“This” was an M67—a grenade.
“Pull the pin before you leave.”
Chapter 78
EVERYTHING CONTINUED TO feel unreal and fantasylike to me.
All the doors at the church shelter for men were locked after nine o’clock. No one could get in or out. With traffic being what it is in Lagos, I barely made it back there in time.
My cot was at the far end of one of three lodges, long high-ceilinged dorms off the main corridor where breakfast would be served in the morning.
Alex Cross, I thought. What have you come to? What have you done this time?
The guy in the next bed was the same guy as the night before, a Jamaican man by the name of Oscar. He didn’t talk much, but the strained look in his eyes and half-healed track marks told his story.
He lay on his side and watched me while I rooted around for a toothbrush.
“Hey, mon,” he said in a whisper. “Dey is some shorty man o’ God lookin’ your way. He dere now.”
Father Bombata was standing at the door. When I saw him, he beckoned with a finger, then walked back out of the dormitory.
I followed him outside and into a hall packed with last-minute arrivals. I pushed upstream toward the front doors, until I caught up with the priest.
“Father?”
I saw then that he was dialing a cell phone and wondered who he was calling. Was it good news or bad that I was supposed to hear?
“Ms. Tansi wishes to speak with you,” he said and handed over the phone to me.
Adanne had news! An assassination in South Darfur had occurred that day. One of the representatives to the Sudanese Council of States was dead—and his family had been slaughtered.
“Any connection to Basel Abboud in DC?” I asked her.
“I don’t know yet, but I can tell you that the Tiger does frequent business in Sudan.”
“Weapons? Heroin?” I asked her. “What kind of business, Adanne?”
“Boys. His loyal soldiers. He recruits at the Darfur refugee camps.”
I took a breath. “You might have told me about this earlier.”
“I’ll make it up to you. I can have us on an air freighter to Nyala first thing in the morning.”
I blinked. “You said ‘us’?”
“I did. Or you can fly commercial to Al Fasher and see about ground transport from there. I leave it to you.”
Any other time I never would have considered it. But then, I’d never been five thousand miles from home without a lead and sleeping in a men’s homeless shelter before.
I put my hand over the phone. “Father, can I trust this woman?” With my life?
“Yes, she is a good person,” he said without hesitation. “And I told you, she is my cousin. Tall and beautiful, just like me. You can trust her, Detective.”
I was back on the
line. “Nothing goes into print until we both say so? Do we have a deal on that?”
“Agreed. I’ll meet you at the Ikeja Cantonment, at the main entrance by five. And Alex, you should prepare yourself emotionally. Darfur is truly a horrible place.”