I thought they would drag me up to the wards—but we went down instead. Down couldn’t be good. Where was Adanne? Was she here too?
My feet bumped over stone steps, then onto the compacted dirt floor of a barely lit corridor. It looked and smelled like the cell block upstairs, but when we passed through one of the reinforced steel doors, I saw they all opened onto the same enormous space.
There was a low ceiling that dripped some kind of sludge, and a row of retrofitted support columns ran right down the middle of the room. They extended into deep shadows on either side.
A blank space. For torture? Interrogation? Execution?
Everything was left to the imagination—on purpose, I was sure.
The police and guards left me there, with my hands cuffed tightly behind my back, secured around one of the posts. The column was rusted steel, about four inches thick, and going nowhere. Just like me.
I stopped struggling as soon as they walked away. Better to save my strength, I figured.
I didn’t know who wanted me here—the Tiger? The police? The government?
Someone else?
A multinational corporation, for God’s sake? Maybe that was it. Anything was possible here.
If I was extraordinarily lucky, Flaherty would come looking for me again; and if I was even luckier, he’d be able to find me down here. But that could take days, and then more time to find Adanne.
If she was still alive.
If they hadn’t gotten the secrets out of her.
If . . . if . . . if . . .
Chapter 110
A LIGHT CAME on . . . two lights actually.
Quickly, one after the other.
I didn’t know how many hours had passed. Or what time of day it was. I knew that I hadn’t slept.
The man I now thought of as the police commander, the one I’d hit with Adanne’s car, stood by one of the doors.
His hand was still on the wall switch. Two single-bulb fixtures shone brightly overhead. They weren’t meant to be easy on the eyes, or the brain, or the soul.
“Tell me what you know about the Tiger,” he said as he strode forward. I noticed he’d changed suits—and that there was a rectangle of gauze taped to his forehead.
“Where’s Adanne Tansi?” I said.
“Don’t make me cross, Cross.” The commander chuckled softly; he’d been a jackass joker the last time too, I remembered. The accent was Yoruban and the voice was calm. Too calm. He had more self-control than I would have thought he should, given that I’d tried to run him over and put tire marks on his ugly face.
“Just tell me if she’s alive,” I said. “That’s all I need to hear from you.”
“She’s alive. Somewhat.” He spread his hands. “Now—the killer you chased here? What do you know? Are you CIA? Or are you working with her? The reporter?”
At least he wanted something from me. Quid pro quo was better than nothing, I guess.
“There are lots of Tigers, killers for hire,” I said. “You know that. The one I’m after is physically large. He operates internationally, with teams in Lagos and Washington at the very least. I believe his name is Sowande.
“As of two days ago, he was in South Darfur. I don’t know where the hell he is now.” I paused and stared into his eyes. “I’m not CIA, definitely not CIA. Tell me where she is.”
His shoulders barely shrugged. “She’s here. At Kirikiri. No need to worry about her. She’s close by. Look! Look at that. There she is now. The news reporter is here.”
Chapter 111