by David Nees
“Where are you going?” Marcus asked.
“He needs to talk to me. He’s the Watcher.”
Dan followed the old man to the side of the street and into a small store. Marcus parked the Toyota and followed them inside.
The old man sat at a table in the rear of the store. He motioned for Dan to sit. There were only two chairs, so Marcus stood to one side, against the wall.
“I know you have been successful in your mission.” He smiled. “But there is more to do.” He spoke in heavily accented French.
“We need to leave the country. It is not safe for a westerner to be here after what has happened.”
“Maybe.”
He paused as if to gather his thoughts. Then he looked directly at Dan. That deep stare that seemed to penetrate deep inside of him.
“I know you have met with the sorcerer, Bompaka. It is dangerous, but you used his power to do some good. It will only have a limited effect, though. You cannot do good with black magic.”
“You said there is more to do. What do you speak of?”
The old man sighed as if he were about to place a heavy burden on Dan. Something he didn’t want to do.
“You must kill Bompaka.”
“What? He threw me out when I met him. He knows I can see into him, see his power.”
The man nodded. “He is afraid. If you can see his power, you can take it away.” He leaned across the table. “Do you know how old he is?”
Dan shook his head. “Of course not.”
“He is well over one hundred years old. Maybe more than one hundred and twenty. He saw the European colonization of Africa.”
Dan just sat there. He had a hard time believing what he had just heard, but Watchers were careful with their words and never exaggerated.
“His first name is Ngweji. It means powerful, a warrior. His patronyme means old age. The stories say he looked old when he was born. His family is long-lived, but never like Ngweji. It is the dark forces that keep him alive.”
“I got a sense of the price he pays for that.”
The Watcher nodded. “He knows you have the sight. He has lived long enough—too long. It is time for him to end.”
“But what will that help?”
“He will turn on you and what you’ve won here. He will bend Dieu Merci to his will. Dieu is correct about his fear. He holds Bompaka’s fétiche. The sorcerer will make him his tool, and who knows what he will do with him.”
“Won’t the fétiche lose its power if he’s dead?”
“Perhaps. If Dieu believes in it, no. He can use the positive side of it to give him courage. But Bompaka will no longer be there to enslave him.”
“So, Dieu should not know what I am doing?”
The old man shook his head.
Dan stared hard at the old man. He had learned to trust Watchers. They had shown themselves to be on his side. Tlayolotl, the shaman that had saved his life in Mexico, had promised their help and they had come through over the years. Now, though, this man, a Watcher, was asking him to assassinate someone. Something they had never done before. They helped, but never inserted themselves their own agenda. Taking this action meant he would, again, expand his actions, something that often infuriated Jane.
“This complicates the mission.”
The Watcher did not look away, but held his eyes steady, meeting Dan’s gaze. “He has lived more than his years. He prolongs his life at the expense of other lives. It is how his magic works.”
“Are you suggesting…?”
The old man nodded. “You can fill in the rest of the story. It is an ancient one, from ages past. It still exists and is still practiced.” He paused and then added, “The old woman, his crone, is his accomplice. You do not have to spare her if it comes to that.”
Dan stood up. He could argue with the old man, but the Watcher’s voice carried a conviction that Dan decided couldn’t be overcome. The decision was his to make. There was no more need for discussion.
The Watcher stood with him and put his gnarly hand, crippled by arthritis, on Dan’s arm.
“Since Tlayolotl we have never sent you out like this. We try to help you avoid the attacks arrayed against you. This time is different. Bompaka is a sickness. A center of darkness, a center of its power. If you eliminate him, you push back the dark.” His grip grew tighter on Dan’s arm. “But you must not think about your task. He will sense it. Keep it far down in your mind and then just do it. Too much thought and he will be ready with a trap for you.”
He didn’t smile, but turned away and disappeared into a back room. Dan and Marcus stepped out into the brilliant sunlight.
Chapter 65
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A re you going to do this? It sounds incredibly risky,” Marcus asked.
“I thought you didn’t believe in such stuff,” Dan replied.
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t know what to believe. I think Africa is getting to my head.”
“That happens to a lot of westerners.”
“But how will you do it? When?”
Dan shook his head. “You heard the old man. I don’t want to think about it, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
The two men continued to the meeting point. Roland grabbed Dan in a big bear hug, then stepped back.
“Damn. You snipers really get to smelling pretty bad when you go out on a mission. Do you just piss and shit yourselves?”
Dan gave him a dirty look and angled his eyes towards Dieu.
“Reconnaissance. Tramping around in the forest, trying to locate birds and gorillas, must be smelly work,” Roland added, trying to salvage his faux pas.
“Just shut the fuck up,” Marcus said.
No more words were spoken. The two groups got back in their vehicles. When they got to the hotel, Dan headed straight for the shower. There was only a little warm water, but he didn’t care. While he scrubbed himself thoroughly, until his skin was raw, his mind went over what he and the others had to do next.
He had opened up some of the mosquito bites and his towel was spotted with blood when he finished drying off. Dan noticed, however with some satisfaction, that the bites didn’t seem to fester as long as they did when he first arrived. Maybe getting used to them? The thought didn’t give him much comfort.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, the TV was on.
“Shut that off,” he said.
The men looked over at him.
“Now. Shut it off.”
Santu jumped up and grabbed the remote.
“I don’t want to hear it.” That was all the explanation Dan would offer.
“I don’t know who all of you are,” Dieu began, “but I’m—”
“Not now,” Dan said.
Dieu stopped short.
“I am going to tell you what you are going to do. You will do what I tell you.”
Dan’s voice sounded cold and deadly. Dieu looked at him for a moment and then looked away.
“You are going to meet with Mputu…alone.”
“No, I can’t.” Dieu’s voice held a note of panic in it.
“You can. The fétiche we acquired for you will protect you. That is its purpose. Roland and Marcus will also be there to protect you. You won’t see them. Mputu won’t see them, but they’ll be there if Mputu threatens you. You will use your fétiche. He will be cautious of it if you play it well.”
“We go today?” Marcus asked.
Dan shook his head. “Everyone stays here. I have something I have to do. Today. We will leave tomorrow.”
“What are you going to do?” Roland asked.
“Not for you to know.”
Dan grabbed a loose shirt to go over his T-shirt and held out his hand to Marcus.
“Give me the keys, he said to Marcus.
“You’re going now?”
“Only gets harder later. More chances of things going wrong.” He turned to the others. “I’ll see all of you in a couple of hours. Order food for th
e room. Don’t go out. Dieu, you can call your family, or your mistress. Tell them you’ll be home tomorrow evening. You have an assignment that just came up. Tell them you need to visit the mining sites. And all of you stay put in the room.”
Dan turned and left.
“What’s up with him?” Roland asked.
“Just leave it for now. We can talk about it later,” Marcus said.
“Aren’t you the mysterious one?”
“Give it a rest. Santu, would you please order us some food? It’s been a busy few days.”
Dan drove off in the Toyota and when he reached a secluded spot on the road, he stopped and went to the back. He uncovered the shipping box, opened it, and pulled out the suppressed Walther P22. He pocketed an extra ten-round magazine and put the pistol under his shirt. He kept his mind focused on the immediate task at hand, not thinking about where his actions led or the purpose of the gun.
Then he drove off in the SUV, concentrating on the driving. He didn’t think about the destination, but let his reflexes steer him to the poor area near the airport with its maze of alleys and pathways.
When he reached the familiar market area, Dan parked. He got out and looked intently at the produce, focusing on each type, trying to identify the strange ones and think about how they might taste.
With his mind distracted by produce, he turned and started down the alley. He looked at the dirt, noticed the cinders, probably left over from the volcano eruption that had brought lava flowing over parts of the airport and this neighborhood. A small voice in the back of his head kept trying to bring up his mission. It wanted to scream that he couldn’t go in without a plan. Dan suppressed the voice and kept focused on the details of the ground and the shacks he passed. He navigated the turns without consciously thinking about them.
On the way, he came to an intersection of two alleyways and paused. He was unsure of the way and had to go back to the first trip in his mind for just a moment to bring up his memory of the correct route. He quickly tried to get back to noticing things around him in the moment.
Then the thought came to him that he might be telegraphing his location. Could he actually do that? Could Bompaka actually sense his thoughts? Dan quickly tried to think of something else. He began to run through his pervious travels, his desperate trip through the Mexican desert on his first mission. The brief ride in the fishing boat on the Caspian Sea; driving through Austria in the Land Rover at insane speeds; the relief he felt when he and Evangeline reached the relative safety of Slovenia; the wonderful meal he had with the girl at an osmica, one of many home restaurants that were allowed to offer meals from their own produce and livestock.
They were wonderful memories, even though surrounded by violence. Dan hoped they would confuse Bompaka if he were somehow “listening in”. He continued until he was standing in front of the low door.
There, at the door, stood a large man. He had a semi-automatic pistol in a holster on his belt. He glared at Dan.
“You must not be here. You leave now,” the man spoke in French in a low, thick voice.
Dan didn’t hesitate. He reached behind his back and pulled out the P22. It was a long pull with the suppressor attached. The guard reached for his holstered pistol in response, but before he could bring it into action, Dan fired two quick shots. Two holes appeared in the man’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground.
He looked around. There was no one in the alley. Dan stepped over the body. He would go in and deal with whatever he found. He pushed against the door. It resisted and Dan pushed again, harder, breaking the latch. The door swung open and Dan stepped into the dim light, pistol at the ready.
There was a scraping sound to his right and a small figure flew out of the darkness straight at him. Dan swung the Walther and fired. Its sound was no more than a muffled clap. It could not be heard outside of the room where he stood. The figure dropped to the ground and then rose up. Dan could see it was the old woman. With an unearthly scream, she flung herself at Dan. He shot again, twice. This time the woman crumpled to the dirt and didn’t move.
Dan turned immediately towards the rear of the room and the table where the sorcerer had been seated on his previous visit. The man was standing there, his eyes blazing. Dan could feel his hatred and power washing over him. His hand started to shake and a blackness began to close in on his vision.
The red eyes bore into him. The man reached out his right hand with his long, claw-like nails.
“You come to kill me? Take my life. But you are too weak. You only see partly. You don’t know my full power. I am ancient and have killed many more powerful than you.”
Dan felt himself getting weak. This can’t be happening. He thought of Tlayolotl and the power the shaman had shown. Dan tried to draw on that power now.
“Put down your gun. It is useless against me. I am protected. Turn away now and I will let you live. If you don’t, I will take your life and your spirit.” The sorcerer’s voice was filled with a cold, implacable anger.
“I am also protected. You know I can see you and if I can do that, I can take your life.”
The old man’s mouth curled into something resembling a cruel smile. Dan tried to look away from the burning eyes, but couldn’t.
Don’t talk. Don’t think. Act. He brought the Walther up and fired at the sorcerer. The bullet must have struck him, but he didn’t flinch or go down. Again. Dan squeezed the trigger two more times. Now the sorcerer took a step back and lowered his hand. A knife was in it when he raised it again.
Dan let loose and squeezed the trigger until the magazine was dry. The slide retracted and stopped open even as Dan kept trying to pull the trigger. The sorcerer was sliding down the wall of the shack. His eyes still on Dan. The knife lay on the floor.
Dan ejected the spent magazine and slapped in the second one. He forced himself to walk, his legs unsteady, over to the sorcerer who was still alive. The red eyes followed him, burning with hatred. Dan stepped up to the old body. He extended his arm and, now looking at him, put one round in each eye, replacing the glowing eyes with raw holes opening into the head.
Like coming out of a fog, Dan stepped back and took a deep breath. It seemed like his first since the woman came after him. There was an odor of sweat, blood, and corruption. He calmed his breathing, pocketed the .22, and stepped out into the bright light. There were no signs of life in the alley. He started back to the Toyota, walking with a firm and forceful stride, and drove to the hotel.
Chapter 66
___________________________________
E veryone looked up from the pizzas they were eating when Dan entered the room.
“You all right?” Marcus asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“Take a look at yourself.”
Dan went over to a mirror and looked at himself. His face was drawn and haggard, like he had not slept in a week and had been subjected to some sort of intense pressure. His tanned face was pale, almost deathly looking and his eyes seemed to be sunk back into his sockets.
Roland opened a beer and brought it to Dan. “Here you go. What the hell happened to you?”
He took a long swig. “Santu, take Dieu down to the lobby and buy him a drink, something stronger than beer. It’s on me. I need to talk with these two in private for a moment.”
“I am not one of you lackeys to be ordered about,” Dieu said. “He may be, but not me. We have been watching the news. Mr. Zhang has been killed along with another man. I don’t know if you had anything to do with this event, but I am not going to be a part of your adventures.”
“Dieu,” Dan said, turning to look at the man. He could feel his eyes begin to light up from the turmoil inside of him. “You will do as I say, or I will hog-tie you and gag you. Then I’ll deliver you to Mputu myself for him to do with you whatever he wants to do.”
Dieu’s eyes got wide with fright.
“You are a corrupt man who sells out his office to the highest bidder. When I let Mputu know you were pl
aying him against Zhang, he will want to deal with you. I imagine it won’t be pleasant. He probably is in a foul mood since he lost his hostages.”
Dan pointed to the door.
“Now go. Come back in a half hour. Dieu, if you run off, so help me God, I’ll find you and beat you senseless, then give you to Mputu.”
“That was some outburst, boss,” Roland said when the door closed. “Where did you run off to and what happened?”
Dan went over to a chair and sat down heavily. He took another long pull from the beer bottle.
“I killed the sorcerer…and the old woman.”
“Holy shit!” Roland exclaimed. “Why the hell did you do that?”
“The Watcher. He said all we’ve done would go wrong if the sorcerer lived. He’d work his magic against Dieu and make him do his bidding.”
“What the fuck do we care?”
Dan’s eyes flashed at Roland. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, above and beyond the assassinations. Maybe help the situation improve in some small way. Getting rid of people who traffic in darkness is a good thing.”
“You didn’t hear what the Watcher said,” Marcus replied. “Bompaka was ancient. He kept himself alive by killing the young. Sacrificing them, maybe eating them or drinking their blood, who knows?”
“And you believe this? Sounds like Dracula transplanted to Africa to me. An old wives’ tale at best.”
“You haven’t seen enough yet to understand that there’s a lot of dark magic going on here?” Marcus asked.
“If you had seen the old man…and the old woman,” Dan said. “It took a full magazine and two extra shots to kill them. There was a power in that room. It almost overwhelmed me.”
He stopped and drained his beer. He got up and took another one from the fridge and opened it. The color began to return to his face.
Roland and Marcus sat silently watching him.
“Jane’s going to freak out,” Roland finally said.
“What’s done is done. No sense in wasting time on rehashing things. I always seem to wind up creating more disruption than planned.”
