Which meant he knew the situation up country.
She looked behind her. The trucker would be at his meal for a while. She stepped back into the rain and approached the stranger. He paid her no attention as he helped people out of the truck, handing infants to waiting mothers and steadying the arms of old men, affording them dignity while making sure they didn’t fall. He was maybe an inch taller than Cali and with his T-shirt stuck to his chest she saw he had a powerful build. Not the grotesque muscles of a weight lifter, but the lean physique of someone who worked hard for a living.
He must have finally felt her presence because he turned. Cali startled. It was the eyes, she realized instantly. The man was handsome, yes, but his eyes, a shade of gray like storm clouds, were riveting. She’d never known such a color existed or could have imagined they would be so attractive.
“Hi,” he said, an amused lift at the corner of his mouth.
“Hi,” Cali replied before gathering herself. “You just came from the north.”
“That’s right,” he said. “Found these people wandering out of the jungle about twenty miles from here. Thought I’d give them a lift.”
“You’re not an aid worker?”
A lanky farmer passed a caged chicken down to the man. He handed it to Cali, making her part of the human chain unloading the truck. “No. I’m a geologist.” He held out a hand. “Mercer. My name is Philip Mercer.”
His occupation took her by surprise as she absently took his hand. For the second time in just a few moments, Cali startled. Even wet, his palm was as rough as tree bark, callused so that the skin picked against her own. She felt strength in that fleeting touch, but also something more. Assurance, confidence, kindness, an utter lack of guile — she wasn’t sure which, or maybe all of them. He held her gaze as he let her fingers drop.
“And you are?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m Cali Stowe. I’m with the CDC. The Centers for Disease Control. In Atlanta. I’m a field researcher.”
“Believe it or not, disease is the last thing these people need to worry about right now.” He was American but had a trace of an accent that Cali couldn’t quite place.
“So I’ve noticed,” she said. “Mind me asking what you’re doing here?”
Mercer slid a large iron cauldron from the truck and set it on the ground. “Prospecting.”
She laughed. “I always picture prospectors wearing union suits with picks over their shoulders and dragging a stubborn mule on a short rein.”
“Only ass here is me. I’m here doing a favor for a friend.”
“My friends ask me to go shopping or help talk through why their current boyfriend is a total creep. You really have to learn to set boundaries.”
It was Mercer’s turn to laugh. “Point taken.”
“What were you prospecting for?”
“Coltan, colombite-tantalite,” Mercer replied. Cali looked disinterested but he added, “It’s used in the capacitors for small electronics. Especially cell phones.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way but I hope you didn’t find any. There are already too many of those damned things in the world.”
“Amen,” Mercer agreed. “And no I didn’t. This was a UN-sponsored expedition. Some functionary from their economic development office in Bangui heard about a hunter who claimed he found coltan on the Chinko River. More than likely he’d smuggled it from Uganda or the Congo, but the UN guy saw it as an opportunity to create jobs in the area.”
“And get his ticket out of here punched, no doubt.”
“Probably. I’ve spent the past six weeks shifting tons of worthless mud, until I heard slaughter season was starting up again. I waited as long as I dared, then sent my workers out. When I packed it in yesterday I found these people along the way.”
“Listen, I ah, I’m planning on heading north tomorrow. How bad is it?”
Mercer stopped unloading the truck to give her his full attention. “Since this corner of the world isn’t on many tourist maps, I assume whatever you’re doing here is important. I won’t try to talk you out of it, but if you really need to head upriver, do it today. Right now.”
“I can’t,” Cali admitted. “Some hopped-up teenager used my truck for target practice this morning. I have to go down to Rafai to buy a spare tire.”
“Then forget it.”
He wasn’t being dismissive, or protective. He was stating a fact as simply as he could. Cali appreciated that, but she also had to ignore his advice. “I wish I could. I have to go.”
Mercer pushed wet hair off his forehead. Cali thought he was calculating a price he wanted for his truck. “How far?”
“Sorry?”
“How far do you need to go?”
“There’s a village on the Scilla River about a mile from where it empties into the Chinko.”
“That’s about a hundred miles north. How important is this?”
Cali answered readily. “One of our researchers came across some medical records put together by a missionary in the late eighties. No one had paid any attention to them. It seems the people in this town suffer from the highest cancer rate on the planet. The CDC believes there may be a genetic cause. If we can isolate it, well, you can figure it out for yourself.”
“Gene therapy to prevent cancer.”
She nodded. “And possibly cure it. I need to get blood and tissue samples.”
“And if you don’t get there before Dayce, those people are either going to be dead—”
“Or so scattered I’ll never find them,” Cali finished for him. “That’s why I rushed here as soon as I could.”
“You’re talking about going further than I’d planned, but I’ll take you.”
“You were going back up there?” Cali couldn’t believe it.
“Why do you think I unloaded the truck?” he said. “I passed a lot more people than I could carry on my way down here. The government’s not going to get them, so someone has to.” His voice went grave. “Just so we’re clear, though. We’re turning around at the first sign of trouble.”
Cali’s tone matched his. This was her best, and probably only, shot. “You got it.”
“Okay, once I get this beast refueled we’re out of here.”
“Thank you,” she said.
He grinned. “Don’t thank me until we come back. Why don’t you wait in the cab out of the rain.”
Mercer watched Cali slide around the battered Ford but didn’t know what to make of her. He was sure that if he hadn’t offered to drive her she would have followed her original plan. It was in the stubborn set of her jaw, but mostly it was the intensity of her eyes. Cali Stowe believed in her mission and he couldn’t imagine much that could deter her. It was a trait he admired because there were few people left who had it.
One of the refugees he’d driven down pressed two tomatoes into his hand as he fed diesel from the drum lashed behind the cab. Mercer was overwhelmed by the gesture. This man had just lost everything he owned, the home he’d lived in probably since he was a child, but still wanted to thank him with perhaps the only food he’d have for as long as it took to get resettled. Mercer carefully inspected the tomatoes, took the best for himself, and handed the other back. Returning the better one would have been an insult. The farmer touched Mercer’s hand and nodded. Behind him his wife smiled her gratitude and hugged her children a little tighter.
Mercer’s thoughts turned back to Cali. As a field researcher for the CDC he imagined she’d been in some rough country before, but he doubted she’d seen anything like this. Yet she’d shrugged off her car getting shot up as though it was a mere inconvenience. That kind of confidence came from experience. He doubted the CDC prepared people for this kind of thing, so he guessed there was something else in her past — military training, perhaps.