ECLIPSE (40 page)

Turning to Ngara, Pierce intuited that he, like Orta, sensed danger. “What matters of state security? I’m merely placing this escape in time.”

Orta fidgeted with the rim of his bowler. “The witness may answer.”

As Okimbo knew, this was a matter of public record. “After.”

“And did you discuss General Freedom’s escape with Mr. Ajukwa?”

“Yes, of course.”

Pierce smiled again. “Before or after its occurrence?”

Someone in the gallery emitted a nervous laugh. But it took Okimbo a moment to grasp the implications of the question. With barely disguised anger, he said, “Your question is a stupid one.”

“That depends on the answer, Colonel.”

Swiftly, Ngara stepped forward. “I ask the court to intervene. Mr. Pierce insults the dignity of the state.”

“Not so,” Pierce responded softly. “As a representative of the state, I hoped you might be curious as to whether the colonel and Ajukwa allowed General Freedom to escape.”

Glancing from Pierce to Ngara, Orta told Pierce firmly, “This accusation—reprehensible in itself—has no relationship to your defense of Mr. Okari.”

Perhaps the media felt otherwise, Pierce thought. Turning on Okimbo, he asked abruptly, “Who hung those oil workers?”

“You heard the witnesses,” Okimbo snapped. “Don’t play the fool.”

For an instant, Pierce remembered Okimbo locking him in Bobby’s cell. “Perhaps I lack your powers of perception. Didn’t Moses Tulu and Lucky Joba first approach you
after
you arrested Bobby Okari?”

“Yes.”

“Then on what basis did you arrest him?”

Okimbo frowned. “Because of his violent and seditious statements.”

“In other words,” Pierce said, “when you ‘arrested’ Bobby Okari, you had no witnesses against him.”

Okimbo leaned forward in a posture of aggression. “They would come, I knew.”

“And so they did. According to Joba and Tulu, you first met them in your office with a white man. Was that Roos Van Daan?”

“Yes.”

“Why was he there?”

Okimbo scowled. “The victims were PGL employees. This was his concern.”

“Did he offer to pay the witnesses money?”

“Expenses,” Okimbo corrected. “I don’t recall the details.”

Pierce gave him a curious look. “Did Joba and Tulu simply materialize in your office, or had you spoken to them before?”

Okimbo’s gaze narrowed. “Joba called me before. To say he had information.”

“During that conversation, did Joba ask whether PGL would pay for his testimony?”

“I don’t remember.”

Pierce stared at him in mock amazement. “You don’t recall if a man who offered to accuse Okari of murder wanted to be paid for doing that?”

“No.”

“But when you met them in your office, Van Daan gave both men cash?”

“Expenses.”

Pierce raised his eyebrows. “Did Van Daan just happen to have money in his wallet? Or had you suggested that he bring some?”

Stymied, Okimbo glared at Orta. Though he glanced at Colonel Nubola, Orta did not intervene. “I do not remember,” Okimbo replied. “You can ask these questions until your tongue falls out.”

“Without your assistance, I hope. How much money did Van Daan give them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Weren’t you concerned that the amount might give them an incentive to lie?”

“I already knew the truth. Okari was a perpetrator of violence and sedition. That was why I arrested him at Goro.”

The deliberate mention of Goro, Pierce sensed, was intended to remind Pierce to be frightened. It was also a mistake. In a puzzled tone, Pierce asked, “But didn’t you arrest Mr. Okari in response to the lynchings?”

“Of course.”

“Then why did you plan a military operation in Goro before the murders?”

Ngara stood at once. “The arrest happened
after
the murders for which the defendant stands accused, and therefore is irrelevant to the charges.”

Pierce approached the bench, looking from the presiding judge, Orta, to Judge Uza. Stifling his apprehension, he said, “Not if this arrest was planned
before
the lynchings happened. I hardly need spell out the implications.”

As Orta turned to Uza, irresolute, Nubola put a hand on his arm. Still facing Uza, Orta flinched. When Uza slowly nodded, Orta turned to Okimbo, briefly glancing at Nubola’s hand before he said, “You may answer.”

This act of defiance caused Okimbo to fix Orta with an expression of silent warning. Facing Pierce, he insisted, “Okari was arrested for the murders.”

Pierce walked back to the defense table. As Bara and Bobby watched, he drew a one-page memo from a plain manila folder. “One month before the lynchings, did you propose to Roos Van Daan that you ‘carry out a wasting operation against the village of Goro’?”

Okimbo seemed transfixed by the paper in Pierce’s hand. “Tell me from what you are reading.”

“Answer the question,” Pierce snapped.

Orta held up his hand for silence. Turning to Okimbo, he said softly, “The court desires your answer.”

Okimbo glanced at Nubola, as though marking his silence. “No,” he told Pierce flatly.

“’No’?” Pierce repeated. “Didn’t you demand that Van Daan give you ‘prompt inputs of cash’ before
and
after this ‘wasting operation’ at Goro?”

“No,” Okimbo’s voice was rough with anger. “I was paid only for protection.”

Once more, Pierce read from the piece of paper. “Did that protection include ‘ruthless military actions’ to ‘cause terror among the Asari’ and ‘alienate Okari from his people’?”

“No.”

“No again?” Pierce said with open contempt. “Did you not, in fact, demand that Van Daan pay you twenty-five thousand American dollars for—quote—’setting up the proposed attack on Goro’?”

Okimbo looked at each judge in turn, the movements of his head as jerky as those of a mechanized toy. “I asked for no such payment.”

“Enough cat and mouse,” Ngara interjected. “I demand to see this document.”

Pierce approached the bench and gave the original to Orta. Scanning the document, Orta seemed to blanch. Nubola read over his shoulder, then said derisively, “Who knows where this came from.”

“Your Honor,” a deep voice interrupted. “May I approach the bench?”

Orta looked up. “Who are you?”

“Clark Hamilton, outside counsel to PGL.” Moving beside Pierce, Hamilton added, “I may be able to shed light on this.”

Orta handed down the document. As he read, Hamilton drained his face of all expression. “I’m certain I haven’t seen it,” he told Pierce. “This document can’t be from our files—it doesn’t have PGL’s production stamp.”

Pierce shrugged. “Maybe one of your associates slipped up. Anyhow, it’s the colonel’s memo. Why don’t we ask him?”

Pierce looked up at the tribunal. Though clearly enraged, Nubola was out of his depth; the two judges, Orta and Uza, held a whispered conference. Then Orta instructed Pierce, “Show this to Colonel Okimbo.”

Taking the memo, Pierce gave it to the witness. “I show you this memo, dated February 7, addressed by you to Roos Van Daan. Can you identify it for the court?”

Staring at the memo, Okimbo gripped it in both hands. “It’s a forgery.”

“Including the signature ‘Paul Okimbo’ at the bottom?”

“Yes.”

Pierce turned to Orta. “I request that the court order Colonel Okimbo to submit writing samples, and allow us to retain a handwriting expert.”

“We strongly object,” Ngara interposed at once. “We shouldn’t bog this tribunal down with ancillary witnesses. This purported memo—whatever its provenance—is irrelevant to the charge against Mr. Okari.”

“Not if the charges were a pretext for Goro,” Pierce shot back. “In case it has eluded Mr. Ngara, we’re suggesting that this witness conspired to frame Bobby Okari.”

Deflated, Orta clasped his hands. “Pending further proof, the court will take this matter under submission. Proceed, Mr. Pierce.”

Aware that his time was running out, Pierce turned back to Okimbo. “Let’s focus on the day of the operation in Goro. How did you arrive at the staging area?”

“By helicopter.”

Relying on the information provided by Beke Femu, Pierce inquired, “Was the helicopter flown by Roos Van Daan?”

Okimbo looked startled, then settled back. “I don’t recall.”

“Didn’t you and Van Daan jointly plan this operation?”

“No,” Okimbo insisted. “The plan was mine—to make a lawful arrest.”

“With PGL’s helicopters and sea trucks? How did you get ahold of them?”

“Mr. Van Daan authorized their use.”

Pierce stepped forward. “Did he ask why you needed this equipment to enter an Asari village populated by civilians?”

Okimbo crossed his arms. “We meant to counter any resistance with force.”

“There was no resistance,” Pierce said evenly. “So you ordered your soldiers to massacre the residents, behead Okari’s father, hang Okari from a ceiling fan, and burn Goro to the ground, while you amused yourself by raping a fifteen-year-old named Omo before you slit her throat. Does that about sum it up?”

The courtroom was still. Okimbo leaned forward in the witness box, his stare more lethal than words. “No,” he said softly. “It does not.”

As Okimbo had intended, the ambiguous answer made Pierce’s skin crawl. Ngara jackknifed from his seat as though propelled by tension, addressing Orta in a strained voice: “This slander is too much, Your Honor. I implore you to rule such questions out of order. They have no relationship to the murders at issue.”

“Then I’ll return to the lynchings.” Facing Okimbo, Pierce asked mildly, “Was stringing up those workers your idea, or did someone else suggest it?”

“Enough,” Orta directed. “You’ve established no foundation for such questions.”

Pierce faced the judge. “In that case, I request that the court excuse this witness pending the testimony of Roos Van Daan. Given Mr. Hamilton’s interest in this matter, I’m sure he can produce him quickly. If not, I’ll renew our motion to dismiss the charges.”

Seemingly agitated, Orta searched out Hamilton in the gallery. “Have you any objection to counsel’s request?”

Hamilton placed his hands on the railing. “Naturally, Your Honor, I must consult with PGL and Mr. Van Daan. I ask that you give us until the morning.”

Orta slowly nodded. “The tribunal will adjourn until nine
A.M.”

Orta brought down the gavel. Abruptly, Pierce was aware of everything around him: Okimbo’s silent rage; Bara’s fear; Bobby’s ironic smile; Marissa’s look of gratitude and worry. Approaching Hamilton, Pierce put a hand on his shoulder. “Get me Van Daan, and then a meeting with Gladstone. Or this gets worse for everyone.”

P
IERCE SPENT THE NEXT HOUR WITH REPORTERS FROM
CNN,
THE
Associated Press, and Reuters, after that giving phone interviews to media outlets in England and America. When he returned to the Okari compound with Bara and Marissa, a columnist for the London
Times
drove them, combining the opportunity for access with the man’s obligation, as he put it, to “dissuade Karama’s minions from hanging you for traffic offenses.” With a smile unreflective of his mood, Pierce proposed a daily car pool.

Arriving, the two lawyers and Marissa went to the patio. “Any word from Beke Femu?” Pierce asked Bara in an urgent tone. “We need him to place Van Daan at Goro.”

“Nothing,” Bara answered. “I’ll keep e-mailing his contact. Perhaps when he hears about our defense . . .”

His voice trailed off. No one at the table held out much hope that the soldier would publicly accuse Okimbo and Van Daan of perpetrating a massacre. It was astonishing enough that, with obvious trepidation, Orta had let them come this far. At length, Bara inquired, “Where did you get that document?”

Pierce had told Bara and Marissa nothing. “I have someone to protect,” he answered. “I’m also protecting you. For Bobby’s sake, I’ve faxed a copy to my assistant in San Francisco, with instructions to distribute it if anything happens to me.”

Marissa stared at the table. Softly, Bara said, “If you’ve sensed in me a lack of trust, I regret that. But now I see you understand. This is how we live.”

Pierce nodded. He still did not know whether to trust Bara.

* * *

T
HAT NIGHT
M
ARISSA
came to him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she murmured, “Are you awake?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll sleep once I’m in America.”

He waited for her to speak again. “I was thinking about you,” she said.

“About what, exactly?”

“Among other things, all the stupid things I said to you at Berkeley about your haut bourgeois aspirations. What an angry, self-important bitch I was.”

Pierce laughed softly. “Sometimes. But you were right about me. I was naive.”

“But never shallow or unkind.” Marissa paused. “What I want to say, I guess, is that I was drawn to you without knowing all the reasons why. I understood that Bobby was remarkable; now it’s good for me to know how right that was. But you should know, whatever happens, that what I feel about you is something all its own.”

The depth of Pierce’s need to hear this revealed to him how much he had repressed. Quietly, he asked, “Will we ever talk about what happened?”

Marissa was silent for a moment. “Perhaps when we get some distance from all of this. I can’t make sense of anything now, and it would be wrong to try.”

Pierce squeezed her hand. “I know that,” he said. “I’d just like to be at peace with you, in time.”

He felt her bend to him, soft hair meeting his forehead. Gently, she kissed him, then left the room.

T
HE NEXT MORNING,
when court opened, Roos Van Daan sat next to Hamilton in the gallery, each leaning away from the other in silent dissociation. “I’ll bet
that
was a cheery conversation,” Pierce murmured to Bobby Okari.

Bobby scrutinized Van Daan. “Why is this criminal here, I wonder.”

“Because PGL gave him no choice. They might feel otherwise if they knew what else I’m sitting on.”

Bobby gave him a quizzical look that conveyed a glimmer of hope. “Tell me.”

“Best to wait. A lot depends on how well Orta slept last night.” Pierce looked into his client’s weary face. “How well did
you
sleep?”