ECLIPSE (48 page)

B
OBBY SAT IN
a corner, his profile illuminated by a single bulb. The stink of his waste was worse; gripping the bars, Pierce felt a wave of nausea. “Forgive me,” Bobby said in a wan voice. “But it’s hard to stand. It seems I’m not being fattened for the slaughter.”

Pierce felt too edgy to respond. “Karama’s made an offer, Bobby.”

“Which is?”

As Pierce told him, Bobby listened stoically. “If you can believe Karama,” Pierce concluded, “at least you’d live.”

Pierce followed Bobby’s gaze to a dead rat in the corner. “Is this a life?” Bobby asked.

Quietly, Pierce said, “There’s also Marissa. Karama reminded me that you and he once shared a woman.”

Bobby’s eyes closed. “What about diplomacy?”

Pausing, Pierce felt his sense of urgency overwhelm pity. “There is none. The Americans are obsessed with these hostages, and the Europeans are vamping. The calculus is brutally simple: it’s Karama, not you, who controls the flow of oil.”

Bobby slumped. “Karama asks too much of me. I’m afraid only for Marissa.”

“What do you gain by dying?” Pierce demanded. “In some inner-city neighborhood in America, they’ll name a charter school the Okari Academy. Maybe your friends will start a scholarship fund for exiles. And in time you’ll be forgotten. In far less time than that, your people will lose all hope, and FREE will use your death to justify more violence. Your legacy will be a slaughterhouse.”

Bobby seemed to shudder. “And if I renounce my cause by crawling to Karama? What then? Only the hope of living until I’m exiled, the pitiful human remnant of public cowardice. Compared to that, hanging is a mercy.” As Bobby gazed at Pierce, a plea surfaced in his eyes. “No, I must
believe that each mistake Karama makes will advance our cause. If that requires my death, better than a life of cravenness.” He paused, then finished softly: “Before he left, Bara came to see me. If I die, he believes, I may be mentioned for the Nobel Peace Prize.”

Somehow this last hope touched Pierce more than what had come before. “There’s no peace prize for a pointless death,” he forced himself to say. “Or for sacrificing the living.”

Bobby watched his face. “Were it not for Marissa, would you say this?”

Pierce weighed his answer. “If it weren’t for Marissa, I’d have no right to say it.”

“Then you must get her out of the country, any way you can.”

“Even if she’s a widow?”

“She’s sacrificed too much already.” Bobby inhaled. “You know of the escape tunnel. Take her, and go.”

“And if she refuses?”

“She can’t,” Bobby insisted. “She must carry on the work. A widow can be a powerful force, and Marissa has the gifts for it.”

Even now, Pierce thought, there were more sacrifices for Marissa to make. “Even if I could get her out,” he said, “I don’t know that she can leave you.”

“Then lie to her,” Bobby demanded. “Tell her that you’ve arranged all this with Gladstone, and that I’ll be joining her soon.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You
will
do that.” With terrible effort, Bobby stood, taking two steps forward before gripping the bars. “For your sake, and mine. If afterward she feels you’ve betrayed her, at least she’ll be alive.” Reaching through the bars, Bobby rested his hand on Pierce’s shoulder. “Please comfort her for me. Tell her that I died consoled that she will live, not only for our cause but for herself.”

Pierce had no words. Perhaps, despite Atiku Bara’s beliefs, Bobby had always known that he would die. Now he was asking Pierce to help him die alone.

Tears came to Bobby’s eyes. “So many years, Damon, since we met in Berkeley. So many complications, so much sadness. Perhaps some good will come of it.”

Pierce felt his throat constrict. “What should I tell Karama?”

“That I’m reflecting. I’ll refuse him once she’s safe.”

Silently, the two men embraced through the bars, foreheads touching. For a last moment, Pierce looked into Bobby’s worn face. Then he turned and walked away, hoping that, by not looking back, he would convey to Bobby Okari a sense of purpose.

C
LELLAN DROPPED
P
IERCE
at the Okaris’ compound. Under the watchful eyes of the soldiers, Pierce told Clellan quietly, “Go back to the hotel. If I need you, I’ll call.” Then he walked through the iron gate, perhaps to be imprisoned with Marissa.

He had no time to think of this. When Edo answered the door, Pierce asked, “Where’s Madam?”

“Sleeping,” the houseboy said gravely. “She took some pills, to rest. I’m to waken her in an hour.”

Thanking him, Pierce went to her bedroom.

Marissa lay on top of the covers, stirring slightly. Though she was asleep, Pierce saw the circles of weariness beneath her eyes. He had no heart to wake her. For a quiet moment, he watched her face, peaceful in repose. Then he hurried to Bobby’s den.

Glancing around him, he called Vorster. “Time’s running out,” he said. “Any luck?”

“No.” Vorster’s voice was flat. “I can’t find this Frenchman.”

“Keep trying, for God’s sake.” Pierce stopped himself. “Do whatever you can. I don’t want to lose her, too.”

Vorster promised and got off.

Sitting at Bobby’s desk, Pierce rubbed his temples. Then he placed another call.

P
OCKETING HIS CELL PHONE
, P
IERCE SWIFTLY CLIMBED THE STAIRS
to the patio.

In the distance, the scattered lights of Petrol Island blinked against the vast blackness of the Atlantic. He gazed down at the beach, studying it closely until the orange glow of the oil flares revealed two armed soldiers. Then he hurried to Marissa’s bedroom.

Bending, he touched her shoulder. She stirred, still drowsy, then abruptly started, eyes wide with fright until she recognized his face. Pierce spoke under his breath. “You have to dress, Marissa. We’re leaving.”

She stared at him in incomprehension; then her thoughts cleared. “What about Bobby?”

“He’s part of this.” Urgency sharpened his voice. “Better that you not know the details. When we get closer, I’ll explain.”

She got out of bed. Slipping off her nightgown, she turned to him. “What can I take?”

“Only what you’re wearing.”

She hesitated, as though absorbing what might lie ahead. Then she hurriedly opened a drawer and threw on a blouse and blue jeans. “Let’s go,” Pierce said. “We’re taking the tunnel.”

She gave him a questioning look. “What about Edo?”

“He can’t know, for his sake. Let’s hope he doesn’t hear us leave.”

Quickly but quietly, they descended the main staircase, briefly looking about the darkened house before going to the kitchen. Marissa
snatched two flashlights from a drawer, giving one to Pierce, before they took the back stairs to the cellar.

Kneeling, Pierce pushed aside the barrel lid and removed the stone that hid the darkened shaft. “You first.”

Marissa began climbing down the ladder. Glancing up, she said, “There’s no one to cover the tunnel. If they come inside, they’ll see it.”

Pierce wrestled the lid to a position where it partially obscured the opening. “All we need’s an hour,” he said. Then he climbed into the hole as Marissa, standing at the bottom, held her flashlight so that he could see. Pausing, he pulled the loose stone into place, covering the opening, then descended until he stood beside Marissa.

The dank smell of moist earth filled Pierce’s nostrils, intensifying his claustrophobia. “Have you ever done this before?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then follow me.”

Holding out his own flashlight, Pierce led her into the darkened maw. His feet splashed into a puddle of water. “We’re below sea level,” Marissa said.

She did not need to explain; at any time the tunnel could collapse and fill with water. Pierce accelerated his pace, pushing ahead the few feet of yellow light and shadow provided by his flashlight. The tunnel narrowed. His elbow banged into a timber, causing dirt to crumble at his feet. Pierce started; behind him, he heard Marissa gasp.

The wall held. More cautiously, Pierce began moving again. “How long will it take?” she asked.

“Twenty minutes or so.”

As he spoke, the musty, suffocating air caught in his throat. How much oxygen was there? he wondered. His steps quickened slightly, splashing water again.

“Deeper,” Marissa said tightly.

“If it was flooded,” Pierce assured her, “we’d know by now.”

He was not certain of this. Silently, they kept moving.

Minutes passed. Their path became mud; the pools of water deepened. Pierce imagined the walls collapsing, sealing them beneath the earth. He had a brief but intense memory of his parents’ home, then his apartment in San Francisco. Perhaps this was how insanity felt—glimmers of lucidity in a darkened world. Then Pierce heard the sound of falling earth.

Slowly but completely, the walls behind Marissa began to crumble. Wrenching her forward, Pierce ran headlong, and then his flashlight found the ladder.

Behind them, he saw that the last few feet of tunnel had held. Water began to seep around his feet. Pointing at the ladder he urged, “Take it.”

She edged past him, grasped the ladder, and climbed with the swift agility of fright. Pierce aimed the flashlight to help her see. When she reached the top, he said, “Push.”

As she did, the floor of the shack opened. Pierce waited until she disappeared. Then he climbed the ladder. At the top, he saw Marissa peering at the lunar landscape of the garbage dump. Closing the cover to the tunnel, Pierce stood beside her, searching the ruins for the forms of human beings.

There was no one. Perhaps two hundred yards away, the spire of the flare pipe rose from the beach, its giant orange flame brilliant against the night sky. Pierce doused his flashlight, then hers. “Follow me,” he said.

Together they began to clamber across the field of metal and garbage, nerves jangling at the crunch of their steps on rusted metal. Pierce thought of meeting the soldier Femu in this place; by now he might be dead, or wishing for death. He focused his attention on the flare. As the distance closed, they could hear its roar, feel its heat. Sweat glistened on Marissa’s forehead.

Changing course, Pierce began to circle the flare, keeping the same distance. Suddenly he could see the beach. Hurrying, he led Marissa toward the edge of the flare’s light, where the beach became shadowy again. As the darkness concealed them, he slowed, breathing hard, then looked back toward the Okari compound. On the far side of the oil flare, it sat on the hill above the beach, a half mile distant. He saw no sign of soldiers.

Pierce faced the ocean and turned on his flashlight. He kept the light on as he counted to ten. When he turned it off, a light appeared above the darkness of the water.

He took Marissa’s hand, leading her to the water’s edge. The light on the water vanished. As they waded into the surf, Pierce heard the outboard motor, then saw the outline of a boat. It glided toward them, its motor idling. “Get in,” a man’s voice ordered.

Touching the small of Marissa’s back, Pierce urged her forward. A hand reached out from the darkness of the boat, pulling her inside. Pierce climbed in after her. As the man pushed the throttle, his ruddy, weathered
face came into the half-light. Turning to Marissa, Pierce nodded toward their pilot. “This is Trevor Hill. He’s taking us to Petrol Island.” Facing Hill, Pierce asked, “Are you set?”

“As much as I can be,” Hill responded. “Needless to say, I didn’t file a flight plan. Too much to explain.”

Marissa looked bewildered. “Where are we going?”

“To an airstrip on Petrol Island,” Pierce responded. He did not wish to tell her that the flight was unauthorized; that Hill was leaving PGL and stealing one of its planes; that this man was risking his life, and theirs. Leaning forward, Pierce murmured, “What about Van Daan?”

“Sleeping, I hope—since we suspended him, he’s been confined to Petrol Island under watch. But God knows who he works for, or how they might react.” Hill glanced over his shoulder. “Enough talk for now.”

Without lights, they navigated the choppy waters toward Petrol Island, perhaps a mile distant. They moved slowly but steadily; if Hill had been drinking before Pierce called, he showed no sign of it now. Pierce prayed that this was true. If all went well, Hill had a plane to fly, and thick banks of what looked like rain clouds had begun to obscure the moon. Marissa shivered. Though it was not cold, Pierce put his arm around her.

For half an hour, they moved across the water toward Petrol Island, Hill searching for patrol boats. If their escape had been discovered, their pursuers would consider water their most likely course—and since FREE’s raid, Hill had told Pierce, at the request of PGL Okimbo had increased the patrols cruising the waters between the island and Port George. “There,” Hill said softly.

Some distance away, but close enough to provoke fear, a patrol boat cut the darkness with a beam of light. Hill shut off the motor. Helpless, they drifted, watching the light of the patrol boat scan the water. Marissa grasped Pierce’s hand. The patrol boat kept coming closer. The low growl of its motor grew more ominous.

Marissa’s grip tightened. The beam of light swept within twenty yards of Hill’s boat, then back again. Pierce could see the outlines of the soldiers looking to each side. Then the boat moved on as they continued to float silently, unseen.

Pierce felt Marissa exhale. Hill kept watching until the boat had nearly vanished. Then he restarted his motor, glancing at the darkened sky.

They forged across the water. A half hour crept by. As Petrol Island grew closer, Pierce spotted the lights of a boatyard.

Cutting back on the throttle, Hill steered the boat toward the side of the dock. When they reached it, Hill inclined his head toward a wooden ladder and threw Pierce a rope line. Climbing onto the dock, Pierce lashed the rope to a post. Marissa followed him up the ladder, then Hill.

At the end of the catwalk was an open jeep. Hill got in the driver’s seat, Pierce beside him, as Marissa slipped into the back. Sounding relieved, Hill said, “Just a couple of miles to the airstrip.”