ECLIPSE

by Richard North Patterson

  Hill gave him a mirthless smile. “Because they think it is a charade. If PGL sits tight, Karama has intimated to Gladstone, Okari will be convicted and expelled. A tidy solution for all.”

  “What do you believe?”

  Hill seemed to reach within himself. “That this is Karama’s heartless joke. He means to execute Okari and then, if required, blackmail PGL with Van Daan’s complicity. That perhaps you can spoil that last touch a bit.”

  In this statement, Pierce heard a latent meaning. “Beyond what I’ve already done?”

  Hill sat back with his whiskey. Though Pierce sensed his tremor of doubt, the severing of a last tie, Hill spoke in a discursive manner. “I’m sure you’re familiar with the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act—America’s effort to keep its corporate citizens from bribing the officials of host countries. In the life of PetroGlobal Luandia, that requires me to keep scrupulous records of payments to people like Okimbo, as well as the purchase of AK-47s, bullets, grenades, and tear gas. All the weapons used to subdue the fearsome villagers of Goro.”

  “Yes. We’ve seen the records.”

  “All of them?” Hill inquired mildly. “Even those maintained by Van Daan after he got his own budget?”

  Pierce felt the dullness of the whiskey evaporate. “That’s what we were told.”

  “So were PGL’s lawyers. What’s eluded them, I find, is that Van Daan kept his own private files.” Hill waited for Pierce to absorb this. “After those men were hung and I was confined here for my own protection, I resolved to satisfy my increasingly intense curiosity. So I visited Van Daan’s office in his absence. It was there I made my first discovery.”

  “Which was?”

  “That Van Daan keeps his own set of books and records—double bookkeeping, you might say, separate from PGL’s.” Rising slowly, Hill walked to the other side of the bar, reaching down as though for a fresh bottle of whiskey. What he held up instead was a manila folder. “I want you to forget where these came from, at least for a time. PGL needs to be freed from Okimbo and Van Daan. But not everyone will share my definition of loyalty, especially given what I found on my last nocturnal visit to Van Daan’s office. After I heard about Goro.”

  Every fiber of Pierce’s being was now alert. “What, precisely?”

  Walking to Pierce, less steadily now, Hill handed him the folder. “I don’t think I need explain. Once you’ve returned to the Okaris’, read what’s inside. From what I hear about the trial, you’ll know what to do.”

  7

  RECOMMENCING THE TRIAL, JUDGE ORTA FIXED PIERCE WITH A GELID stare. “Does the defense have any witnesses?”

  His tone was as uninviting as his expression. Standing, Pierce gathered himself, fighting back fear and the dull ache of a hangover, the residue of his evening with Trevor Hill. “I call Colonel Paul Okimbo.”

  Orta blinked. “For what reason?”

  Pierce placed his palms on the defense table. “Colonel Okimbo found the victims, ‘arrested’ the defendant, and investigated the crime at issue. Without him, there would be no prosecution.”

  This terse summation caused Orta to glance at Okimbo, as though for cues. But Okimbo’s eye was fixed on Pierce; sadists, Pierce thought, fear what they cannot dominate. “If the colonel declines to testify,” he told the judge, “then I renew our motion to dismiss all charges.”

  In answer, Okimbo stood, walking to the witness stand with the catlike movements of a predator. In a hollow show of dignity, Orta said, “Colonel Okimbo may testify.”

  Pierce approached the stand with his gaze trained on Okimbo. Images flashed through his head: Okimbo raping Omo, torturing Bobby, degrading Marissa. Pierce had never hated another man this much. Quietly, he asked, “How did you first meet Roos Van Daan?”

  Okimbo looked contemptuous, like someone forced to swat a fly. “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you meet him through Ugwo Ajukwa, national security adviser to General Karama?”

  For an instant, Okimbo hesitated. His voice became indifferent. “Perhaps.”

  “Did Ajukwa tell you he was recommending Van Daan to be PGL’s chief of security in the delta?”

  “He may have.”

  “’May have’? Didn’t you recommend Van Daan to Trevor Hill?”

  Pierce caught the first glint of uncertainty. “I may have.”

  “On what basis? Did you know Van Daan before Ajukwa mentioned him?”

  Hemmed in, Okimbo answered dismissively, “It must have been Ajukwa.”

  “Prior to Asari Day, did you discuss with Mr. Ajukwa whether PGL should fire Mr. Hill?”

  Free of any need to impress the tribunal with his candor, Okimbo weighed his answer. “I might have.”

  “’Might have’?” Pierce repeated. “’May have’? ‘Must have’? I’m not asking about someone else; I’m asking about you. Did you discuss with Ajukwa asking PGL to fire Hill?”

  Sudden fury surfaced in Okimbo’s eye. “Yes.”

  Pierce had found his opening; Okimbo could not stand derision. “In short, you and Ajukwa installed Van Daan at PGL, then moved to sideline Mr. Hill.”

  “Yes, and good riddance. Hill was weak.”

  Pierce paused, as though struck by a new thought. “Do you know a militia leader who calls himself General Freedom?”

  Okimbo looked wary. “Yes. He was a prisoner in the barracks at Port George.”

  “Why isn’t he still there?”

  “He escaped.”

  “The barracks seem impregnable. Did FREE liberate him?”

  “No.”

  Pierce cocked his head. “Then how did he get out?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Really?” Pierce asked incredulously. “And Karama didn’t fire you for that?”

  Okimbo watched him. “No.”

  Pierce saw that Orta looked disturbed, as though entrapped in a dynamic that, from Okimbo’s manner, might have grave consequences for each member of the tribunal. “Tell me,” Pierce inquired, “did General Freedom escape before or after Karama made Ajukwa his security adviser?”

  “This is irrelevant,” Ngara called out, “and intrudes on matters of state security.”

  Turning to Ngara, Pierce intuited that he, like Orta, sensed danger. “What matters of state security? I’m merely placing this escape in time.”

  Orta fidgeted with the rim of his bowler. “The witness may answer.”

  As Okimbo knew, this was a matter of public record. “After.”

  “And did you discuss General Freedom’s escape with Mr. Ajukwa?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Pierce smiled again. “Before or after its occurrence?”

  Someone in the gallery emitted a nervous laugh. But it took Okimbo a moment to grasp the implications of the question. With barely disguised anger, he said, “Your question is a stupid one.”

  “That depends on the answer, Colonel.”

  Swiftly, Ngara stepped forward. “I ask the court to intervene. Mr. Pierce insults the dignity of the state.”

  “Not so,” Pierce responded softly. “As a representative of the state, I hoped you might be curious as to whether the colonel and Ajukwa allowed General Freedom to escape.”

  Glancing from Pierce to Ngara, Orta told Pierce firmly, “This accusation—reprehensible in itself—has no relationship to your defense of Mr. Okari.”

  Perhaps the media felt otherwise, Pierce thought. Turning on Okimbo, he asked abruptly, “Who hung those oil workers?”

  “You heard the witnesses,” Okimbo snapped. “Don’t play the fool.”

  For an instant, Pierce remembered Okimbo locking him in Bobby’s cell. “Perhaps I lack your powers of perception. Didn’t Moses Tulu and Lucky Joba first approach you after you arrested Bobby Okari?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then on what basis did you arrest him?”

  Okimbo frowned. “Because of his violent and seditious statements.”

  “In other words,” Pierce said, “when you ‘arrested’ B
obby Okari, you had no witnesses against him.”

  Okimbo leaned forward in a posture of aggression. “They would come, I knew.”

  “And so they did. According to Joba and Tulu, you first met them in your office with a white man. Was that Roos Van Daan?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why was he there?”

  Okimbo scowled. “The victims were PGL employees. This was his concern.”

  “Did he offer to pay the witnesses money?”

  “Expenses,” Okimbo corrected. “I don’t recall the details.”

  Pierce gave him a curious look. “Did Joba and Tulu simply materialize in your office, or had you spoken to them before?”

  Okimbo’s gaze narrowed. “Joba called me before. To say he had information.”

  “During that conversation, did Joba ask whether PGL would pay for his testimony?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Pierce stared at him in mock amazement. “You don’t recall if a man who offered to accuse Okari of murder wanted to be paid for doing that?”

  “No.”

  “But when you met them in your office, Van Daan gave both men cash?”

  “Expenses.”

  Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Did Van Daan just happen to have money in his wallet? Or had you suggested that he bring some?”

  Stymied, Okimbo glared at Orta. Though he glanced at Colonel Nubola, Orta did not intervene. “I do not remember,” Okimbo replied. “You can ask these questions until your tongue falls out.”

  “Without your assistance, I hope. How much money did Van Daan give them?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Weren’t you concerned that the amount might give them an incentive to lie?”

  “I already knew the truth. Okari was a perpetrator of violence and sedition. That was why I arrested him at Goro.”

  The deliberate mention of Goro, Pierce sensed, was intended to remind Pierce to be frightened. It was also a mistake. In a puzzled tone, Pierce asked, “But didn’t you arrest Mr. Okari in response to the lynchings?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why did you plan a military operation in Goro before the murders?”

  Ngara stood at once. “The arrest happened after the murders for which the defendant stands accused, and therefore is irrelevant to the charges.”

  Pierce approached the bench, looking from the presiding judge, Orta, to Judge Uza. Stifling his apprehension, he said, “Not if this arrest was planned before the lynchings happened. I hardly need spell out the implications.”

  As Orta turned to Uza, irresolute, Nubola put a hand on his arm. Still facing Uza, Orta flinched. When Uza slowly nodded, Orta turned to Okimbo, briefly glancing at Nubola’s hand before he said, “You may answer.”

  This act of defiance caused Okimbo to fix Orta with an expression of silent warning. Facing Pierce, he insisted, “Okari was arrested for the murders.”

  Pierce walked back to the defense table. As Bara and Bobby watched, he drew a one-page memo from a plain manila folder. “One month before the lynchings, did you propose to Roos Van Daan that you ‘carry out a wasting operation against the village of Goro’?”

  Okimbo seemed transfixed by the paper in Pierce’s hand. “Tell me from what you are reading.”

  “Answer the question,” Pierce snapped.

  Orta held up his hand for silence. Turning to Okimbo, he said softly, “The court desires your answer.”

  Okimbo glanced at Nubola, as though marking his silence. “No,” he told Pierce flatly.

  “’No’?” Pierce repeated. “Didn’t you demand that Van Daan give you ‘prompt inputs of cash’ before and after this ‘wasting operation’ at Goro?”

  “No,” Okimbo’s voice was rough with anger. “I was paid only for protection.”

  Once more, Pierce read from the piece of paper. “Did that protection include ‘ruthless military actions’ to ‘cause terror among the Asari’ and ‘alienate Okari from his people’?”

  “No.”

  “No again?” Pierce said with open contempt. “Did you not, in fact, demand that Van Daan pay you twenty-five thousand American dollars for—quote—’setting up the proposed attack on Goro’?”

  Okimbo looked at each judge in turn, the movements of his head as jerky as those of a mechanized toy. “I asked for no such payment.”

  “Enough cat and mouse,” Ngara interjected. “I demand to see this document.”

  Pierce approached the bench and gave the original to Orta. Scanning the document, Orta seemed to blanch. Nubola read over his shoulder, then said derisively, “Who knows where this came from.”

  “Your Honor,” a deep voice interrupted. “May I approach the bench?”

  Orta looked up. “Who are you?”

  “Clark Hamilton, outside counsel to PGL.” Moving beside Pierce, Hamilton added, “I may be able to shed light on this.”

  Orta handed down the document. As he read, Hamilton drained his face of all expression. “I’m certain I haven’t seen it,” he told Pierce. “This document can’t be from our files—it doesn’t have PGL’s production stamp.”

  Pierce shrugged. “Maybe one of your associates slipped up. Anyhow, it’s the colonel’s memo. Why don’t we ask him?”

  Pierce looked up at the tribunal. Though clearly enraged, Nubola was out of his depth; the two judges, Orta and Uza, held a whispered conference. Then Orta instructed Pierce, “Show this to Colonel Okimbo.”

  Taking the memo, Pierce gave it to the witness. “I show you this memo, dated February 7, addressed by you to Roos Van Daan. Can you identify it for the court?”

  Staring at the memo, Okimbo gripped it in both hands. “It’s a forgery.”

  “Including the signature ‘Paul Okimbo’ at the bottom?”

  “Yes.”

  Pierce turned to Orta. “I request that the court order Colonel Okimbo to submit writing samples, and allow us to retain a handwriting expert.”

  “We strongly object,” Ngara interposed at once. “We shouldn’t bog this tribunal down with ancillary witnesses. This purported memo—whatever its provenance—is irrelevant to the charge against Mr. Okari.”

  “Not if the charges were a pretext for Goro,” Pierce shot back. “In case it has eluded Mr. Ngara, we’re suggesting that this witness conspired to frame Bobby Okari.”

  Deflated, Orta clasped his hands. “Pending further proof, the court will take this matter under submission. Proceed, Mr. Pierce.”

  Aware that his time was running out, Pierce turned back to Okimbo. “Let’s focus on the day of the operation in Goro. How did you arrive at the staging area?”

  “By helicopter.”

  Relying on the information provided by Beke Femu, Pierce inquired, “Was the helicopter flown by Roos Van Daan?”

  Okimbo looked startled, then settled back. “I don’t recall.”

  “Didn’t you and Van Daan jointly plan this operation?”

  “No,” Okimbo insisted. “The plan was mine—to make a lawful arrest.”

  “With PGL’s helicopters and sea trucks? How did you get ahold of them?”

  “Mr. Van Daan authorized their use.”

  Pierce stepped forward. “Did he ask why you needed this equipment to enter an Asari village populated by civilians?”

  Okimbo crossed his arms. “We meant to counter any resistance with force.”

  “There was no resistance,” Pierce said evenly. “So you ordered your soldiers to massacre the residents, behead Okari’s father, hang Okari from a ceiling fan, and burn Goro to the ground, while you amused yourself by raping a fifteen-year-old named Omo before you slit her throat. Does that about sum it up?”

  The courtroom was still. Okimbo leaned forward in the witness box, his stare more lethal than words. “No,” he said softly. “It does not.”

  As Okimbo had intended, the ambiguous answer made Pierce’s skin crawl. Ngara jackknifed from his seat as though propelled by tension, addressing Orta in a strained voice: “This slander is too
much, Your Honor. I implore you to rule such questions out of order. They have no relationship to the murders at issue.”

  “Then I’ll return to the lynchings.” Facing Okimbo, Pierce asked mildly, “Was stringing up those workers your idea, or did someone else suggest it?”

  “Enough,” Orta directed. “You’ve established no foundation for such questions.”

  Pierce faced the judge. “In that case, I request that the court excuse this witness pending the testimony of Roos Van Daan. Given Mr. Hamilton’s interest in this matter, I’m sure he can produce him quickly. If not, I’ll renew our motion to dismiss the charges.”

  Seemingly agitated, Orta searched out Hamilton in the gallery. “Have you any objection to counsel’s request?”

  Hamilton placed his hands on the railing. “Naturally, Your Honor, I must consult with PGL and Mr. Van Daan. I ask that you give us until the morning.”

  Orta slowly nodded. “The tribunal will adjourn until nine A.M.”

  Orta brought down the gavel. Abruptly, Pierce was aware of everything around him: Okimbo’s silent rage; Bara’s fear; Bobby’s ironic smile; Marissa’s look of gratitude and worry. Approaching Hamilton, Pierce put a hand on his shoulder. “Get me Van Daan, and then a meeting with Gladstone. Or this gets worse for everyone.”

  8

  PIERCE SPENT THE NEXT HOUR WITH REPORTERS FROM CNN, THE Associated Press, and Reuters, after that giving phone interviews to media outlets in England and America. When he returned to the Okari compound with Bara and Marissa, a columnist for the London Times drove them, combining the opportunity for access with the man’s obligation, as he put it, to “dissuade Karama’s minions from hanging you for traffic offenses.” With a smile unreflective of his mood, Pierce proposed a daily car pool.

  Arriving, the two lawyers and Marissa went to the patio. “Any word from Beke Femu?” Pierce asked Bara in an urgent tone. “We need him to place Van Daan at Goro.”

  “Nothing,” Bara answered. “I’ll keep e-mailing his contact. Perhaps when he hears about our defense . . .”

  His voice trailed off. No one at the table held out much hope that the soldier would publicly accuse Okimbo and Van Daan of perpetrating a massacre. It was astonishing enough that, with obvious trepidation, Orta had let them come this far. At length, Bara inquired, “Where did you get that document?”