Terminal Justice (35 page)

His first impulse had been to slash and burn every Barringston camp in Somalia, but while that would make him feel good, it would also turn the tide of public opinion against him. He had worked too hard and too long to destroy his path to power and riches on impulse. He would take his revenge. He didn’t know how or when, but fate would give him the opportunity. And when it did, he would make his brother’s murderers squirm and die. He would savor every minute of that glorious day.

“You have done well,” Mahli said, causing the young man to grin even wider. “Now go. I want every step of the plan to work perfectly. I hold you responsible. Succeed, and I will make you rich and powerful. Fail, and I will cut the heart out of every one of your family members.” The man’s grin evaporated immediately.

There was a sick feeling in David’s stomach, an emptiness that had been suddenly and fully flooded with bile. But David knew he hadn’t been stricken with influenza or any other disease, unless guilt could be defined as an illness. From his seat behind the desk, he looked across his office to the tall figure standing in the doorway.

“May I come in?” A.J. asked calmly.

“Of course,” David replied meekly, struggling to maintain eye contact.

A.J. walked slowly into the room and took a seat opposite David. As he sat, David noticed that he didn’t sit upright as he usually did. For that matter, A.J. looked tired, vapid. He slumped his tall frame in the leather chair and gazed at David.

“I need to talk to you, David,” he said in hushed tones. “I think you know what about.”

David nodded slowly and sighed heavily. He felt his face blush red. “Yes, I can imagine. If it makes things easier, I can have my things out of here by the end of the day.”

A.J. looked puzzled then shocked. “Out? Do you mean quit?”

“I thought that you might be thinking of firing me.”

“Oh, no,” A.J. said shaking his head. “Nothing so extreme. We need you, David. I need you.”

“But my behavior—”

A.J. stopped him with an upraised hand. “Enough, David. I didn’t come here to fire you or scold you. I didn’t even come here to ask you what you were doing. I assume you had your reasons.”

“Well …”

“No, David, I don’t want to know. All I want to know is this: Can I trust you? That’s important to me—very important. You and I have traveled a lot of ground over the last couple of months. We’ve been halfway around the world and back. That creates a bond that’s hard to break.” A.J. squeezed the bridge of his nose with his hand and sighed. “I’ve been under a great deal of pressure lately, David. Sometimes the work is made unbearable by all the pain, hunger,
and violence. It’s a heavy burden, a crushing burden at times. I’m able to endure it because of the people in this building. It’s their combined strength and purpose that makes it possible for me to get up one more day and do battle. I trust the people in our organization. I trust them with my life, and I trust them with the lives of the innocents who depend on us for an extra day or two of life. And—David, this is very important—I have to know that I can trust you in all matters and at all times.”

“I’m not sure where to begin or what to say,” David offered.

“Just tell me that I can trust you. I believe in you. I just need to hear that I can trust you in your own voice.”

“But don’t you want an explanation?”

“No, that’s not necessary.”

Forgiveness. That’s what A.J. was offering. Unmitigated, undiluted, unpolluted forgiveness. The kind of forgiveness that doesn’t demand explanation, only repentance. It was the same kind of absolution modeled in the Bible, the same kind of forgiveness about which David had preached so many times. Now A.J. was offering it freely and without limits. How anyone could suspect A.J. of criminal behavior was beyond David.

“Yes, A.J., you can trust me.”

A.J. smiled a broad but strangely weak smile. “I knew I could, David. I knew I could.” With that, A.J. rose and walked out the door. The sight of the normally convivial man meandering away stoop shouldered fanned the fire of guilt in David’s belly. He decided then that the FBI and CIA were on their own. David would do nothing to further their illusion. If they wanted inside help, they would need to find it elsewhere.

A.J. lay down on the couch in his office with his arm over his eyes to block the overhead lights.

“Did you fire him?” Eileen Corbin asked acerbically.

“No,” was A.J.’s brief reply.

“It would be wise,” she said. “He could present a danger to us
in the future. I have incriminating equipment in that room. Anyone with a little computer knowledge could have accessed it.”

“I’m not going to fire him,” A.J. repeated.

Sheila, who sat in one of the leather chairs near the couch, glanced at Roger then back to A.J. “I have to agree with Eileen. I don’t trust that preacher.”

“I do,” A.J. said. “Besides, firing him would only make us look guilty. He has demonstrated his courage and loyalty. I won’t cut him adrift for one bad display of judgment.”

“I still think—” Eileen began.

“No, and that’s final,” A.J. snapped. “Now leave it alone.”

“What could he have been looking for?” Sheila asked. “And who was he working for?”

“The FBI and CIA,” A.J. said calmly.

“What?”

“The FBI and CIA,” he repeated. “We broke into a CIA computer. They know it, but they don’t know who did it. They suspect us because the pictures we stole were of areas in which we have work and in which one of our workers was killed. Since the crime occurred on U.S. soil, the FBI must investigate. David’s the new kid on the block and a former minister to boot, making him the likeliest candidate for recruitment. They probably played on his patriotism, speaking of national security and the like. David is a sensitive soul who easily responds to such appeals. Those people can be very persuasive if need be.”

“How do you know all this?” Eileen asked.

“Because it’s what I would do in their place,” A.J. replied wearily. “It’s not especially creative, but the plan is functional. Now he will turn them down flat before he will attempt to betray us again.”

“How can you be sure?” Roger inquired.

“Because I know David. I know him better than he knows himself. I didn’t build Barringston Relief by making bad decisions,
you know.” Silence prevailed. No one wanted to challenge A.J.’s judgment.

Roger broke the silence. “I want to go back to Somalia and finish my mission.”

“I know you do,” A.J. responded evenly. “I admire your zeal, but the answer is no. We got our point across when you and Sheila booted his brother out of the helicopter. I want Mahli’s head as bad as any of you, but things have changed. He’s feeding the hungry, and he’s the hero of the land. I know he’s no hero, and I know that he has some devious plan cooking in that twisted mind of his, but if we off him now we could destabilize the whole region. We’d be shooting ourselves in the foot to make ourselves feel better.”

“He’s also telling the people that our food is poisoned,” Roger insisted. “They’re leaving our camps and refusing our help.”

“And if we kill Mahli now, will that reinstate the people’s belief in us? Now is not the time to kill Mahli. There will be a time, and I promise you that you can do the job. But not now. Now if you folks don’t mind, I need a few moments to rest. I haven’t been sleeping well of late.” A.J. rolled over on the couch, turning his back to his three friends.

“Oh,” A.J.’s now muffled voice intoned. “I want you all to leave David alone. Is that clear?”

“I’m not sure that’s rational,” Eileen said.

“It’s not, but leave him alone anyway. Got it?” They acknowledged his command. “Good. Thank you. I love you all. Now go away.”

DAVID WAS AMAZED TO SEE HOW FAST THE WORLD could change. Four months ago he and a handful of others from Barringston Relief had walked what was often dangerous ground in Africa. In Ethiopia they had seen heartrending scenes; Somalia, which they had not been able to visit, was a hotbed of civil war and warlords, a hotbed accentuated by hordes of homeless starving people. All that was in September of last year, now a new year had arrived and was only two weeks old.

The new year brought interesting news, at least according to the San Diego edition of the
Los Angeles Times
. Sipping coffee and nibbling on an English muffin, David sat in his now usual booth in his now usual restaurant and leisurely perused the paper as he did each workday. In a special section of the paper called “World Report,” he read a lengthy article on East Africa. None of the news was news to him since he received briefings almost daily from the communications department of Barringston Relief.

Still, seeing the changes in East Africa delineated in print caused him to feel a sense of awe. Somalia, Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Kenya had agreed to participate in a loose confederation of states. The confederation was nonbinding and sealed by nothing more than a few handshakes, yet observers were hailing it as a hopeful sign for the beleaguered area. Civil strife between the countries had settled to small skirmishes; leaders talked to each other and even worked together on a few projects. The advance was a fragile one as all the naysayers were quick to point out, but the change was
nonetheless significant enough to be noticed. Also noticed was the short man with a crescent-shaped scar on his cheek, a man named Mahli.

Longtime observers of the region, including those in the UN and in the CIA, knew that Mahli had been a dangerous and powerful man in Somalia, a leading warlord who may or may not have been responsible for the sudden disappearances of other warlords. Yet the public had taken to the man who was being heralded as the hero of East Africa. They, the public, had developed that unique ability to see only a portion of the truth about a man. The fact that he may well be a killer was never talked about. What was spoken of shocked those who knew more about Mahli than what the paper printed:
Time
magazine was considering him for Man of the Year, and rumor had it that Mahli might even receive the Nobel Prize for peace. The more David learned of Mahli from interdepartmental memos and briefing sessions, the more outrageous the last consideration was. The thought of Mahli receiving the same award that Mother Teresa had received years before seemed ludicrous.

“You’re still here.” David looked up to see Kristen standing beside his booth.

“Uh-oh, I’ve been caught,” he said with a smile. He rose from his seat and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Her arrival was no real surprise. While not an early riser like David, she did on occasion crawl out of bed early enough to join him for coffee. When she did, David felt that the day became a little brighter, the sun a little higher, and the sky a little bluer. Any impartial observer could see that he was falling in love with her and she with him. Still they were a cautious pair, neither willing to push the relationship too fast.

“Would you like some coffee?” David asked.

“Like? I demand it.” Kristen replied quickly. “And you’re going to pay for it.”

“Me?”

“It’s all your fault, and you know it.”

“What is?” David chortled. He could hear the teasing tone in her voice.

“These bags under my eyes, that’s what. I don’t know why you insist on going to the late movie anyway.”

“It’s all a matter of logistics, my dear,” David answered. “By the time we both leave the building, get to our respective homes, change clothes, go to the finest eating establishment in town—”

“It was Coco’s,” Kristen interrupted.

“—and then wander across town to the movie theater, it’s late. I’m an innocent victim of circumstance. Besides, you loved the movie.”

“True.”

“And the popcorn.”

“Truer still.”

“Lots and lots of popcorn.”

“It’s a vegetable,” Kristen interjected quickly. “So give me a break.”

“What about that box of malted milk balls?” David teased. “Are they vegetables too?”

“If you’re not careful, Dr. O’Neal, I’m going to kick you in the fanny … with my heavy shoe.”

“Okay, okay,” David surrendered. “I’ll buy the coffee, but only because I like you.”