Blue fire, p.13
Blue Fire, page 13
Only when these thieves were caught would he know who had sent them to the Novoteras mine. For now, he could only follow the thin trail they did not know they had left behind.
For two days after the break-in, they’d stayed in Brazil, two days that had almost cost them their freedom. He had thought at first that the man’s injuries had necessitated the delay, but not a single medical clinic reported seeing him. And if he wasn’t injured, why didn’t they board a flight in Belo Horizonte instead of abandoning their truck at the airport?
They were waiting for something.
Or someone.
Before morning, the South African flight Mosi Ongeti boarded would be identified. They would know too whether Alex Graham travelled with him, but other accomplices would be harder to find. The flight manifest would be searched for John Michaels, the man asking questions at their Colombian mine, but the name was probably false. And if the man travelled separately, he would be difficult to track.
Even Ongeti and Graham could have boarded separate flights, but Shen thought it unlikely after they’d stayed together for two days. The woman cared for this man’s injury when she could have fled.
They travel together. But where?
South African Airway’s Johannesburg hub gave access to the Middle East, Europe and Asia, which meant that in less than twenty-four hours these thieves could be almost anywhere. He couldn’t afford to wait for information to trickle in, and he couldn’t cover all possibilities. He had to decide.
Shen dialled the Chairman’s private line. “I need access to resources in Africa,” he said when Jianyu Wei’s quiet voice came on the line.
“You fear your problem is headed there?”
Your problem. Sweat beaded his forehead. With two simple words, Chairman Wei had made the stakes clear.
“Yes. Kenya, South Africa and Tanzania are all possible.” Shen wasn’t about to commit to any one country on the African continent — not yet. “I will obtain his flight details shortly. He will be captured when he lands.”
“I will have someone call you in a few minutes. He will give you all the assistance you need.”
The voice was replaced by a dial tone.
Africa.
A gamble. If he were wrong, his thieves would slip through his fingers. He would be left waiting for news of his tanzanite mine to erupt, like a warrior waiting for an enemy’s first bullets in the fiery dawn.
28
Nairobi, Kenya
Alex squeezed through the crowd lined up at one of the gates in the Nairobi airport with Mosi close behind her. She glanced back, time and again, making sure he didn’t fall more than a few steps behind.
Tracey had worked her magic and booked a fifteen-hour flight, with the shortest of stops in Johannesburg. But Mosi’s fever returned even before they’d crossed the Atlantic, and so too did his pain. He had struggled more with each passing hour, while she sat helpless beside him.
“Here. This way.” She pointed toward an even more crowded hall in the noisy airport, one she was sure led to the exit.
In the narrow hall, incoming travellers fought the sea of anxious people headed for the departure gates. A pair of robed Saudi men stared at her with open hostility, offended by her cargo pants and clingy t-shirt. Normally, she’d stare back defiantly, but today she dropped her eyes.
She pressed forward, rewarded a few minutes later by the sight of the arrival hall, a space as crowded and noisy as the gated area she’d just left. Planeloads of passengers now huddled near the baggage carousels, most buzzing about their visit to Kenya in a United Nations of languages.
“We need to find a chair for you.” She ducked her head, searching the slivers of space between legs and backpacks. “It’s been a while since I was here. I can’t remember—”
“I can stand.” Mosi pointed to the wall. “I will wait for you there.”
Before she could argue, he turned away from her and pushed through the crowd.
Alex heard the ping of an incoming message. Tracey.
Brian ran into trouble at the airport. He’s driving to Ecuador to try again. He said you’d understand. BTW I’ve booked you into the usual hotel. Two rooms under your name.
She stared at the message, hardly believing it. The Bogotá airport should have been safe. Even if their searchers had believed they’d taken a flight out of Belo Horizonte, they wouldn’t have assumed Colombia was their destination.
Unless her dad’s questions, and not the Novoteras mine break-in, had triggered the surveillance. If that were true, he wouldn’t be safe until he reached a country where Tabitha Metals didn’t operate.
Ecuador.
It at least explained his destination.
A quick click brought up her email, and she scanned the long list of unread messages for his name. Nothing.
She typed out a text and left a voicemail, knowing her dad was probably out of cell range again. For now, she could only wait.
She felt her anger rise once more at his decision to leave his satellite phone and laptop behind. While she understood the need for extreme secrecy, this lack of easy contact had made these past six weeks damn frustrating.
Her dad wasn’t one for good communication, even at the best of times. He’d write a flurry of emails and then go silent for days if not weeks. She reminded herself that he’d started field geology in the days when once-daily radio contact was the norm and every conversation could be heard by anyone on the same frequency. She herself had sat in camp listening to clipped conversations — the miner who had to be bailed out of jail, the geologist in urgent need of a doctor for an unmentionable ailment — and she understood why her dad avoided the radio.
But times had changed. Satellite phones made private calls possible, and so did email and text messages. Her dad had no excuse for going silent, especially not during a project like this one.
If he stayed true to form, she could expect a call from him only after he crossed into Ecuador. He would put as much distance as possible between him and the Bogotá airport and whatever threat lay in wait there before he risked a phone call. It meant at least another day before she heard from him, longer still before he hit the African continent.
I’m on my own.
She darted over to the rental counter, relieved to be the first one there. Keys in hand just minutes later, she rounded up their luggage and then found Mosi.
He flashed a quick smile as he pushed off from the wall to join her, but his smile disappeared within a few stilted steps. By the time they reached the parking lot, he pressed his hand tight against his thigh and grimaced with every move.
It’s worse.
“As soon as we get to the hotel, I’ll give you more pain medication. Twenty minutes.” She helped him into the back seat of the vehicle. “It’s not bleeding again, is it?”
“No.” He clutched his leg and swung it onto the seat. “It feels like it did before. The infection, it has returned.”
“I’ll clean it out again. And I can call Eric.”
But she knew they would need something more. Mosi had been on antibiotics for twenty-four hours, long enough to start controlling any infection. It wasn’t the right antibiotic.
“If it’s not better by morning, we’ll have to find a clinic. We can decide then whether to cross the border or take our chances here.”
“When does Brian arrive?”
She shook her head. “He didn’t make his flight. Something happened at the Bogotá airport … maybe they were watching that airport too. Or maybe my dad got spooked. Either way, he’s driving to Quito, which means he won’t be here for at least two days.”
A lifetime.
She turned the key in the ignition just as her phone pinged. Another message from Tracey, one that stole her breath away.
Eric arrives Nairobi, 9:45 p.m.
29
Nairobi, Kenya
Five hours later, Alex was back at the Nairobi airport. She scanned the crowd of deplaning passengers for Eric. Her excitement at seeing him was mingled with fear. He shouldn’t be here.
She had yet to talk to Tracey. The decision to send Eric to Nairobi without first talking to Alex, a betrayal of her confidence, hit hard. Yet she understood that worry had pushed Tracey into that decision, and Alex needed Eric’s help.
“Alex!”
She heard the voice she knew so well. Stock-still, she watched Eric weave through the khaki-clad tourists, not trusting her eyes until he stood in front of her. He reached strong arms toward her, and she pressed herself against his chest. They embraced as though alone in the airport, his breath hot on her neck.
“I can’t believe you’re really here,” she said when she finally pulled away.
“I wouldn’t be … not without Tracey. I still don’t know how she pulled off those flights.” Eric grinned. “Of course, she had me racing out the door so fast that I hardly know what I packed.” His smile disappeared. “How’s Mosi?”
“Not well. I was going to take him to a hospital when we landed, but then I heard you were coming…”
She didn’t say any more, not wanting their first minutes together in months to be tarnished by argument.
“I loaded up on medical supplies. With luck, I can take care of Mosi myself. That’s my bag now…” he said as he lunged forward.
They wasted little time exiting the airport, hurrying past safari guides and newly-arrived visitors destined for the Serengeti. With Eric’s suitcase loaded into the 4x4, Alex was quick to hit the start button and pull out of the parking lot.
“Twenty minutes to the hotel, give or take. Depends on traffic…” She glanced into the rear-view mirror. “At least we got out ahead of that crowd.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were flying to Nairobi, Alex?” Eric asked.
She’d known the question was coming, but her shoulders tensed all the same.
“This … it’s dangerous, Eric. It was enough that you helped Mosi.” She sighed. “As much as I’m happy to see you, I wish Tracey hadn’t dragged you into this mess.”
“So why didn’t you come home? I planned to meet you in Vancouver … I could have helped Mosi there,” he argued. “It would have been so easy.”
“It was just too risky to try to get Mosi into Canada — no visa, a bullet in his leg.” She counted off the points. “Mosi would have been lucky to make it out of the airport. I needed to get him home. We were trying to get to Tanzania, but Nairobi was as close as Tracey could get us.”
“Okay, but why didn’t you tell me? You let me believe you were coming home.”
“I know … I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I was afraid that you’d try to help, and I didn’t want to involve you more than I already had.” She cocked her head. “Can’t say that it worked.”
“Nairobi.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe I’m here. But just the thought of you trying to find a doctor, dealing with police—” His voice softened. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t made it home. You scared me, Alex.”
His quiet admission spoke volumes. They’d grown close over the past ten months, but only now did she realize the depth of his feelings — feelings that mirrored her own.
“I never wanted that, Eric. I just wanted to get Mosi home, and my dad was supposed to meet us here. I just assumed I’d be back in Vancouver in a few days.”
“Brian is here too?”
She shook her head. “No, he’s been delayed … another couple of days at least.” She reached her hand out to him. “I’d be doing this alone if you hadn’t come.”
They drove in silence, the modern airport buildings slipping behind them. In her headlights, red-dirt shoulders were lined with parked cars and trucks, and in the distance was the glow of central Nairobi.
“It looks different in the dark,” Eric softly said.
She glanced over at him. “You’ve been here before?”
“Back when I was fresh out of medical school.” He kept his eyes straight ahead, focused on the pavement. “I spent three months with Médecins Sans Frontières … Doctors Without Borders. Most of the time I was in Tanzania, but I did some work at an AIDS clinic here in Nairobi.”
It shocked her that he’d never mentioned it before, not once in the months they’d been together, even when their conversations turned to Tanzania.
“I thought you worked at a Toronto hospital before you moved west.”
“I did.” He sighed. “It’s a long story best left for another time.”
She wanted to ask more, but something in his tone warned her off. Instead she rested her hand on his leg. “Do you still know a doctor here? Or maybe a clinic we can go to?”
“I’ll reach out to a few docs I know who are still with MSF, if it comes to that. But I’m going to try to take that bullet out, Alex. It’s the best way to make it safe for Mosi to get help.”
“That’s not a good idea, Eric.” Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t know what the penalties are for a doctor treating an unreported bullet wound, and I don’t want to find out.”
“As soon as an ER doctor sees that bullet, he’s going to call police, Alex. I need to at least try.”
“This is Africa, Eric. There are a thousand ways a man can get shot here. We’ll come up with a story to tell police. You can’t put yourself at risk. Not for this.”
“I didn’t fly halfway around the world without knowing the risks, Alex. The best thing for both of you is to stay out of the hospital. I can make that happen.”
She knew he was right. Eric’s help was the best way to bring Mosi home. But the risk! His medical license, his reputation, his freedom. She wasn’t sure she could live with herself if he lost any of it.
“Eric—”
“I want to do this, Alex.”
“Then we take precautions. At the hotel, we go in separately, I’ll meet you at the elevator and take you up to Mosi’s room. I don’t want anyone connecting you to us.”
“I can live with that.”
“And at the first sign that you can’t deal with this, I take Mosi to a clinic. Alone.”
30
Nairobi, Kenya
Eric’s quiet knock was quickly answered. Alex gave him the briefest smile before she pressed her back against the wall and held the door open just enough for him to pass.
He swept past her to enter a luxurious room that mirrored his own, one filled with hand-carved furniture and the deep reds and browns of Africa. And at the centre of it was a king-size bed on which Mosi lay propped against a stack of white linen pillows.
Eric saw the sweat that clung to Mosi’s smooth forehead, his tight grip on the quilt, and his clenched jaw — the warning signs of pain in a patient.
My patient. A man Eric had travelled halfway around the world to treat.
“How long has the pain been this bad?” he asked as he rolled his suitcase over to the desk.
“Six, maybe seven hours.”
“Alex, when was the last dose of ibuprofen?”
She glanced at her watch. “An hour ago.”
Recently enough for Eric to know that the ibuprofen wasn’t doing anything for Mosi’s pain. Not any more.
“Let’s take a look at that wound and see what we’re dealing with.”
Eric pulled the quilt aside to reveal Mosi’s angry, swollen thigh. He didn’t need to touch the taut skin to know it was raging hot. The gauze Alex had tried to pack into the wound must have fallen out, and a new scab had formed, trapping a pool of bacteria.
This man deserved better than a doctor in a hotel room. What on earth am I doing? But one look at Mosi’s desperate eyes forced the question back.
“The abscess has reformed, so I’ll drain it again and then remove the bullet.” Eric rested his hand on Mosi’s arm. “Sounds worse than it is. And I promise you’ll feel better soon.” He turned to Alex. “He’s been on a steady dose of Clavulin?”
“Yes … five hundred milligrams of Clavulin every twelve hours. He’s had three doses.” Still standing near the door, she shuffled from one bare foot to the other. “He’s due for another pill in two hours.”
Almost thirty-six hours. Long enough for a steady level of antibiotics in Mosi’s bloodstream, but whether the right medication coursed through his system remained to be seen.
“Alex, can you clear off the table beside the bed and wash it down, please? We’ll use that for our sterile field.”
She jumped into action, crossing quickly to the marble-walled bathroom. A moment later the sound of rushing water broke the quiet.
Eric dropped down on one knee and unzipped his suitcase. Inside lay a jumble of crumpled t-shirts and jeans hastily thrown into the bag in his race to the airport. How he’d managed to make the flight out of Castlegar to Vancouver, one that boarded less than three hours after Tracey had called with an astronomically priced reservation, remained a blur. So too did the many sleepless hours spent traversing the globe from Canada to Amsterdam before he boarded his final flight to Nairobi. Eighteen hours of hell.
From his suitcase he dug out two zippered bags that bulged with medical supplies, one provided by Dr. Lillian Sayer. He’d gone to her for a prescription for morphine, relieved when she did this without question, surprised when she also handed over her own medical kit stocked for a recent mountain hiking trip. Still, he added more: sterile water, litre bags of 0.9% IV saline solution, vials of Tazocin and lidocaine and a plastics kit.
