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  As Marc printed out the best of Rigby’s photographs, shot from a shadowed corner of the Stanley Hotel’s courtyard, he recalled the African guard’s restless scanning of the perimeter. Marc was certain the man could sense a sniper taking aim.

  Rigby drove them in one of the armored Tahoes. As promised, Charles awaited them at the turnoff into Kibera. As they entered the slum, the colonel grew increasingly grim. “I’ve been on duty here for almost three years and never had a reason to make this journey.”

  Rigby said worriedly, “No amount of armor will guarantee our security, Colonel. Maybe we should return to the highway and request backup.”

  “We are among friends.” Crowder glanced at Marc. “Isn’t that correct, Royce?”

  “Long as we’re gone by sundown.”

  Crowder gave Marc a tight smile. “That was good thinking, having Rigby shoot the man’s picture.”

  “It may be nothing.”

  “Eliminating possibilities is still further along than I’ve gotten. And Uhuru definitely warned you off.”

  “He couldn’t have made it clearer with a gun in his hand.”

  Ahead of them, Charles parked his decrepit Mercedes in the square. Marc directed Rigby to pull up behind him. As they emerged from the vehicle, Marc told him, “You need to stay with the car.”

  “That’s a negative.”

  “Trust for trust, that’s what the colonel told me,” Marc replied. “We need these people to treat us as allies.”

  “Stand down, soldier,” Crowder said, but his tone was a gentle growl.

  Rigby glowered but remained behind the wheel. Marc led Boyd Crowder to where Charles stood in the alley’s entryway. When Marc introduced them, Crowder said, “I owe you an apology, Reverend Matinde. One of my men assaulted you and your female companion. That is totally unacceptable. On behalf of my entire squad, I apologize.”

  Charles nodded nervously. “Thank you, Colonel.”

  Marc asked, “Are the elders willing to see us?”

  “They’ll see you. I didn’t say anything about the colonel coming with us.”

  Crowder offered, “I can stay out here.”

  “No. This meeting is vital,” Marc said, then to Charles, “There is a chance that I won’t be around later. The elders need to know this man and hear that I trust him. Face-to-face.”

  In response, Charles turned and led them into the church. He motioned for them to stand at the back, then hurried up the front aisle.

  Crowder studied the elders gathered on the church’s dais. “That man in the center, he’s Luo?”

  “A chief,” Marc confirmed. “And relative of the camp’s leader.”

  “The guys to either side look like they’re Kikuyu.”

  “They are.”

  “The Kikuyu and the Luo are sworn enemies.”

  “I know.” Marc gave him a swift summary of what he had experienced thus far. By the time he finished talking, Crowder was watching the group in front intently.

  “Miracle,” the colonel repeated.

  “That was their word, not mine,” Marc replied.

  Crowder shook his head. “A lot of people in power are going to see this as a serious threat.”

  Marc was about to ask the colonel what he meant when Charles called back, “The elders will speak with you now.”

  The elders shook hands in the African manner, limp and soft, the gesture of warriors trained to show no strength or aggression. Marc set his briefcase on the chair, shifted the satellite phone, and took out the envelope holding the photographs taken by Rigby. They first passed the UN administrator’s picture from hand to hand. The image showed Frederick Uhuru at his most unflattering, a predatory gleam in his eye as he ordered Marc to keep away from this place and these people.

  Finally the elder handed it back and said through Charles, “This one we do not know.”

  “None of you have seen him?”

  They were definite. “The man whose name changed from village to village was another.”

  He passed over the second photograph, of the man with the mutilated ear. “What about this one?”

  This time, the response was instantaneous. Every one of them reacted the same way. Their nostrils flared, and one finger tapped the face in the photo. Over and over. Passed to the next man, who tapped it again. Staining the face with their anger and their sweat.

  “He is the one who came and threatened,” Charles confirmed.

  Crowder’s face tightened in a warrior’s grin, all anticipation and hunger. “I’ll show this around, see what I can dig up.”

  “Quietly,” Marc warned.

  “Off the grid,” Crowder assured him. “I’ve got my career and my men to think of.”

  Charles softly translated everything they said. Marc turned back to the elders and said, “I came to Kenya thinking Boyd Crowder was the enemy. I assumed he was behind Serge’s disappearance. Now I am certain I was wrong. I trust him. I think you should do the same.”

  The men’s gazes flickered back and forth between them. The silence lengthened. Marc waited them out. Beside him, Crowder might as well have turned to stone.

  Finally the Luo said in English, “We would speak to you, Marc Royce. Alone.”

  Crowder said, “I’ll be in the car.”

  When the officer started down the aisle, Oyango spoke with Charles. The pastor’s eyes widened. Charles glanced at Marc, then rose from his chair and followed Crowder from the church.

  When the church was empty, Oyango motioned to the Kikuyu beside him. The elder’s accent was very strong, but his English was precise. “The missing man.”

  “Serge Korban.”

  “And his sister.”

  “Kitra.”

  The Kikuyu elder nodded. “What do you know of these two?”

  “I . . . Serge was a medic.” Marc corrected himself. “Is a medic. He and Kitra are Israeli. Their mother is French. They were both born in Tel Aviv.”

  The elders all shared a somber frown, as though they found something distasteful in what he said. The Kikuyu’s voice was surprisingly light. He repeated, “What do you know?”

  “I-I’m sorry. I don’t . . .”

  “Why are they in Kenya? Have you asked this question of them?”

  Marc looked from one face to the next.

  The Luo chief spoke then. “Sometimes we see what we want. Not what is.”

  “It is the warrior’s first lesson,” the Kikuyu agreed. “To find the lion hiding in the grass.”

  Oyango flicked his fingers in front of Marc’s face. “To survive, a hunter must detect the slightest motion.”

  “The flicker of color that does not belong,” the Kikuyu confirmed. “This is the difference between life and death.”

  “I’m sorry,” Marc said, “but I—”

  His satellite phone rang.

  Marc pulled the bulky apparatus from his briefcase. He hesitated, his mind buzzing louder than the phone. “I must take this.”

  The elders nodded. Marc wanted to rise. He disliked having all the eyes on him as he spoke with Kitra. Their questions were framed in their dark gazes. He punched the button and remained where he was. “This is Royce.”

  “Oh, Marc.” Kitra’s voice was as terrified as it was soft. “They are here.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They rushed straight from the slum chapel to the Nairobi airport. The snarled traffic became just another enemy they had to fight. Marc called Kitra back twice, checking in, gaining new details. The UN contingent had arrived at the camp in two SUVs and two battle vans. They presented the camp elders with eviction notices. The evacuation was to begin in thirty-six hours. The officials ignored the director’s protests and the elders’ pleas as they had in previous evictions. Marc fed the status updates to Boyd Crowder, who in turn made plans with Karl Rigby.

  The third time Marc phoned, Kitra did not respond.

  They were met at the Lodestone hangar by six more security personnel. They loaded their gear into the chop
per and headed into the sun, now low on the horizon. Crowder passed around the photograph of Frederick Uhuru and the man who had threatened the elder. “We don’t know if either of these men will be among the attackers. But if they are, do not, repeat, do not put either man down.”

  “Say again, Colonel.”

  “They may have our first lead regarding our missing personnel. Disable them as required. But it is essential that we question them.”

  When Crowder settled into the cockpit’s other jump seat, Marc said, “I’ve just realized something. Uhuru offered me that contract because he wanted to distract me.”

  “You’re assuming the UN guy is part of the problem.”

  “The man who threatened the elders was there with him.”

  “Correction. He was on the same porch of a hotel café.” Boyd Crowder waved his own statement aside. “You know what I hear most clearly in your words? Trust. Far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing finer, especially when we’re heading into action.”

  Marc did not reply. It seemed so clear to him now. Uhuru’s intention all along had been to remove a potential obstacle from the grid. And Uhuru had almost succeeded. Marc’s thoughts swirled, as malevolent as the volcano plume looming on the horizon. He recalled the warning embedded in the elders’ questions. And wondered what else he had gotten totally wrong.

  They landed almost a mile away from the gates of the camp. The sunset was a ruddy glow as they loaded up their gear and set off. The volcano’s plume glowed like a fiery pillar, a huge tent of ash and smoke that covered the western sky. But the wind was away from them and the air was clear.

  The dust thrown up by the men’s passage held a bitter taste, like a fire that threatened to engulf them all. They joined the road leading to the camp but held to the verge so as not to be slowed by the exhausted refugees. Boyd’s men held to a pace one step below a full run. The adults they passed glanced over, saw there was no threat, and looked away.

  When the main gates came into view, Crowder directed his men into the same copse of trees where Marc had defended the women. He took the satellite phone from Marc’s pack and said, “Make the call.”

  This time it was the director who answered. His French accent was made far heavier by the tension. “Kitra, she is in the clinic. Where are you, please?”

  “Just outside.” Marc used Crowder’s binoculars to scan the front gates, which appeared to be unmanned. “Where are Sergeant Kamal and his men?”

  “The trucks, they came for all the soldiers two hours ago.”

  “The camp’s been left with no security?”

  “The official from Nairobi, he said the camp is to close; there is no need for guards.”

  “We’re coming in. Royce out.” Marc stowed the phone and asked, “Who would have the clout to order a contingent of UN soldiers away from their assigned station?”

  “Someone so far up the food chain he could roast us both for dinner,” Crowder replied. “Okay. On my signal. Let’s move out.”

  But the enemy was no longer in the camp.

  Marc and the arriving Lodestone operatives were met at the gates by his young contingent. They split into three groups and wound through hovels veiled by shadows and woodsmoke. Children watched them pass with round solemn gazes. Chickens and pie dogs scattered before them as they hurried into place. The intent was to spring on them from all sides. Just appear from nowhere, round up the intruders, and interrogate them while surprise left them vulnerable.

  But as they approached the central compound, Marc heard trucks come to life and rumble down the main road. From behind him, Crowder said, “We can still stop them.”

  Marc shook his head. “Not without firing.”

  The soldier behind Crowder huffed, “That’s how we get things done, bro.”

  Marc said, “As far as we know, this is a contingent of UN troops. Even if their purpose is bogus, attacking them would land us in a world of trouble.”

  Crowder hesitated, then said into the body mike attached to his wrist, “Do not attack. Repeat. Hold your fire.”

  The trucks raced past unseen. Marc heard the roaring motors and surmised, “They knew we were coming.”

  The soldier behind Crowder said, “Well, duh.”

  Crowder said, “That’s enough, mister.”

  “Come on, sir. We gear up, we flush the quarry, and we let them go?”

  “I said, that’s enough.”

  Marc decided the best thing he could do was ignore the exchange. “They posted a watcher outside the gates.”

  “Probably in the woods we passed through,” Crowder agreed.

  “So what does that tell you?”

  Crowder was silent.

  “Whatever it is they’re really doing here,” Marc said, “they intend for it to remain secret.”

  Crowder mulled that over. “You got those photographs with you?”

  “In my pack.”

  “Let’s go see if anyone spotted them hereabouts.”

  The photographs that Rigby took meant nothing to Philip or the other camp leaders. The pictures were passed from hand to hand, then given back. The old men and Philip were almost apologetic. Crowder stood in the shade of the hut’s overhanging roof as Marc seated himself beside Kitra, who tried to serve as translator in Charles’s absence. But her Swahili was not nearly up to the challenge. Finally Philip began translating for the other elders. His deep voice carried a strong accent, but his English was surprisingly good.

  The camp elders described how the UN official had been accompanied by six African soldiers and four of the yellow men. Marc asked, “The Africans were not Kenyan?”

  The elders discussed this at length. Philip finally said, “We are trying to decide their tribe. We think it was Somali. These people are everywhere. They did not speak or show any ID. They could also have been Angolan, or Ethiopian. There is no way to tell for certain. But we all agree the soldiers wore the blue armbands.”

  “We are going to try and stop the eviction from happening.”

  Philip responded with a slow nod. But the colonel interrupted his response by jerking in surprise, touching his earpiece and speaking into his body mike, “This is Colonel Crowder. Are you certain this is genuine?” He glared at Marc as he listened. “Roger. Crowder out.” The colonel rose from his chair and said to Marc, “I need a word.”

  Marc excused himself and followed Crowder from the yard. The colonel walked to the center of the central compound and signaled for his guard to join them. The trooper was short and slight in the manner of a hidden dagger. He had dark hair and even features and languid eyes. He cradled a semiautomatic Remington, wore a pistol and a brace of carbon-bladed knives on his belt.

  Crowder said, “Nairobi reports we’ve got incoming VIPs from D.C. We’re ordered to return immediately.”

  “We log out of the compound, we talk with the elders, we fly out here, and suddenly we learn that a group of Lodestone top brass are leaving on a private jet from Washington?”

  “You were included in this direct order,” Crowder said. “We are to return to base immediately.”

  “What’s crucial is how they responded.”

  Crowder shrugged. “Somebody in my operation is feeding them intel. I’ve assumed that all along.”

  “You’re missing the big issue. Something about our being in Kibera and then out here has them so worried they’d jump on a plane. We need to find out why.”

  Crowder squinted at the horizon. Marc felt a faint southerly breeze on his face, dry as old bones. He tasted the day’s fragrances, the woodsmoke and the packed humanity and the animals. A faint hint of volcanic sculpture drifted with the wind. The colonel conceded, “Hunting for answers will be tougher with the Washington bureaucrats crowding our moves.”

  “There’s something else. When the Kibera elders asked to see me alone, they questioned Kitra’s motives. I’ve been going over what I remember about her and Serge’s files. There are some issues I should have red-flagged long before now.”

&
nbsp; Crowder focused on him. “You want to tell me who generated those files you’re not sharing?”

  Marc met his gaze. “Soon as we’re back, I’m making an official request to my superiors. I think they should set aside their reservations and let me share everything with you.”

  “Including who they are, and what is behind their concerns?”

  “Everything,” Marc replied.

  “Okay, I’ll ride the bird back to town, then order it to return for you tomorrow midmorning.”

  “Thanks, Colonel.”

  Crowder tapped the face of his watch. “Just you keep listening to the drumbeat. We’re facing opposition that doesn’t want the questions asked, much less the answers found. And they’re closing in.”

  Kitra was bedded down in the women’s dorm by the time Marc returned to the central compound. Marc waited until chapel was over the next morning, then led her into the shade of the neighboring baobab tree. Ever since seeing Crowder off, Marc had debated what to say and how to shape the words. But standing there in front of her, he knew he had no choice but to tell her, “I need to be straight with you. We don’t have much time. Why are you really here?”

  The instant she hesitated, the moment she jerked her gaze from his, Marc knew he had finally asked the right question. He went on, “Your brother trained as a medic during his service in the Israeli Defense Force. I always assumed you two were down here fighting the good fight. Which meant I ignored a vital bit of information. You told me Serge was now an electronic engineer. Does that have anything to do with why you came to Kenya?”

  Kitra’s gaze rested on her hands clasped in front of her and did not respond.

  “What was Serge doing before you came to Kenya?”

  Kitra remained silent.

  “And you. What is your background?”

  Kitra did not answer.

  “You also trained as a nurse with the IDF. But your file says you took your university degree in business administration. Since then, what have you done?”

  No response.

  “Why didn’t you request the help of the Israeli embassy when your brother went missing?”