Stranger in the Night (23 page)

Her urge to berate herself, to scream, to cry—all vanished with the realization that the gangbangers would be headed for Mo Ded.

“Charity?” Liz reached out in the dark, tight space. “Charity, I’m here. Let me hold you.”

Whimpering, the little girl edged into Liz’s arms. The car turned a corner. Again they rolled, bumping against each other, hitting the inside walls of the trunk.

“Charity, don’t be afraid,” Liz whispered. “Stay close to me all the time. We can be strong together. Do you understand?”

“It’s like me and Virtue in the water barrel,” Charity sobbed out. “Pray to God. Pray the way my
baba
does.”

“That’s good,” Liz told her. It would calm them both. “You pray first. Then I’ll pray.”

As the little girl began speaking in her singsong voice, a plea in the language of her homeland, Liz frantically searched her mind. The Hypes had been watching her, of course. Mo Ded saw her leave the barbecue. He knew what was happening now. He would have a plan.

What did he want? Surely he realized Joshua had gone. Kidnapping Liz and a child would do the man no good. Unless Mo Ded wanted to make some kind of statement. A show of power. Would that mean he intended harm? Or just to scare them?

She thought of her purse. Had she left her phone in the car, too? She needed a weapon. Inside her own car’s trunk she carried some potential combat gear. A can of deicer. A jack. A tire iron. A tennis racquet. No telling what else she had tossed in.

As the vehicle slowed, came to a stop, she felt around in the empty space.
Dear God, let me find something. Anything.

“Amen,” Charity said. “Now you.”

Liz’s hand closed around a shoe. With one arm wrapped around the little girl, she gripped the shoe in her free hand. What kind was it? A sneaker? A boot?

Was there nothing else in this car? Nothing better?

“Now
you,
” Charity repeated. “You pray.”

The car surged ahead again. The two in the trunk slid fast, slamming against a wall. Liz stifled a cry of pain. Was there enough air? Would carbon monoxide kill them?

“Please!” Charity squeezed Liz’s hand. “Pray to Jesus!”

“Yes, all right.” Liz was thinking about cell phones and murder and methamphetamine-crazed gangsters. But she hugged Charity and tried to pray.

“Dear God,” she began.

The car slowed. A stoplight? Maybe the police?

“Dear Jesus,” the girl corrected.

“Dear Jesus, we ask for your help now. Please help us. Please send someone to—”

The engine roared to life again, revving and sending gas-infused air billowing through rust holes into the trunk. Sirens wailed somewhere—too far, she thought. The car blasted forward. Liz and Charity tumbled, jammed together as the car roared down the street. It swerved. They skidded across the rough carpeted lining of the trunk and slammed against the other side.

“Pray!” Charity shrieked.

“Dear Jesus, please help us now!” Liz cried out. “Oh, God, save us!”

Sirens blared, screaming behind them. Yes, definitely a squad car. Liz kept praying. It was impossible to maintain control of a vehicle at such speeds. Any moment, they would crash. The car took corners, tires screeching, almost lifting from the pavement. Liz fell and rolled and tumbled. She tried to keep her hold on Charity, but the girl rolled and spun out of her arms. They crashed into each other, then came apart again. She lost her grip on the shoe. The child’s elbow smashed into her jaw. Her knee hit something soft, and Charity cried out in pain.

The car swerved. And stopped. At impact, the trunk lid popped up.

Someone running. Shouts.

Joshua reached for Liz, caught her, pulled her from the trunk. The car rolled forward again. Liz screamed. As it raced away, she fell into Joshua’s arms.

“Charity!” she wailed. The white car veered around a corner and disappeared, the police cruiser in pursuit.

“They have Charity! Joshua, she’s still inside!” She covered her face, sinking into his arms. They were alone on the sidewalk, the sirens fading in the distance.

“The trunk lid—it was open. Oh, Joshua, she’ll fall out!” She turned and caught his shoulders. “We have to go after them!”

“Liz, breathe.” He held her up, his arm at her waist. “Did you see who was driving? Recognize anyone?”

“Hypes,” she huffed out. “Purple scarves. Skinny kids. Joshua—what are you doing? You’re in Texas.”

“I’m here with you now.”

“But your father—”

“He sent me, Liz.”

She shook her head, feeling sick, confused. “Those creeps got Charity. I let them kidnap that little girl.”

“It’s not your fault.” He began walking, supporting her. “We have to get back to Haven. It’s near—can you keep up?”

“Everything hurts. Like being inside a dryer. Tumbling around, bumping into everything.”

Her feet tried to match his stride, but she stumbled. He swept her up in his arms. Arm around his neck, she buried her face in his shoulder as he strode. Trying not to cry, trying to pray.
Pray,
Charity had ordered. Pray! And Liz did pray.

“Here we are.” Joshua set her down in a chair.

Liz opened her eyes and somehow they were inside Haven. A throng of panicked Pagandans swarmed the place. Pastor Stephen ran up to her.

“My daughter! Where is she? Where have they taken her?”

“Stephen, we need a photograph,” Joshua cut in. “Do you have pictures of Charity?”

“Yes, yes! I bring it.” He was gone again.

“Liz, drink this.” Ana knelt beside her. A cup of cold water.
“You’re bleeding. Rug burns on your cheek, your elbows and knees. Can I help you?”

“Find that little girl. Oh, Ana!” Liz threw her arms around the caring woman. “This is my fault.”

“No, Liz.” Joshua spoke with authority. “Mo Ded would have found a way. If not you and Charity, someone else. Maybe Ana or Raydell. Maybe Shauntay. This is a message. He’s telling us he’s still strong, in control. He won’t get away with it.”

“Here is my family.” Pastor Stephen thrust a framed photograph into Joshua’s hands. “It was the wedding day. See—Charity is there.”

“I need to get into the office,” Joshua told Liz. People pushed around them, trying to get a look at the picture. “Gotta make photocopies of the girl. The police will put out an Amber Alert once we give them the information.”

“I’ll make the copy,” Ana said. “Sam and Terell are in the office making calls. Give me the portrait. Come with me, Liz. There’s a bathroom in the office. We can clean you up.”

Joshua helped Liz to her feet and worked her through the throng of Pagandans toward Haven’s glass-windowed office. They were almost there when a small elderly woman snatched the photograph from Ana’s hand.

“Hold on, there. Gimme that.” Joshua reached for the picture. The woman pulled it back, letting out a cry as she stared at the faces.

Throwing back her head, she began to ululate—a shrill, high-pitched, warbling wail. The crowd fell suddenly silent, hanging on the sound. Then they swarmed Liz and the others, grabbing for the photograph, passing it from hand to hand, some screaming out as they saw the picture, others shrieking and beginning to sob. One woman shook her head, writhed a moment, then sank to the gym floor.

“What’s going on here? Give me that picture.” Joshua waded
after it. “We have to make copies of the child. The police need a photo ID. Ma’am, let me—”

“It is her! It is her!” A young woman came at him. Beneath her yellow head scarf, her eyes snapped with fire. “She—in the picture! That is Irene Bangado! Irene Bangado!”

“Who? I need a translator. Pastor Stephen? Where is that guy?”

Liz spotted the man in the swarm. His face wrenched with horror, Stephen Rudi pushed his way toward Joshua.

“Let me have it!” he called out. “It belongs to me. Give me the picture of my family.”

“He is married to Irene Bangado. He has brought her among us!” An older woman clamped her hand on Joshua’s arm. “You must find her. Find Irene Bangado! Execute her!”

Another roar flowed through the crowd. Liz leaned against Ana, sure she might faint at any moment. The scene around her was surreal, a nightmare. People screaming, women collapsing, a child in the trunk of a speeding car.

Joshua held the photograph now, lifting it over his head. The glass had broken. The frame was falling away.

“Everyone stop!” he bellowed. “Quiet!”

At the command, the shouting and ululating faded to a rumble. He clamped a hand on Stephen Rudi’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s going on here, man. Make it simple.”

“My wife, my Mary.” Pastor Stephen trembled as he pointed to the photograph. “They are saying she is not Mary. They believe this is Irene Bangado. The Minister of Women’s Health and Family Affairs.”

“The Minister of Rape!” someone shouted.

“The Minister of Rape!” The cry went up, a thunderous howl. “Irene Bangado, the Minister of Rape!”

“No!” Tears streamed down Stephen’s face as he faced the crowd. “No, it cannot be. Mary was in the camp. She was with us, with our tribe.” He turned to Joshua. “She was a widow. I
told you this. Her husband and children were killed in the war. The people are wrong. This is not that woman!”

“Yes, she is!” The lady in the yellow head scarf shook her finger at Joshua. “I saw Irene Bangado in person. When I was a little girl, she came to my school. Before the war. She gave prizes. I took first place—my report was on tuberculosis. I remember everything. I know the face of Irene Bangado. That man’s wife is the Minister of Rape.”

“How dare you say such a thing about her?” Stephen Rudi bellowed. “Look at the woman. The spectacles! The face! No!”

“She hid behind the spectacles and scarf she wore! That was her disguise!” The woman clutched Joshua’s arm. “Sir, you must believe me. This woman authorized the rape and murder of thousands in Paganda. I am one of those women!”

Breathing hard, Joshua turned to Liz. “Irene Bangado?”

“A government minister in Paganda. A top official.” Liz touched her cheek. Her fingers came away damp with blood. “Joshua, this doesn’t matter now. We have to find Charity. Please call Ransom. Find out what he knows.”

“Yes, my child!” Stephen wept. “Please find my daughter!”

Joshua took Liz’s hand. “Could she be our connection? The link?”

“That lady is my wife!” Pastor Stephen reached for the photograph in Joshua’s hand. “The picture is my family. Mary cannot be that cruel woman.”

Despite her pain, Liz had to focus. “Irene Bangado would have access to government property.”

“My wife is not Irene Bangado!” Stephen protested. Sweat streaming down his temples mingled with the tears on his cheeks. He grasped Joshua’s shirtsleeve. “You must hear this—my wife owns nothing. When I married her, she had nothing, not even a child. She brought nothing to our marriage. Not a cooking pot. Not a comb or a mirror. She had only her clothes
in a small plastic sack. I saw those possessions. I brought them in my own bag to America. She is poor, a widow. Please, trust me. Irene Bangado—that demon—she was a very rich woman when the war came. Mary has no education, no wealth, nothing.”

“But she speaks good English,” Joshua said.

“My wife has no English.”

“Yes—she understands. She knows a lot. Pastor Stephen, when Mary leaves you, where does she go?”

“To the grocery market only. She buys potatoes and cornmeal. Such things as this. Please, you must believe me.”

“I believe what you’re telling me,” Joshua said. “But I want to know more about your wife.”

Arm around Liz, he spoke to Ana in a low voice. “Take the picture. Make copies of the girl’s face. Get them to the precinct station. Tell Sam and Terell to meet me on the street where the prayer-walk ended. See if they can track down Ransom.”

“Where are you going, Joshua?”

“To end this thing.”

L
iz held his hand as they climbed the stairs. The putrid odor drifted in the chill air, nauseating her. It was an abandoned brick building, condemned. The windows had shattered long ago. Some were boarded up, others open to the elements. Spray-painted logos covered walls. Red, green, purple gang signs. Burned-out rooms revealed water damage, trash. Rats scurried, their claws scrabbling across bare wood floors.

Joshua had asked her to wait. Stay behind at Haven. Rest. She refused. Charity was gone because of her. She had taken the child from the safety of her father and the crowd of Pagandans.

Finding the building had not been hard after all. Joshua retraced their steps on the prayer-walk. He pointed out clues—gang signs, purple insignias, the look and smell of each street.

They found the rusted white car in an alley. The trunk stood empty. Joshua’s instinct and the acrid scent led them on.

Though still uncertain how Joshua had come to be here—in St. Louis, pulling her from the car trunk, leading her up to Mo Ded’s lair—Liz felt a sense of peace.

“In the trunk, I asked God to send help,” she whispered. “He sent you.”

Joshua nodded, held his finger to his lips. “Up one more flight.”

They knew the hallway by the stench. Joshua tucked Liz into a dark corner.

“Someone’s cooking meth here,” he said. “There will be chemicals. Dangerous, flammable explosives. Mo Ded is probably using. He’ll be erratic, unpredictable. I want you to wait here.”

“Don’t go by yourself. The police are on their way.”

“No time. If Charity is inside, she’ll be breathing the chemical cocktail. Or worse. I need to get her out. Ransom is behind me—five minutes at the most. You stay put. I’ll be back.”

He started down the hall. Liz watched him go and knew she had to follow. Charity would be traumatized. Joshua bashing in the door might terrify her to the point of shock.

Liz left the shadows. Joshua heard her at once. He halted. His face registered dismay, then acceptance.

For a moment, he stood outside the door. Assessing. The thump of music came from inside. A light crept under the transom, spread across the rotten wood floor. People were talking. Low, urgent voices.

Joshua glanced at Liz, then nodded. She pressed herself against the wall. As she watched, the scene seemed to unfold in slow motion. Joshua raised one leg and cocked it. After a moment’s pause, he delivered a violent kick that blew the door inward. In the same motion, he stormed the room.

Liz rushed behind him, darting inside as Mary Rudi grabbed Charity, holding her as a shield. Joshua had jumped Mo Ded, was mashing his face into a broken radiator. Two others fled.

Liz started for the child. The gun in Mary’s hand stopped her.

“Joshua!”

He was there, too fast for the woman to react. He chopped
her arm, and the weapon flew to the floor. Liz scooped Charity into her arms.

And then Ransom was inside. Officers swarmed the warren of rooms, calling out from the hallways as they searched the building. Mo Ded collected himself from a heap at the base of a wall. Eyes hooded, he shivered and began talking, claiming he was innocent, knew nothing about anything.

“Detroit?” Ransom barked out. “Or did Chicago spawn you, kid?”

“Chi-town.” Mo Ded’s green eyes flicked toward Liz. “I nearly took this place. Had you running scared, didn’t I?”

“Charity,” Liz whispered as she cuddled the girl in her arms. “Let’s go outside now. I’ll take you back to Haven.”

“I want my
baba!
” The girl sobbed, rubbing her eyes with little fists. “She is bad! Bad Mary!”

“You both need to get out of here,” Joshua said. “We’ll get a hazmat crew in here to clean up this mess. The place could blow.”

“She is bad!” Charity cried, tiny finger thrust at Mary.

The officer holding the woman’s arm prodded her forward. Spectacles smashed on the floor, she glared at the child.

“What’s wrong, Mary?” Liz asked. “Or should I call you Irene Bangado?”

“What’s this?” she hissed. “Why do you say such a thing?”

“The Pagandans saw your photograph. They recognized you behind your disguise. Your secret is out, Irene.”

“Yes, that is my name.” Her English flawless, the woman straightened and threw back her shoulders. “Why not address me properly now? But no one can prove the accusations against me. Those things you may have heard. Rumors.”

“The cloth!” Charity shouted. “She has little rocks inside the cloth.”

A sparkle of chills washed down Liz’s arms. “Irene, please remove your scarf.”

“Why should I? This is my—”

“Because I said so!” Liz cried, suddenly overcome with anger. She grabbed the brightly colored fabric from the woman’s head. As it unwound, countless tiny gray nuggets pattered on the floor.

“Everyone stand back,” Joshua ordered. He picked up what looked like a dental filling and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he handed it to Ransom. “Make sure you gather up all those pellets before the hazmat guys get here. That’s the platinum.”

Liz was paralyzed, staring at the metal—the death, the rape, the torture rolled up in tiny metallic balls. Irene Bangado had no doubt plotted everything. But the woman even now was ordering the police officers to remove her handcuffs, lamenting her fate, complaining that she was a victim of the gang—not a collaborator.

Aware of the agony the woman had caused, Liz felt her pulse hammer as her anger mounted. Then a warm hand covered her shoulder.

“Come on, girls,” Joshua said. Taking Charity from Liz’s arms, he headed them toward the door. “Let’s get you both home.”

Joshua had fallen silent as he drove toward Haven. Charity, beyond exhaustion, had gone to sleep in the backseat. But Liz was fuming.

“That woman must have simply disappeared,” she said. “At some point in the chaos, when she realized her political party was losing the civil war, she vanished.”

“Wouldn’t have been hard,” Joshua murmured. “She disguised herself in spectacles and a scarf, which was filled with smuggled platinum. Invented a name and a story. A widow. Kids and husband murdered. Not so unusual, but likely to win sympathy.”

Liz shook her head. “Irene Bangado, of all people. She must have gone to the refugee camp on purpose and pretended to
be from the dominant tribe there. She probably hid at the fringes until she found a gullible man whose name was already on the resettlement list.”

Joshua nodded. “Pastor Stephen heard her heartbreaking tale—a lot like his own—and agreed to marry her and take her to America. Why move to St. Louis, though? She could have traded her platinum in Atlanta.”

“Irene needed to get away from the community of Pagandans in Atlanta where Global Care would have placed the Rudi family. The refugee agency would require her to take English classes with other Pagandans and join those already working at a factory or business. She would need to participate fully with her new neighbors. It wouldn’t be long before someone recognized her as Irene Bangado.”

“Just like they did at the barbecue tonight.” He turned the car onto Haven’s street. “She invented a brother, forged a letter, sent it to herself from a false address and talked her husband onto a bus bound for St. Louis. Once they got here, she would have found Mo Ded right away. No wonder she was always disappearing.”

A prickle of realization slid down Liz’s spine. “That call I got from Mo Ded. His people saw Irene drop your phone when she ran from Duke. He was trying to connect with her but he got me instead.”

“They probably started trading within days of her arrival. She needed Mo Ded to move her platinum without drawing suspicion—turning her treasure into cash. He wanted to build and arm his gang. The Claymore could have been ordered by either one. With Ransom tracking it, we’ll know soon enough.”

The car came to a stop in front of Haven. Joshua stepped out and gathered the sleeping child in his arms. Liz followed. Ana was carrying a tray of freshly washed silverware when they
stepped through Haven’s door. Sam, his arms loaded with pans, spotted the new arrivals and passed his fiancée at a trot.

“Got your message,” he told Joshua. “Stephen’s in the office talking to the police.”

“Come here, sugar.” With his long legs eating up the basketball court, Terell had passed them both. He reached for the child in Joshua’s arms. “Let’s go find your
baba.
He misses you.”

Charity, wide-awake now, almost leaped across the distance between the two men. Laughing, Terell jogged away. Ana and Sam set the dishes on a table and greeted their friends.

“So, she really is the Minister of Rape?” Ana asked. “Why didn’t Stephen recognize her? Or did he know?”

Sam put his arm around her. “Careful what you say, everyone—reporter at work. You could wind up in tomorrow’s headline.”

“Stop teasing, Sam. This is heavy stuff.”

“I have no doubt Mary Rudi is really Irene Bangado,” Liz said. “I just can’t believe she fooled me.”

Joshua shook his head. “She conned everyone, including me.”

“You suspected. You told me her behavior was talking to you—shouting at you—but you didn’t know what it was saying. And I got upset with you for going through her pockets.”

“If I’d found even one pellet of platinum, it would have saved a lot of pain.” His arm around Liz tightened. He glanced toward the office. “I’m concerned about Stephen. He had no idea what his wife was up to.”

“Clueless,” Sam agreed. “In fact, he’s still wavering about her. Took out her passport, the marriage certificate, all their documents. Told me he had seen that woman on television, the one they all called the Minister of Rape.”

“Irene Bangado,” Liz reiterated. “She had been Minister for Women’s Health and Family Affairs under the old regime. When our last group of Pagandans came in a couple of years ago, I read about her. Until now, they thought she had escaped
justice. She’s among the people most feared and despised. She had a son in the military, a high-ranking officer. On the radio and through him, she ordered the rapes.”

“To show domination and humiliation,” Ana said softly.

“Terror, degradation, power,” Liz added. “Irene Bangado also used it to spread the AIDS virus. She made speeches on the radio—ordered rapes staged almost like public performances. She called the enemy dirt, cockroaches. Sometimes women died in the process. And there were child victims, too. Little girls like Charity.”

“What will happen to Irene?” Ana asked.

“An international tribunal,” Joshua said. “She’s a war criminal. She’ll be extradited to Paganda to stand trial. The tribunal will decide her fate.”

Liz noted movement through the office window, and she saw Stephen emerge into the open area of the basketball court. His daughter in his arms, he covered his eyes with a handkerchief. The police officers and Terell guided him toward the door.

“Pastor Stephen,” Joshua said as they approached. “I’ll pick you up at the precinct station in a few minutes. We’ll drive over to the hospital and visit Virtue. He needs to see his
baba.
”

Stephen lifted his head, and Liz saw that his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. “You will help me?” he murmured. “After what I have done? Bringing that woman here…harming my own children…Such a fool…”

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Joshua told him.

“Mine are many.” He gazed at the gym floor. “I was a bad child. I left school, left my home and family. I carried a gun.”

“You?” Liz asked. “A gun?”

“I found it one day. I imagined myself a tribal king, a leader of soldiers.”

“A warrior?” Joshua asked.

Stephen nodded. “I wanted power and wealth. My father
drank. My mother was a seamstress, but we had no money. Then two men murdered my father. I planned revenge. I surely would have died, but one night I heard singing. In a small room, I heard a man tell about God, about His love for me. About Jesus. My life changed because I believed.”

“Faith,” Liz said.

The flicker of a smile crossed his face. “But when war came, I made more mistakes. I left the city and became a pastor in a small village—so busy with teaching and preaching that I was unprepared. I lost all my family except my son and daughter. Now again, because I was too trusting, I have done this dreadful thing. This…this foolish, terrible wrong.”

“But you’ve done a lot that’s right,” Sam told him. “We need you at Haven, Pastor S. The kids admire you. They trust you.”

“Shauntay and the others are looking to you for leadership,” Liz agreed. “Pastor Stephen, can you keep your faith?”

He looked at her for a moment. His lips trembled as he held his daughter close. “I am not worthy of the One who died for me. But I shall never cease to proclaim His mercies.”

“They’re new every morning,” Ana said, laying her hand on his arm. “I look forward to hearing your first sermon in St. Louis, Pastor.”

“Yeah,” the police officer affirmed. “He was preaching at me through most of the barbecue. I’d like to hear the rest of that message sometime.”

Stephen blotted his eyes. “I have much to tell,” he said. “Very much indeed.”