Gift of Revelation (17 page)

Word reached us that one of the militias had executed several villagers near a wall. They'd placed bags on the villagers' heads, and then they'd shot them. Three of the slain men had signs around their neck that said INFORMANT, because of their association with the government. I was panicked. I wanted to know whether Addie was a collaborator, according to the enemy.

Elsa notified me that a friend of hers in the security division of the government had arranged a meeting for us at the clinic where the survivors of Addie's ambush were recovering. Elsa denied that she was sleeping with him. She and I drove in a jeep with two armed guards through the bush to the clinic. I was afraid of what they might tell me there. I hoped Addie had not been harmed.

The clinic was ringed by guards and two armored trucks. We walked to the security checkpoint, presented our identification, and were allowed inside. The odor of decaying flesh was unbearable. I looked for the injured guards, the survivors of the ambush, but couldn't find them. One of the nurses pointed them out, and we went over to them.

One guard was worse for wear. He had taken three bullets in the chest and arm. He was in intensive care, due in part to all the blood he had lost, and was still unconscious. But the other guard was alert and talkative, although he had been shot in the shoulder and legs. He seemed glad to tell all he knew about the massacre and abductions.

“What were you doing there?” Elsa asked.

“Addie wanted to see some of Sudan's nightlife,” the guard said, coughing. “She wanted fun. She wanted to see something other than the pain of the camp.”

“Where was this place?” I asked.

“Just a place where men and women get together,” he said, coughing again.

“Did you know the place was going to come under attack?” Elsa asked. “Who tipped them off?”

“I don't know, and that's the truth,” the guard said.

“Had you been to this place before?” Elsa asked.

“No. This place just opened,” the guard said. “They used to have a live band, but they stopped that because it was dangerous. The people danced to records on a dance floor. It had a bar with rooms where couples could get together upstairs.”

I was curious about what had happened during the attack. And Elsa didn't want to get impressions; she wanted details. I knew the clinic's doctors were not going to let us talk to him for too long.

“How long had you been there before they attacked?” I asked.

The guard wiggled uncomfortably from the pain of his wounds. The staff at this clinic was not generous with painkillers. They did just enough to keep the patient from dying or from becoming a raving maniac.

“We had been there for about forty minutes before we heard the first gunshots,” the guard rasped. “A man ran into the building, then dropped to his knees in the center of the floor. He couldn't get out the words to warn us. He was bloody. He had been shot many times in the back. Someone said, ‘Cut the lights out, and hide in the corners, behind tables and chairs.' People trampled each other while trying to get out through the exits, and then they were cut down by gunfire. The women knew what was going to happen to them. They'd either be taken away, killed or, worse yet, raped.”

“Were there any foreigners other than Addie at the place?” Elsa asked him. “I know a lot of aid workers like to let their hair down when they're not working.”

The guard coughed deeply. “There were a few. Some of them were shot while trying to get to the bush. Those of us with weapons opened fire on the rebels, shooting bursts of automatic fire, but we were overwhelmed. They were too many of them in their Toyota Land Cruisers, and they poured into the building, shooting everything that moved. Some people they let go. I don't know why. But they searched for any foreigners after they secured the building.”

“How did they find Addie?” I asked.

“One local woman told them about her,” the guard said. “She pointed her out, saying she was American.”

“How did they treat her?” I didn't want her hurt in any way.

“It wasn't just her.” The guard's voice choked from emotion. “They treated everybody like animals. They looked in all the rooms, dragged everybody out onto the dance floor. They beat and clubbed them. One of the gunmen slapped this young woman until she bled from her ears. Some of the men resisted, and they beat them to the ground. We were marched with weapons at our back, two rows of us from the building. Addie complained to one of the gunmen about how they treated the women.”

“That's Addie,” I said, grinning. “Good old country spunk.”

Elsa didn't see the humor in it. “Real stupid. Very stupid.”

“The gunman got a wristlock on her and made her walk in front of him,” the guard said. “She tried to yank her arm away from him, but he tightened his grip on her. You could see she was in pain. She didn't scream or cry out. She kept saying, ‘You're hurting me. You're hurting me.' The gunman ignored her. The others with him laughed at Addie's whining. He shoved her against the wall, and they all started searching her body, lifting her dress. Her face was against the wall and her hands were behind her back while the men's hands moved under her dress. She tried to kick at them. They held her there while they felt her up.”

“What else did they do?” Elsa asked. She was enjoying this part of the story.

“They got rough with her,” the guard said. “When the men thrust their hands between her legs, she screamed for the first time. She tried to fight them, but they were bigger and stronger. She kept yelling, ‘Cowards, cowards!' and ‘Keep away from me!'”

“Did anybody try to help her?” I asked him.

“No. We wanted to live,” the guard replied.

Elsa was practical. “That makes sense.”

“The remaining foreigners and women were rounded up, bags were dropped over their heads, and their hands were tied,” he added. “The rest of us they lined up against the wall of the building, and then they shot us. I lost my best friend. Elsa, you remember Cyrus. He was shot in the head right next to me. I lost my lady. They shot her in the neck and chest. They shot me many times. I lay there, pretending I was dead. If anybody moved, they shot them in the head. After they left with their hostages, I waited until morning and then I crawled off into the bush. That's where the soldiers found me.”

“Poor bloke,” Elsa said, stroking his head. His eyes were closed, and he was tearing up.

“I hate what happened,” the guard said, fighting for his composure. “I have had nightmares about that night. I see my friend and my lady big as life. I can't get it out of my mind. It won't go. I will never get close to anybody else as long as I live. They ruined my life.”

“Where do you think they took Addie?” I asked.

“I don't know,” the guard said, his energy starting to wane.

“Has anybody from the camp contacted you?” Elsa asked.

“Dr. Bromberg called me this morning,” he said. “They let me talk to him. He said they would give me anything I needed to get back on my feet. Also, the head of security called and told me to take as much time as I needed. They were kind to me. Everybody has been so kind.”

“What will you do when you get out of this place?” Elsa asked. “Do you have any family?”

The guard stared at her sadly. “I don't know what I will do. I have no family. They have all been killed. Maybe Dr. Bromberg will let me stay at the camp. I won't be a bother.”

A nurse walked up, carrying a pill and a cup of water. “All right, people. He's got to rest. If the questioning is over, then we'll let him sleep.”

We said our good-byes. Elsa kissed him on the forehead and squeezed his bandaged hand. As the nurse walked us through the halls of the clinic, she expressed dismay about my kidnapped friend. She said she knew the situation would have a good outcome. What did that mean? I wondered.

 

 

Later, back at the camp, Elsa and I sat in the main building, comparing notes. We needed to decide how we would proceed. Nothing had been received from the rebels. No ransom note. No demands. Until we heard from them, we could not make a move.

“What did Addie's family say when they called?” she asked.

“They're talking with the government, especially the State Department,” I answered. “Her aunt holds me responsible for this happening. She says I must get her back safe and sound.”

“She's crazy,” Elsa replied. “It's out of your hands.”

“What do you mean?”

“If these people want to hurt Addie, there's nothing you can do about it,” she said. “They're calling the shots, not you. Her family needs to understand that.”

“I know that.”

We sat there in silence in that suffocating space. A few minutes later Dr. Bromberg strutted toward us, wearing that goofy smile. Elsa frowned. We really didn't want to chat about our visit.

“How did it go?” the doctor quizzed us.

“He's hanging in there,” I replied. “One guard is still unconscious and is in really bad shape. I think he's still in shock.”

“Did he give you any information or leads you could use?”

Elsa lit a cigarette and faced the doctor. “He's lucky to be alive.”

“I heard about the extent of his wounds,” the doctor said. “He's a strong fellow. He'll pull through.”

“Did you call the family of Cyrus?” she asked.

“Yes. All the arrangements have been made,” the doctor said. “They have the body, and preparations are being made to bury him. We at the camp are going to help them in whatever way we can.”

“That's good.” Elsa liked that. She felt a fondness for the guards, who made it possible for the doctors and the staff to function.

“What about Addie, your friend?” the doctor asked me.

“He told me about the harsh treatment she endured,” I said. “They took her, along with other foreigners, and left. He said most of the people were lined up and shot. Nobody knows where the gunmen have taken her. We talked to soldiers, and they knew nothing.”

The doctor put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “What are you going to do? Are you going ahead with your plan?”

“I don't know,” I replied. “I'm stunned by all this.”

Elsa was adamant. “Time is of the essence. Either you start putting something into action or the rebels will do what they do. If you want to see Addie again, you must have a plan of action. This is not a time to get lazy. You must act now.”

The doctor agreed. It was all on me to free her. “What about the go-between?” he asked.

I told him that I hoped we could implement Elsa's plan to have Bishop Obote act as the go-between to secure my friend's release. We didn't know whether he would do it. I knew of his dislike for Americans, but I believed he would do this because we were both men of the cloth, warriors for Christ.

“I'll contact him right away and get back to you,” Elsa said. “He'll probably ask you to meet him somewhere. If you want, I'll go with you.”

“Thanks for all your help,” I said gratefully. “I couldn't have done any of this without you.”

Working out an exchange for a hostage was tricky business. We still had not heard from the hostage takers, so we did not know what their demands were or if they wanted a ransom or anything. The American government said it was exploring various options for getting Addie out of the hands of the gunmen. Somehow Elsa's words rang true. Addie seemed to be on a reckless path. She seemed to be trying to find her way out of the Sudan madness, trying to have a little fun.

I couldn't accept that there was nothing that could be done for her. The State Department officials discouraged any attempt to raise a ransom for the kidnappers, because the cash would only encourage more abductions and fund more weapons for the rebels. What about Addie's family? What about her safety? I could not accept that Addie should die.

The words of her aunt kept returning to my head. “You are responsible for her being over there,” she'd said, her fear rising. “She wouldn't be there if you had not gone. You must save her. You must do whatever is needed to save her.”

Three days after our meeting with the doctors, I got a call from Elsa, who had flown to Khartoum to meet with Bishop Obote and other church officials. She said she didn't expect too much to come of their lunch. The meeting had been secret, completely low key, because of meddling by the security forces. She had been followed from the time she arrived in the capital, and her telephone was being tapped. Still, Obote and the reporter had eventually reached an agreement: Obote promised to speak to me about getting my country friend released and to act as my mouthpiece. Hopefully, Addie would be freed.

I didn't see Elsa for a week after she got back from the capital. And then we exchanged few words, as she had to fly to Sierra Leone for leads for an Ebola outbreak story that would air on the BBC. A call from her from Sierra Leone ended too soon in a storm of static and silence. She finally arrived back at the camp that Sunday without fanfare and sent word that she wanted to meet with me.

“Reverend, we're going to have to keep this whole affair a secret,” Elsa said as we looked over the new extension that was being built at the camp. “The bishop wants everything to be very quiet. He agreed to act as the go-between, but he wants a payment. I told him that you are not a rich man.”

“What did he say?” I asked her.

Elsa said he understood, but some formalities had to be satisfied. “A fee must be paid in order for him to act on your behalf. No rebel would respect him if he were not paid for his services.”

“I'll do what I can to raise the money,” I replied.

Elsa stared into my face. “But then the rebels will ask for another sum. I don't know what they will require. I know they want to put you through your paces so they know how much you value Addie. I ask you, is she worth all you will go through?”

“What are you saying, Elsa?”

“How much do you love her?” she asked. “Is she worth all the sacrifice, effort, and heartbreak you might go through for her?”

“I know I must do something,” I said. “Her aunt has gone public, telling
Good Morning America'
s Robin Roberts that Addie was an aid worker, toiling for the sick and the orphaned. She accused the U.S. government of threatening her if she tried to raise money for a ransom. Her aunt has retained a lawyer to handle any blowback from government officials.”

Elsa slapped her forehead and laughed. “She is as much of an annoyance as Addie. She will get the girl killed.”

“But that is not the least of the thing,” I added sadly. “She is raising money to visit Sudan to meet with Western hostages who have been freed by the rebels. The meetings, she said, will put her at ease, as she will learn what is happening with Addie. The FBI has already contacted her about gathering information for them.”

“I can tell you that the U.S. government will not attempt to rescue her,” the reporter asserted. “Addie is not a big enough fish to warrant that.”

“What else can you tell me?” I was eager to get any information she could give me.

Elsa was happy to relay the news of the capture of some rebel soldiers who took part in the abduction of Addie and the other foreigners in one of the South's tribal areas. According to one of the captured soldiers, the abduction of the foreigners was ordered by a head of the militia, who had been battling with the powerful forces of President Salva Kiir. The young soldier, who left the South Sudanese army for the rebels, suggested several hiding places where they could be holding the captives. There were many factions among the rebel force. Anyone of them could have her.

“Do you believe him?” I asked her.

“Who knows?” the reporter said. “These people switch sides at the drop of a hat. They want money, pleasure, and perks. The rebels promise them all the things they want.”

“But what about the hiding places?” I needed to know there was hope. Maybe the South Sudanese government would respond and would rescue Addie and the others.

“An official from the army said they would check them out,” Elsa said. “The army has its hands full fighting all these hot spots with various militias that are being armed by the government in the North. They are very unreliable. I wouldn't count on them to do too much.”

“Who
can
we count on, Elsa?” There were too many players in the conflict in Sudan, with every region having its militia. The Khartoum government tried to control all of them with arms and money.

“Maybe Bishop Obote,” she replied. “However, he has two masters, and we don't know which one he'll side with. The newspapers in Khartoum did an exposé on him and his lavish lifestyle. Most people don't know that he was in Egypt for much of his young life. His father was a supporter of President Nasser and later acted as an adviser to President Sadat, before he was killed. The bishop knows many of the players, as I told you.”

“How can we trust him?” I wanted to believe in him.

“We can't,” she said. “I laid out the entire story for him.”

“The doctors said the bishop doesn't like me, so how do I know he will do the right thing?” I said. “It goes beyond the fact that I'm an American. Maybe it's because I'm a black American. Who knows?”

That perked Elsa up. “I think the black American thing is in your favor. The bishop is intrigued by you. He asked me a lot of questions about you and your life in the States. He wanted to know how political you were and what achievements you had in certain areas. Mainly, he wanted to know why you came over here in the first place.”

I grimaced at that statement. “I told him that.”

“He doesn't believe you,” the reporter said. “He thinks you have some government contacts. He thinks you know some ‘powerful and mighty people.' That's how he put it. When we were talking, I realized that maybe that's why Addie was snatched. He thinks you're a Yank big shot.”

“That's madness,” I retorted.

“Maybe that's why they're checking you out, Reverend.”

“Checking me out? What?”

“When they decide on what's she worth, then they'll put together a ransom figure,” Elsa said. “In these parts, money goes a long way. All these militias are competing for superiority and a chance to rule their little fiefdoms. In fact, I'm going now to cover the battle over an oil-rich area, Paloch. It's the last operating oil field.”

I was alarmed since I didn't want to meet with the bishop alone. “When will you be back?”

“Reverend, I'll be back in three days,” she said. “Then I'm going over to Somalia to see the fallout following the departure of Doctors Without Borders. They left in the summer of twenty thirteen, when it got too dangerous for them to operate. The agency had been there for over twenty years.”

“What are you going to do there?” I asked, watching the refugees bake in the sun.

“I have some sources there, rebel and otherwise,” she said. “I just want to look around to get the lay of the land. I haven't been there for almost a year and a half.”

“What am I going to do?”

Elsa looked bewildered. “About what?”

“About meeting the bishop, Elsa. I don't know how to prepare for the meeting. What should I take? Should I get Addie's family involved? Should I get the U. S. government involved? What should I do?”

“No to your second and third question,” she answered. “Go alone. Play it by ear. Flatter him. Make him feel like the big man. Stick to your guns. Believe me, the bishop does his homework. He'll know much more than he will say. Feel him out and set some rules.”

“So no to Addie's family,” I said, wondering what was right.

“No.”

“And no to government involvement?”

“No. You don't want to get her killed,” she said with a jab of her finger into my arm. “And these blokes will kill her. They'd kill her for sport, just because she's an American.”

“It doesn't matter that she is black?” I said.

“She's not African, and what you black Americans don't realize is that being a Yank trumps you leaving in slave ships from the motherland hundreds of years ago,” the reporter said sternly. “They consider you guys a willing partner in the American nightmare. You're like a distant relative who they really don't like or respect.”

“Oh, man!” I exclaimed.

“I was in Syria when the rebels were attacking in the western province of Latakia and in towns north of Damascus, the capital. They were attacking the Christians who supported President Bashar al-Assad,” Elsa said, lighting another cigarette. “Many times you Christians are on the wrong side. The Syrian president is a tyrant. He is a mass murderer.”

“I know the man is a killer,” I said. “But not all Christians support him. You're painting us with a broad stroke of the brush. Most Christians know right from wrong.”

Elsa said she must have a talk with me and set me straight on the role of the Christian church in global politics. She accused me of being naive. She said this was because I was an American, and Americans had a self-centered view of the world. Her words left me feeling uneasy, for I really didn't know a lot about the planet I was living on.

“Did you say the bishop would give me a date for the meeting?” I asked. “Will he provide transportation?”

Elsa began laughing hysterically, coughing up smoke rings. “Reverend, I'd love to be a fly on the wall at your meeting with the bishop,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Don't make a fool of yourself.”