Rare Earth (20 page)

T
he embassy Tahoe went through another careful inspection before they were permitted to enter the Sheraton Hotel's parking lot. The hotel dated from the seventies and had started to show its age. In the U.S. it would probably have been sold off to a budget chain. But this was Kenya, and the definition of five-star luxury was often stretched. The Sheraton was safe; the staff were well trained, the beds clean.

Charles had called ahead, and Kamal was waiting for them in the lobby. Marc turned to Deb and warned, “You probably want to leave now.”

“If it's okay with you, sir, I'll hang around a while longer.”

“Then I need to make certain you understand, this is not exactly—”

“Part of my official remit,” she cheerfully finished for him. “As far off the grid as Mars. Sir, some girls dream of prom night and frilly dresses. Me, I've been looking for this chance all my life.”

“Nothing will be said to your embassy bosses?”

“The only person I'm answering to right now is Ambassador Walton. He asked me if I'd be willing to do whatever you needed doing. I said, ‘Who do I have to kill?'”

“I hope nobody,” Marc replied. “Okay, let's go.”

Kamal was dressed in street clothes. The knit shirt was pulled taut over a muscled upper body. It was the first time Marc had seen him in anything other than military fatigues. Marc greeted the UN soldier with, “Man, are you a sight for sore eyes.”

Even before Charles translated, the soldier was grinning. Perhaps he had seen the welcome relief in Marc's gaze. Perhaps it was just the African way of greeting. But his smile was brilliant, and his handshake began with a swing up past his shoulder, sweeping down as though he intended to swat Marc. Marc tried to match the elaborate handshake and felt warmed by the sense of belonging.

Marc said, “I really need your help.”

Kamal replied, and Charles translated, “The sergeant says it would be an honor to assist one who seeks to assist others. I agree.”

The warming at the core of his being strengthened. He asked Kamal, “Will your absence cause questions back at your base?”

“I have been given a document from UN headquarters in New York. This document promotes me to captain and orders me and my squad to go wherever it is you tell me to go. My superiors have never before seen such a document.” Kamal's laugh enriched his every word. “My men and I, we were assigned to the depot. We guarded an empty godown. We were all so very bored. Five times I requested assignment to a camp, to the borders, anything but this. Five times they said no.”

“They wanted you where they could keep watch.”

“So we are thinking also. Then yesterday, my commanding officer, he runs over. I have never before seen this man run. He says, ‘I and my men, we must go.' I ask him, ‘Go where?' He hands me the paper with these remarkable orders, and silver pins for my uniform, and extra pay, and travel permits. He says, ‘You and your squad, you are ordered to Nairobi. The chopper is there waiting to take you.' Then he salutes me. I am still asking myself if any of this is truly real.”

“Believe me, this is as real as it gets.” Marc introduced both Levi and Deb.

Kamal inspected the man. “This is the father of the missing young man?”

“And Kitra.”

“Your son and your daughter, they are a good evidence of the ones who raised them.”

Levi managed a hoarse “Thank you.”

Kamal resumed his grinning conversation with Marc. “My men say to tell you, they are rested and they are ready.”

Marc resisted the urge to rub his hands in anticipation. “I have a plan.”

But as Marc outlined what he had in mind, Kamal lost his good humor. He spoke a question, which Charles translated as, “You realize the officials behind stealing the village land and shipping the people to Kibera, this will reach all the way to the top?”

“We suspect that.”

“This is more than suspect.” Kamal's tone carried a lifetime's awareness. “Charles tells me of how you were ordered to leave Kenya. This was your only warning. Like my reassignment to the depot was a warning.”

“I understand.”

“Do you also understand that these documents in my pocket will not protect us? And the men who signed these papers, they are so very far away from Kenya.” He fingered the silver bars on his lapel. “My promotion is no shield from bullets.”

“You don't have to come,” Marc said, though he feared moving forward without Kamal and his men.

“I am not refusing you,” Kamal said sharply. “I simply ask, do you understand the danger?”

“As much as an outsider possibly can.”

Kamal liked Marc's response enough to relax. “Then you will take advice?”

“That's why I need you.”

“Soon, word will filter back to our enemies of me and my squad being reassigned. Our enemy will also come to know you are back and again asking the wrong questions.”

“I returned to Kenya under a different name.”

“They will know,” Kamal repeated. “And if they find us, they will bury us all in a dusty grave.”

Marc let the words settle a long moment. They were all surrounded by a different world, one of happy people and clinking glasses and rushing servants and safety. He studied each of the faces in turn, and found only grim determination. He said, “The stakes could not be higher. We're out to salvage entire villages and ways of life.”

“You feel for their loss,” Kamal said.

“With all my heart.”

“As do I. Then I have one question for you and your companions, Marc Royce. Can you follow the orders of your guide through the jungle? For that is what you seek of me, yes? One who can lead the hunt and read the spoor.”

Marc felt his own tension gradually ease. “That is exactly what I need.”

Kamal leaned forward. He turned his head in a slow motion, hissing softly to each of them in turn. He spoke, and Charles translated, “That is the sound we make on the hunt. The one that tells our brothers, the prey is near and hunting us too. One false move, one broken twig, and we are all dead.”

Kamal hissed softly once more.

T
hey shared an early breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Marc's plan was dissected and worked over and walked through. Charles and Deb Orlando were both very tentative at first. Levi tended to bark his observations, then go silent for long spells. By the time the plates were pushed aside and various table items became components of their map, the three were fully involved. Which was what Marc had been after all along.

Then the bellhop appeared at their table. He asked, “Mr. Levi Korban, he is here?”

“That's me.”

“A message has come for you, sah.”

Marc tipped the bellhop and waited as Levi opened the note and declared, “Kitra is not coming.”

Marc felt his breakfast form a knot in his gut. “Did she say why?”

“A flood of new refugees. An outbreak of some new disease.” He balled up the paper. “She left a message so I couldn't argue.”

“Go get some rest,” Marc said. “This afternoon we'll arrange a transport to take you to the camp.”

“I can rest on the way. I'm leaving now.”

“We've flown all night, and been working straight since our arrival,” Marc protested.

Levi rose from the table. “I've gone for weeks without sleep over this. I am going for my daughter.”

Charles offered, “There's a Red Cross convoy leaving for the camps this morning. I can arrange transport for us both. But we must hurry.”

Marc rose with them. “I need to stay. There are a ton of things we need to arrange.”

“Do what you need to do. I'll phone you when we arrive.” Levi shouldered his pack. “Let's go.”

Marc walked Charles and Levi to the taxi stand and saw them off. Kamal then took his leave to gather and brief his men. Marc walked Deb over to where Joseph waited by the embassy vehicle. “We need a private location where we can prep and plan. Something near our target area and safe from prying eyes.”

“I can do that.” She gave Marc the clear-eyed gaze of a woman with a future. “Walton instructed me to check in whenever I could. Feed him regular updates. I didn't want you to think I was talking behind your back.”

“This is Walton's way of observing you in the field,” Marc explained. “Go do your thing. I'll grab a few hours' rest, then meet me back here.”

Her smile was as genuine as the rest of her. “I just want you to know, sir, that I agree totally with the elders. When I look at you, what I'm thinking is, hero.”

Her words stayed with Marc as he checked in and headed for his room. His sat phone rang while he was waiting for the shower to heat up. Boyd Crowder said, “We're about to see how good you are at staying alive, sport.”

“Is it ever good to hear your voice.” Marc cut off the shower and carried his grin and the phone over to the window. “Walton and the other white hats in D.C. have you written off.”

“Yeah, well, reports of our demise are a little early. How're you?”

“Better now. What happened?”

“An hour after we landed in D.C., Karl caught wind of a possible hit on us.”

“Lodestone?”

“We decided we weren't going to stick around and find out.”

“Where are you now?”

“Azores. Refueling stop. Me and Karl hitched a ride with a buddy who's hauling a load of medical equipment to Nairobi. We're staying totally off the grid. Want to bring me up to speed?”

Marc told him about Israel and Levi and the embassy meeting with the elders. He explained how the elders were spreading the word, looking for the rare-earth extraction plant.

“Using the locals to find your smoking gun, that was a good idea,” Crowder said. “Where's the rest of your team?”

“Two just left for the camp. Levi wants to see his daughter. Charles needs to bring Philip up to speed. Kamal is readying his team. I'm in serious prep mode, and I need your help.”

“Why I called. Hold on.” Crowder muffled the phone, then came back with, “My ride's ready. Got any idea how me and Rigby can sneak into Kenya on the quiet?”

“I have a lady at the embassy that might be able to help. Her name is Deb Orlando. I'll call her soon as we're done.”

“You trust her with this?”

“With my life. She slipped me in under the wire earlier today.”

“Sounds good enough for me. One word of advice, sport. Our buddies at Lodestone-Nairobi report Dirk has been given orders to take you out.”

“They know I'm back?”

“At least they suspect.”

“We need an out-of-the-way location for prep work.”

“I'm on it.”

“We're wheels down at six this evening. Crowder out.”

The Red Cross trucks passed through Nairobi in the fresh light of a new day. Charles and Levi rode in the lead truck, on their way to the camp. Nairobi's main arteries thundered with traffic, but the vehicles managed a steady pace. In another hour, the streets would gridlock. All the truck traffic heading west from the Mombasa port raced through the night, pushing desperately to pass through Nairobi before the streets became parking lots.

As their driver made it to the hills forming Nairobi's western rim, the man grinned his satisfaction and turned on the radio.

The hills separating Nairobi from the Rift Valley were blanketed by tea plantations. The drivers and assistants leaned out the open windows and breathed the sweet air. The trucks ground their gears and powered through a series of sharp cutbacks; then suddenly the Rift Valley opened up before them. Charles never tired of the sight. His American family had once taken him on a journey across the United States. They spent two days hiking the Grand Canyon. The Rift held that same power and sense of wonder.

But the Rift was far larger than the Grand Canyon, and very green. The valley's opposite rim was visible through the morning haze like some mystical wall. At its widest point the Rift was over seventy miles across. Ancient volcanoes, their cones covered now in tropical growth, rose like islands in the midst of a vast emerald sea.

As the convoy traveled along the valley's eastern rim, it rounded a curve where below them sparkled a field of white. The driver and his three assistants grew somber. One of them cut off the radio. Together they watched in silence as irregular white shapes became row after row of tent tops. In the brilliant sunlight they gleamed like giant birds' wings, symbols of his country's tragic situation.

Charles turned to Levi, who stared morosely out the window. He wished to tell this man how much Kitra had meant to the camp, her healing way with children, the respect she had earned from the elders. But something held him back. As though right then what the man needed most was a reason to look beyond his sorrow and understandable panic, to get to know the country he traveled through.

Charles said, “This end of the Rift was assigned as pastureland to the Masaii, the nation's most ferocious tribe. The Masaii count their wealth in terms of the clan's cattle. They build no permanent dwellings. They live on the move. They graze and they hunt and they ignore the civilization that rises up beyond their traditional borders. They tolerated the game parks that surrounded the Rift's shrinking lakes, just so long as their ancient game paths and rights to use the lakes were respected. Then came Kenya's descent into civil war.”

The driver grunted softly, like he had been struck in the gut. Charles glanced over, then decided there was nothing he should not be hearing, and continued, “Four years ago, the party that had been in power since independence lost the national elections. The party leaders were not merely shocked. They were furious. They had always assumed their hold on power was permanent, and they would continue to take whatever they wanted. They answered to no one but their own party.”

Levi's gaze did not so much clear as sharpen. He was connected to the moment now, which of course was why Charles was talking as he was. “After the results showed a landslide victory for the opposition, the ones in power refused to step down. They reworked the election numbers and declared themselves the victors.”

“Not good,” Levi said.

The driver barked a bitter laugh. “Oh yes, you are right, sah. It was so very not good.”

“The population of Kenya exploded,” Charles went on. “As the civil unrest spread, the party in power blamed the violence on tribal politics. It was a coldly vicious move, as emotions were already raw. By this point, politicians had already started confiscating tribal land. Villages held for centuries could show no written proof of ownership, and thus could be made pawns in the politicians' hunt for wealth. The politicians exacerbated disputes between the pastoral tribes, like the Masaii, and the clans who raised crops and became deeply rooted on one particular plot of land.”

“A conflict as old as the Bible,” Levi said.

“But new to our land. Tribes who fought against the party in power were ejected from their homelands. The Rift absorbed tens of thousands of displaced people, stuffed into camps that were rimmed by barbed wire and patrolled by the Kenyan army.” Charles pointed toward the distant rows of white tents. “That is what you see there.”

“Are those army vehicles by the gates?”

The driver nodded once. “The Masaii, they hate the new people.”

Charles heard the driver's bitter anger, four years old and still fresh. “You have people inside?”

“Not this camp. Further north. My mother's tribe. Two villages. Same problem as here. The Masaii, they are very mad.”

Charles explained, “The Masaii do not see these newcomers as victims. The Masaii do not vote. They care nothing for politics and the ways of the cities. The Masaii own no land.
All
the Rift is theirs.”

“The Masaii saw these newcomers as invaders, not as refugees,” Levi said. “So what's happening in the capital?”

“After nine tense months of negotiation, the parties reluctantly agreed to share power. New elections were scheduled, but far enough in the future for calm to be restored. And in the meanwhile the camps remain a tragic symbol of all that is wrong with Kenya.”

The truck remained silent as they swept past the camp's entrance, flanked by Kenyan soldiers sweltering in the heat. No one said a word. Seeing the camp brought it all back, like tearing a bandage off an almost-forgotten wound. The violence, the fear, then months of political stalemate, and now a government that no one wanted.

Charles went on to say that Kenya had many refugee camps, and for a multitude of reasons. The drought, the Angolan crisis, the war in Somalia, the upheaval in Ethiopia—Kenya had remained a stable place, a haven willing to accept and succor those harmed by bad regimes and worse mistakes. But these camps were different. They were utterly unnecessary.

Levi asked, “So what is the answer?”

“We must return to the ideal upon which Kenya was formed,” Charles said. The answer came unbidden. “Our nation once represented Africa's shining beacon of hope. Many peoples, one nation. Under God.”

The driver beat his fist on the wheel in time to Charles's words. “Yes, man, is true, all you are saying.”

Charles shut his eyes and prayed—for the camp dwellers, the families, the future of his country. Charles prayed that a miracle would occur, and the hope be made real once more. He kept his eyes shut for a very long while, praying. He prayed until he fell asleep.

When he woke, the truck's radio was playing again and the sky up ahead was tainted by the volcanic cloud. The newscasters had repeatedly reported that the eruption was dying down. But Charles saw no difference. The plume formed a massive wall against the western horizon. The colors were mottled and sullen. Lightning bolts speared the cloud.

“Evil,” muttered the driver.

Charles nodded. Certainly the displaced families thought so. His mind cast about and settled on the miracles, two of them. One inside a camp filled with refugees from the volcano, another at the Kibera church. Many tribes coming together, united by the one force great enough to overcome centuries of anger and fear. A force for good, only for good. A force strong enough to draw together the displaced villagers, the American government, and an Israeli kibbutz. Charles found himself humming along with the song on the radio. Perhaps the greatest miracle awaited them, up ahead at the end of this dusty trail.