11
Base Camp Alpha
Sudan
LISTENING TO RED HENRI PONTIFICATE ABOUT HOW HE FINANCED his campaign in the Hummer, Nuri couldn’t decide whether he was a little crazy or very crazy. He was definitely crazy, and eccentric besides, but his economic arrangements suggested that he had at least an occasional attachment to reality. Such as it was.
Red Henri had built his movement around his control of a copper mine about thirty miles southeast of Eddd. Though ostensibly owned and operated by a Belgium consortium, Red Henri and his troops had more to say about production there than the production manager, let alone the individual stockholders. The company paid him a fee to provide security—basically money so his troops wouldn’t wreck the place, though in theory they were defending against other rebel groups and robbers. The company also paid him personally as a “political consultant”—basically a bribe to keep him from wreaking havoc. But the biggest portion of the mine-related income came from a “transport tax” that Red Henri’s soldiers collected from anyone going into or out of the mining area. Miners and anyone who wanted to do any business with them there had to pay the U.S. equivalent of three dollars going and coming. The fees allowed Red Henri to pay his soldiers about twice what the government paid its forces—when it paid them at all.
The arrangement demonstrated that Red Henri was, if not smart, at least very clever. On the other hand, his belief in the supernatural went far beyond that of most of the Sudanese Nuri had met. Many in the southern portion of the country clung to the ancient animistic religion, believing in spirits that their grandfathers’ fathers would have prayed to. Like many of them, Red Henri believed that spirits walked the earth as men did. He also believed that he could see them. He carried on regular conversations with them—and for about half the ride from the village, he interspersed his comments to Nuri with an animated discussion with two unseen spirits who were sitting in the back of his Hummer.
When he spoke to them, Red Henri used a tribal language so obscure that even the Voice would have been unable to decipher it, had Nuri dared to show the earphones. But Nuri got the most salient parts—the spirits were divided about whether the scientists should be allowed to stay or not. One of the spirits was very hungry, in fact, and thought that the best use of the scientists would be as food.
Red Henri took a neutral position in the argument.
Nuri wasn’t sure whether Boston and the others would be back yet, and he certainly wasn’t going to call to find out. He assumed they were smart enough to be on the lookout—and to hide if they saw the caravan coming.
The convoy moved with little regard for the highway. The ambulance was accorded the lead, but otherwise each driver vied with the others to move as fast as possible, cutting one or the other off and occasionally coming close to colliding. Some weeks back, Red Henri had decided that the driver and occupants of the last vehicle to arrive at a town he was inspecting would get no supper, and while he had soon relented, none of the drivers wanted to risk their leader’s displeasure. They drove fast, and they drove with their headlights off, hopping across the landscape, bouncing on springs and shocks that had long ago stopped dampening any bumps.
“Up this way, yes?” said Red Henri, pointing in the general direction of the camp.
“That’s it,” said Nuri.
The fact that the rebel leader knew where the camp was surprised Nuri. He hadn’t seen them scouting the area at all.
Red Henri picked up a radio and called to the ambulance, making sure the driver knew to turn up the road into the hills. The driver took the direction as an invitation to blow his siren. The wail bounced across the hills, echoing through the desert.
DANNY CROUCHED IN THE ROCKS ABOUT A HALF MILE ABOVE the camp, watching with his night glasses as the rebel leader and his entourage pulled into the camp. Their movements were somewhere between that of a highly polished military unit and a troupe of clouds.
“There’s Nuri, getting out of the Hummer,” said Danny. He handed the glasses to Boston.
“Brought a few friends home for dinner,” said Boston. “What should we do?”
“Too late to do anything but watch.”
THE BUS WAS THERE, BUT IT WAS OBVIOUS TO NURI THAT the others were hiding. He nonetheless went to each tent and then to the building, calling for his fellow scientists, and hoping he’d come up with an idea on what to do next.
Red Henri got out of the Hummer. His spirits got out with him, still arguing over whether the scientists should be allowed in the area or not. As the men mustered around him in their usual formation, he saw that no one had come out to greet him. This was a severe breach of etiquette, one that spoke very poorly of his hosts. It was also a strong argument on the side of the spirits, who felt the scientists should not be allowed to dig here—and should, in fact, be eaten.
“Where are your scientists?” Red Henri demanded when he saw Nuri come out of the building. “Why are they not greeting me?”
“I thought they were sleeping, but I guess I was wrong. They may have gone to work in the field.”
“Which field?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Maybe you didn’t have scientists here,” said Red Henri. “No friends.”
“No, there are two here already, and more on their way. See, they have to dig at night because the spirits—”
More scientists? How many?
Even one would be too many.
Red Henri suddenly understood the spirits’ point. These men had not asked permission to be here. Their digging was a severe imposition, not just to the spirits, but to him.
Of course they’re not here. It’s as I said—they’re nothing. They’ve already run off. My brother came this way this afternoon and chased them down.
Rubbish. Your brother couldn’t chase a flea.
“I don’t believe there were any scientists,” Red Henri told Nuri. “There were no scientists here.”
Nuri wasn’t sure whether he should agree or not.
“Were there scientists?” demanded Red Henri.
“Of course.”
Red Henri unsnapped his holster. Nuri cursed himself for not shooting the bastard when he had the chance. Two of Red Henri’s bodyguards were directly behind him; he had no chance of getting his pistol.
“What happened to my scientists?” said Red Henri, pulling out his gun.
“They dig at night, so as not to offend certain of the spirits that watch over the bones.”
Red Henri began to laugh. Finally, he saw the truth. The men were simply cowards.
“Your scientists ran away, didn’t they?” he said to Nuri. “They saw Qwandi’s brother and they ran. And Qwandi’s brother is the mildest spirit here. So you won’t be getting any work done. That’s too bad.”
Red Henri rocked the pistol back and forth in his hand. He made up his mind that he would kill Nuri. But as he raised his pistol, the first spirit spoke.
You can’t eat him if he’s a coward. You’ll become a coward yourself.
“He’s not the coward,” said Red Henri.
Of course he is. What man has cowards for friends but is not one himself? It is impossible.
Red Henri nodded at the wisdom of this. “I’ll just shoot him and leave him, then.”
If he is bringing other friends, you should wait to shoot him, said the other spirit. They may have money and other things. He had the nice motorcycle.
Nuri tensed. He didn’t have a plan to escape. The only plan he had was to drop down, grab the pistol from his leg, and try and shoot Red Henri. It would be preemptive revenge only, so he could tell himself that he died doing something.
Red Henri pointed the gun at Nuri’s forehead. Nuri leaned to his left, ready to dive to the ground. But Red Henri raised the gun and fired, the shot sailing harmlessly into the sky.