Terminal Justice (12 page)

“Sin?” David asked, puzzled.

“Cynthia,” A.J. said, chuckling at the misunderstanding. “I always called her Cyn. We met in London while I was in school. She was tall like me and athletic.” David watched A.J.’s focus shift to the image in his memory. “She was beautiful, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had long platinum hair that hung past her shoulders, green eyes so deep you could swim in them. And she had passion, the very kind of passion you’ve been talking about, David. She loved life, but she took it so seriously. We married while in school. When I dropped out, I forced her to leave too. She came from a banking family and had some wealth of her own. We spent my money and her money.”

A.J. paused as he recalled the details. “We moved to Monaco for its nightlife and gambling—well, that’s why
I
moved to Monaco. Cyn went because she was my wife. I thought it would be ideal. How many people can lead a life like that? But Cyn couldn’t adjust. She needed purpose in her life, a reason for living. She begged to go back to school, but I was too self-absorbed to care. Our marriage deteriorated daily until there was nothing left. We argued constantly. I told her to loosen up and crawl off her pedestal, and she reminded me how I was failing to do anything responsible with my life. It went from bad to worse. I started having affairs, and she left me.”

David made no comment.

“It’s strange,” A.J. said after a moment of clearly painful thought. “It amazes me how much good can come out of a bad situation. Even in the midst of hunger and disease, special people arise and relationships begin. That’s what happened to me. After Cyn left me, I continued my party lifestyle, but it could no longer hold my interest. I was angry at the loss of my brother and the loss of my wife. I was angry with my overbearing father, who, I felt, could still control me across an ocean. So I talked a couple of friends into traveling with me. ‘It’ll be great,’ I said. ‘Just three buddies traveling the world.’ That’s what we did. Europe, Asia, South America, the Caribbean. I learned to love travel as a child when my father took me on trips with him. I loved it because it got me out of school, but I soon learned to love the travel itself. I’ve always found it therapeutic.”

“Was it?” David asked quietly.

“No,” A.J. replied sadly. “Not at all. The more I traveled, the lonelier I became. Cyn was right: I had no purpose for living. Living for myself was … inadequate. That’s when it happened. One of my traveling companions had a brother in the military—air force or maybe marines, I don’t really recall—and he wanted to visit him where he was stationed in the Philippines. So we went. While we were there his brother gave us a tour of the area. Seeing the
brothers together made me feel worse, but there was nothing I could do about it except sink deeper into my despair. During the tour he said he’d show us the good parts of the Philippines. I asked if there were bad parts. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said, ‘there are places you don’t want to go.’ ‘Like what?’ I asked. He told of a place called Smoky Mountain, a place of pure poverty. I was young and impetuous and convinced my friends to go there with me. We went the next day.”

A.J. stopped abruptly and closed his eyes. “It was … life changing,” he said slowly. “We convinced a cab driver to take us. He must have argued with us for fifteen minutes telling us that Americans like us shouldn’t go there. ‘You not like,’ he kept repeating, but with a promise of a big tip he gave in. When we arrived he refused to get out of the car and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and put it over his nose and mouth. Then he reached in the glove compartment and pulled out a small bottle of perfume and began spraying it in the cab. My friends and I got out and walked toward the mountain.”

“Is it a tall mountain?” David asked innocently.

A.J. shook his head no. “It’s not a mountain at all; it’s a massive pile of trash—large enough for people to live on. It is, David, one of the most pitiful places I have ever seen. People, whole families, live on this gigantic mound of garbage. The trash dump is their world, and they spend their days looking through other people’s discards in hope of finding food that’s not too rotten to eat and bits of clothing to wear. Children run after the trash trucks and pick through the new piles of garbage, collecting things like paper and holding them as though they were valuable. A little girl was there. She wore no clothes and couldn’t have been more than four or five. Her hair was matted and filthy; her little brown body was covered with dirt. I watched as she picked through the refuse, found a bit of apple, and ate it. She didn’t even wipe it off, just put it in her mouth. A rat emerged from the trash next to her and bit her foot. I expected her to start wailing but she didn’t even cry; she
just swung her little arm at the filthy rodent. It was an everyday occurrence to her.”

Tears brimmed in A.J.’s eyes. He no longer looked off into the distance but down at his folded hands. David said nothing, having no words. He watched the turmoil in A.J.’s life ooze from his being. Here was a man who saw an image he would never forget, one that would haunt his dreams and follow along behind him for the rest of his life.

Sucking in a deep breath, A.J. continued: “My friends immediately went back to the cab; one stopped long enough to vomit. But I stood there transfixed. The cabby honked the car horn, but it didn’t move me. Here was the worst that life could offer. Here was a poverty so deep that my rich upbringing had prevented me from even imagining such conditions. The mind is an amazing thing, David, truly amazing. I stood there watching the little girl poking and prodding around the smoldering debris that gives Smoky Mountain its name. I saw—I swear I really saw—her grow up before me until she was a young woman who looked twenty years older than her true age, and she was”—A.J. choked back a sob—“was still poking around in the debris, and next to her was another little girl, just as naked and just as dirty, following in her mother’s footsteps.”

The image was so vivid that tears filled David’s eyes.

“That was my catharsis,” A.J. continued, “the epiphany of my calling. I saw that little girl and others like her living on the refuse of others and not being able to offer her children anything better. That’s when I learned that I had no problems. Sure, I had lost a brother, and, sure, my wife had left me—the result of my foolishness—but these people had real problems, and maybe there was something I could do about it.”

“You found a life purpose.”

“I found my life’s purpose,” A.J. said, taking a deep breath. “I want to abolish all the Smoky Mountains in the world. By any
means and at any cost, they must be eradicated, and those who—” A.J. broke off suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said as he looked at David. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, please go on.”

“There’s not much more to tell,” A.J. said. “We drove back to our hotel, none of us speaking. I flew home to San Diego the next day. I didn’t know then what I would do, but I knew I would do something. I called Cyn, but she wouldn’t speak to me, and I can’t blame her. The divorce became effective that year. Since then I’ve been building what you see.”

“What about your father?”

“At first I went back to work for him, and then, as I realized that I was going to devote my life to the eradication of pain and suffering, I asked for his help. I thought he was going to explode because I had always viewed him as a man driven to obtain wealth as I had been a man driven to spend it. Instead, he put me in touch with his key executives, contributed space, equipment, and utilities in this building, and gave me ten million dollars to hire a staff and start the work.”

“Ten million dollars?” David said in disbelief. “All at once?”

“All at once—and a great deal more than that over the last two decades. But he gave me something else. Guidance. I thought at first that I could throw a few million dollars at the problem and it would go away. It didn’t take long before I realized that government leaders and others would take my money and somehow the problems remained. It was going to take a great deal more than money to solve the problem. My father helped me see that. He taught me from his personal experiences abroad how to deal with small-country governments and large organizations. He introduced me to the movers and shakers in this country and a couple dozen others. His name carries tremendous weight in some parts of the world. He has been my guiding light.”

David sat quietly and considered what he had just heard. As a pastor, he had heard many interesting and moving stories, but this
one touched a sensitive nerve. Very few men could be this open about past errors. Yet A.J. had so easily unburdened his soul to a man who was still basically a stranger, a newcomer.
Men of this caliber are rare indeed
, he thought. David had always considered himself dedicated and giving, but sitting near A.J. made him feel that his light was a birthday candle compared to A.J.’s brilliant solar beam.

A bond was being formed between the two men., a strong and almost palpable bond. David had lost a wife to another man; A.J. had lost a wife because of his own actions.
Different causes
, David thought,
but the end result is the same, loneliness
. Looking at A.J., his tall frame folded up in the chair before him, David knew that he had found a friend and more than a friend—he had found a mentor.

“Chained them to the ship’s railing?” The dark man with the crescent-shaped scar on his cheek said with a chortle. “You have always been creative about such things.”

“It does have a certain flair to it, doesn’t it?” Mukatu said, joining in the laughter. “That’s one ship that will not be delivering its cargo of food.”

“See, brother, how it all works together,” Mahli said with a perverted grin. “We think, we act, and if we make no mistakes, we will achieve the great goal. Soon East Africa will be indebted to us, and we will have power and wealth. Our clan will be spoken of for centuries, and our names will be remembered forever.”

“Assuming enough people live to remember,” Mukatu said. “If we keep the food from too many, we will have no one to rule and no one to make us rich.”

“There will be enough,” Mahli replied firmly, shaking an un-callused hand at his brother. “There are always enough who survive. You leave the planning to me, and we will achieve all that we desire.”

Mahli rubbed a hand over his head and looked at his brother.
In many ways they were much alike. People had assumed they were twins when they were young, but in truth Mahli was ten months older. Now they had aged differently. Both men were short by Western standards and slightly portly. Their skin was dark and clean. Age had left Mahli’s hair intact, although he wore it cut close to the scalp; Mukatu’s hair had abandoned him years ago.

“So we continue as planned?” Mukatu asked.

“Exactly as planned,” Mahli replied, stressing each word. “Hunger is our ally, and we can’t let anyone take away our powerful friend. Hungry people can’t overpower you. A man has many desires, but those desires can be stripped away until only survival remains. A starving man cares nothing for freedom or gold, just food. He’ll sell his country and his soul for it. That is our edge. That is our power. That is our victory.”

“And when they are weak enough from hunger, we make our move,” Mukatu said viciously.

“We become the leaders who bring salvation to the land,” Mahli lectured. “We become the saviors of not only Somalia but our old enemy Ethiopia as well. We will bring the help they need, and they will be thankful. With the food we will bring peace from violence because we will have destroyed all our enemies. It will be a new age for us. With the food we have stored here in the warehouse and others like it scattered all over Africa, we can control the famine and the destiny of East Africa.”

“If no one stops us,” Mukatu said.

“No one will stop us,” Mahli pronounced with authority. “The UN is a toothless lion that was run out of Somalia years ago. They have shown themselves incapable of meaningful action. If they choose to return, the other warlords will cause them enough trouble that they will not give us a second thought. That is why we let the other warlords remain; we may need them. Look what Aidid did to the Pakistanis and the Americans. We have a hundred times the weapons and support he did.”

“And when we don’t need them any longer we get rid of them,” Mukatu said.

“That day will be a pleasure,” Mahli said. “And you can have your choice of leaders to kill.”

Mukatu nodded in approval, then a moment later said, “Is there more baked chicken?”

“Plenty of chicken,” Mahli said. “As much as you like.” Both men laughed, and the sound of their voices echoed through the warehouse in Marka that served as their headquarters.

DAVID TROTTED UP THE EXTERIOR CONCRETE stairs to the second floor of the renovated house that was now The Cove Experience. He paused at the top of the steps to take in the view. Across the narrow street the Pacific Ocean glistened in the cascading moonlight that painted the swells and waves of the sea with a golden light. The aroma of the beach—a mixture of salt, seaweed, and ocean breezes—hung heavy in the August night. The evening was still warm despite the sun’s setting an hour before. It was a beautiful experience, medicinal for mind and spirit. There was no wonder why thousands of people flocked to this area of coastline every year. La Jolla Cove, with its underwater marine reserve, tide pools, and lovely beaches augmented with parks, was visited every day by tourists and locals alike. Some went so far as to claim that the area had mystical qualities like Santa Fe, New Mexico, or Ojai, California. David had no leanings toward such New Age dogma, but he did love this area, as all San Diegans did.