to let him know it was me who killed him. For him to know why.”
“That’s not the Jessica I have known for so many years.”
“That bastard got off easy, dying in a flash of heat and light. Never knowing who was pulling the trigger. Or why.”
“Contain your emotions. That’s one of your great strengths. The professor always said that about you.”
“I know. I know. This one is . . . different.”
“Tell me, Jessica. Really. How did you do it?”
“Misinformation.”
“Enlighten me.”
“I convinced one of Zagwe’s business partners that he was stealing their money. I knew they’d do the rest.”
“Chimurenga?”
“Yes. Chimurenga didn’t even hesitate. Zagwe was dead within a few hours of our planting the idea. I knew Simba wouldn’t mess around. I didn’t know it would be that quick.”
“See? That was better. No need to bloody your own pretty hands.”
“What I didn’t expect was Simba to go one more step and take out his other partner.”
“Tinotenda?”
Jessica nodded. “We didn’t have anything to do with that one. Simba must have gotten paranoid. But just in case, we’re covering our tracks. Even if we can’t prove Chimurenga killed Tinotenda, he is going down for the Motowetsurohuro massacre. We finally got evidence to pin that on him.”
“UMBRELLA ROSE! Of course!”
She nodded again. “Chimurenga is already in custody. He was apprehended just after the embassy released the picture of the mass grave and announced the FBI was cooperating. The authorities are holding the general until the new government is in place and they can begin prosecution.”
“Brilliant.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Papa. Your discovery of the Zagwe link to Thailand led us to the banking records for Royal Deepwater Venture Capital and then to Max O’Malley, which then pointed us back to Chimurenga and the wire transfers. Without that, I’m not sure how we would have put it all together.”
“Max O’Malley? I haven’t heard that name for years.”
“He came back to Zimbabwe. Instead of uranium, this time it was diamonds.”
“Oh, my!” Papa tsked loudly and shook his head. “You’ve shaken the hornet’s nest on this one, Jessica.”
“That’s why we’re going to leave this one alone,” she said with a sigh. “Better not to know all the dark secrets. We need to live to fight another day.”
“You’ve brought down two mass murderers in one operation and your fingerprints are clean. That’s a success! I don’t see why you’re harboring regrets.”
“Langley.”
“Figured it out, did they?”
“The deputy director was at my house just a few hours ago reading me the riot act.”
“Merde,” he cursed under his breath. “Charges?”
“No. But he’s shutting down Purple Cell.”
“It won’t last. Once the deputy director blows off steam, he’ll come back to you and reactivate. He’ll need you soon enough.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Ahhhh, I’ve seen it all before.”
“I know. That’s not what has me worried.”
“What is it? What have you not told me? Have you not covered your tracks?”
“It was how I tricked Chimurenga into killing Zagwe. How I planted the misinformation.”
“Yes?” His eyebrow rose in anticipation.
“Judd,” she said flatly, averting her eyes.
“Our Judd?”
“I lied to him.”
“There is nothing new there.”
“Yes, but this is different. My cover is one thing. This time I deliberately used my own husband as an unwitting participant in an unauthorized assassination. It violates just about every rule we have.”
“Judd is a big boy. What does he know?”
“That’s the thing. Even if I can live with the lie, I have a feeling it’s only a matter time before he figures out something.”
“Then it’s time to run and be free. You have shed yourself of Zagwe. Now is the time to tell Judd the truth. Before he knows too much. Or suspects something that’s not true. His imagination could be worse than the truth.”
“You’re right, Papa. I know you’re right.”
“And if Purple Cell is shut down, then it doesn’t matter if he knows.”
“You’re right, Papa. I wish van Hollen was still here. BJ would know what to do. He’d know how to play all of this.”
“We all miss the professor. But he is gone. Now you are the one. You have to take the mission forward.”
“I don’t know, Papa.”
“When does Judd return home?”
“Tomorrow. He’s already on the plane back to Washington.”
“Good. You tell him tomorrow. Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it. You still love him, yes?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Inshallah. That’s all that matters, yes?”
“What are you going to do, Papa?”
“Ahhhh, an excellent question. I’m going to stay in Lalibela for a while, I think. Brother Gabriel, the monk who tends the Church of Saint George, has invited me to stay.”
“Perfect,” she said. “A Muslim from Mali staying in an Orthodox Christian church in Ethiopia.”
“Inshallah!” he replied with a laugh. “The monk runs an orphanage here. They are doing God’s work. I don’t know which God, but they could use my help. I’m going to stay and set up a clean water system. Maybe find something else useful to do.”
“You are a good man, Papa.”
“I am old. It’s the least I can do.”
“And then what?”
“Who knows what comes next, Jessica? Who knows?”
“I guess we’ll both find out.”
“Good-bye, Jessica. Go easy on our Judd. You two are still young. You still have many things to accomplish. Consider it a new beginning.”
“Au revoir, Papa.”
“Run and be free,” he said, a split second before the screen went blank.
Papa slapped the laptop closed and sat back thinking about Jessica, Judd, and their history together. He looked around his sparse room, absorbing his new home and pondering what he was about to do.
Papa lifted the mug of tea, blew gently, and took a sip. “Ahhhh,” he exhaled. Yes, perfect.
EPILOGUE
MONDAY
70.
Harare, Zimbabwe
Monday, 12:26 p.m. Central
Africa Time
“. . . I, Gugulethu Nehanda Mutonga, solemnly swear to uphold the constitution of the Republic of Zimbabwe.”
“GU-GUUUUUUUUU!” shouted the crowd, which packed the national stadium to capacity. In the center of the stage stood Gugu Mutonga in a bright red business suit, one hand held up, the other on the Bible. A judge in full robes and a horsehair wig was reading the proceedings.
Standing immediately behind Gugu was an inner circle of her closest friends and supporters, including the beaming face of Lucky Magombe. The rest of the stage was crammed with chairs holding the nation’s top judges, business leaders, and senior members of the Democracy Union of Zimbabwe. Hidden among this crowd, at the back, almost but not quite entirely out of view, sat Mariana Leibowitz.
Gugu finished the oath of office and solemnly accepted a sash across her chest, the conclusion to her inauguration as president. She turned to face the throngs of supporters, who raised their arms and screamed again. “GU-GUUUUUUUUU! GU-GUUUUUUUUU!”
A drummer on the stage began a celebratory beat. Gugu rocked her hips to the rhythm in a victory dance, igniting more cheering from the masses in front of her.
Among those closest to the stage were the faces of Tsitsi and Tinashe. The two young Zimbabweans held hands tightly and screamed until their voices were hoarse. As they danced, drunk with the dreamy jubilation of triumph and hope, Tsitsi could feel a growing queasiness in her belly, a sensation she knew was the first wave of morning sickness.
Once the drumming was finished, Gugu Mutonga raised both her hands, palms to the sky. This set off another frenzy. “GU-GUUUUUUUUU! GU-GUUUUUUUUU!”
She then took the microphone and the stadium fell silent. She lifted it to her lips and paused. The crowd held their breath, waiting for the first words of their new president.
Then she asked, “Who is ready for a new Zimbabwe?”
71.
Bangkok, Thailand
Monday, 8:33 p.m. Indochina Time
Harriet Tinotenda pressed button 81 and felt the thrust in her thighs as the high-speed elevator rocketed toward the sky. The Baiyoke Tower, one of Bangkok’s most exclusive addresses, was a suitable place to live, she thought. At least until she could find her own place.
The elevator’s floor panel display flashed the passing floors: 19 . . . 20 . . . 21 . . .
Once Harriet got upstairs and claimed her insurance policy, she knew she would have to start over. She had done it before. She could do it again.
Now she had nothing. Her husband was dead. Her lover was in custody and probably would be jailed for life. But she was still young. She had a life to live. Simba may have made mistakes, but she had to move on.
Worst of all, her country was in the hands of the traitors and sellouts. The most galling affront, she decided, was the uppity little woman claiming she had won the presidency. That cockroach actually believed she had won over the people! Over my Baba! Outrageous! “Tsaaah!” she tsked to herself.
And the Americans, she thought. They did this. The arrogant Americans and the wicked British. It was an insult. An affront! One day she would make them pay, she decided. Yaah, one day they would pay.
44 . . . 45 . . . 46. . . .
But today she had to focus on her immediate task, the first step in her new life. She had to claim the money her lion had stashed away for her. Simba promised she would be safe, that she would be kept in the style to which she had become accustomed. That, no matter what happened, she could still have it all.
Simba had called, just before he was arrested, to reveal his partner in Thailand was the gatekeeper. All she had to do was go to the office of Max O’Malley, 81F of the Baiyoke Tower in central Bangkok, and give the password. Simba told her all about the luxurious office, the photos of the rich and famous, the impressive view of the city, the soothing charm of his partner, who would welcome her with open arms and provide her with everything she needed. Max O’Malley would give her the code to the secret bank account. Max O’Malley held the key to all she had been promised, just in case anything went wrong.
Now everything had gone wrong, she lamented. She didn’t even have her luggage.
Yaah, once she extracted the bank code from O’Malley, she would make a healthy withdrawal first thing tomorrow morning and go shopping at the Emporium. Or maybe at the Gaysorn Mall. That would make her feel better, she knew. Should she withdraw twenty thousand dollars? It was the beginning of her new life. She should start with a splash. At least fifty thousand dollars. Yaah. Just to start. The idea of a shopping trip already made her relax.
62 . . . 63 . . . 64. . . .
The rumble of the elevator racing upward toward the penthouse was an apt metaphor for her life, she thought. She’d begun as nothing, a poor girl from nowhere with little more than her wits and a pretty face. Saint Catherine’s Mission School for Girls, Kwekwe Secretarial Academy, Ministry of Public Works, Office of the President, First Lady of the Republic of Zimbabwe. The events of the past few days were just a temporary setback, she told herself.
Harriet had parlayed her modest beginnings to become the wealthiest and most powerful woman in the country. She would just have to do it all over again. Regroup, rebuild, counterattack. Return to Zimbabwe to reclaim her glory. Maybe even as president herself?
But the first step on that road to redemption was to find this Max O’Malley. Perhaps he is not only rich and powerful. Perhaps he is even handsome?
79 . . . 80 . . . 81. Ding!
The elevator doors slid open. She stepped into the hallway, pausing to peer out a glass window at the bustling urban streets far below. From up here, from high in the sky, she looked down on all the little lights, all the little scurrying people. She suddenly felt on top of the world again. She was already nearly back on top.
Harriet extracted a bright pink tube from her pocket, one of the few items she’d managed to salvage when she fled to the private airport and began the hasty journey to Thailand. She applied the lipstick, smacked her lips, and blew the city of Bangkok a kiss. She then found door 81F and, just as Simba had instructed, knocked three times. Harriet called out, “The lioness is here.”
No reply.
She knocked again and repeated, this time more loudly, “The lioness is here!”
Still nothing.
Harriet gripped the handle and, to her surprise, the door gave way. She cracked it open an inch and called out. “Hellooooo? Mr. O’Malley? You should be expecting me. The lioness is here.”
When she again received no reply, she swung open the door.
“Tsaaah!” she screamed, eyes wide, in shock and horror.
In front of her was a room, entirely empty.
72.
Georgetown, Washington, D.C.
Monday, 9:25 p.m. Eastern Standard Time
When Judd opened their front door, Jessica was sitting on the living room sofa, ready. He set down his carry-on bag, walked over, leaned in, and kissed her. Jessica’s lips tasted of red wine and she smelled of vanilla and honey.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” she said, and started to pour him a glass of pinot noir. “Sit. We need to talk.”
“What is it?” he asked, still standing. “Can I take a shower first?”
“No. I need to tell you something important.”
“Okay,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen. Judd returned with a bottle of beer and sat down next to her on the couch. Judd took a deep breath and then a long swig of his drink.
“I haven’t told you everything about my life, about where I come from,” she began.
“You told me you were adopted. You were an army brat.”
“True. I was adopted. And my parents were both in the military and we moved around a lot. And yes, they both died before I met you. That’s all true.”
“Okay.”
“What I didn’t tell you is that I was born . . . in Et
hiopia.”
“Ethiopia?”
“I don’t know much more. I really don’t remember much more.”
“You don’t remember?”
“It’s all a blur.”
“You’re Ethiopian and you never thought to tell your husband?”
“No. I’m American now. It was never relevant,” she said.
Judd took another gulp of beer.
“Until now,” Jessica said.
“Okay . . . I’m listening.”
“Did BJ ever push you to go into public service?”
“BJ van Hollen? What does the professor have to do with any of this?”
“He introduced us.”
“Of course I know that, Jess. I was there too. In Kidal twelve years ago when we met.”
“Don’t get mad, Judd. I’m trying to explain. Did BJ ever try to . . . recruit you?”
“Sure. He pressured me. He wanted me to work for the government. He hated after all his mentoring that I chose to teach. His disappointment was one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to create the Crisis Reaction Unit. BJ van Hollen was a big reason I took the risk and left Amherst to come to the State Department. But you know all this.”
“Well, BJ recruited me, too. Only he succeeded.”
“Succeeded? Succeeded how?”
“I think you can guess.”
Judd didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned over and took her hand. “I already did.”
“You—you knew?” Jessica asked. “For how long?”
“I think I finally put it together when Noah told me on the phone about birds and purple umbrellas. Once I figured out you weren’t telling me everything, all the other little clues started to fit together. All the advice arriving at just the right time, the insights, the observations, the coincidences. Even though it took a while for me to admit it, even to myself.”
“So . . . are we good?” She squeezed his hand and gave him a puppy-dog look.
“I’ll need time to get used to this, Jess. You know everything about me and I’m still finding out everything about you. About your secret second life.”
