On the riverside of promise (12 page)

“I know Ludwig. It’s just that…”

Ethan hesitated; he felt unable to find the
right words. Nicole jumped in, a dull expression on her face, her
voice a gritty affair:

“You feel sorry for them?”

He turned to look at her with bewildered
puzzlement. He asked her with evident confusion:

“You mean the sisters? Of course, I mean
-”

“Saving the world now?” she said with a
vicious stare that marred her features. She almost spat out the
words.

Ethan blinked furiously while Ludwig simply
stood there. They felt something they had said had ticked off
Nicole.

“Listen, Nicole, I understand you -” he
managed to blurt before she cut him mid-sentence and said, “I don’t
need your understanding!” before leaving them flabbergasted to
watch her pace briskly towards her guestroom. Ethan made a motion
to follow her but Ludwig reached out and blocked his path:

“It won’t help. She’s grieving. Try not to
make it harder,” said Ludwig, rearranging his glasses slowly. Ethan
turned to say something as if in protest, but he simply stood
there, facing her way. He said to the doctor then:

“That’s not at all like her. I mean, I barely
know her, but I wouldn’t think she’d take all this that hard.”

Ludwig shook his head and looked Ethan
straight in the eye; despite their height difference he managed to
sound like a teacher scolding a schoolboy:

“People died here today! Did you expect
everyone to move along as if nothing out of the ordinary had
happened? Business as usual?”

The doctor was almost glaring at Ethan, who
coolly replied in a low, calm voice:

“There is a war going on. I wouldn’t expect
that from everyone, but she’s seen war. She knows what it’s like
and I believe that. It’s just… odd. I mean, she’s acting odd. She
killed maybe half or more of the bandits.”

Ludwig frowned and his forehead wrinkled,
beads of sweat trailing his temples. He opened his mouth to speak,
and almost stuttered the words:

“She killed?”

Ethan simply nodded and fixed his gaze at
Nicole’s guestroom, his face a pensive, blank wall. The doctor
spoke again:

“How?”

“Does it matter to you?”

“No, not really.”

“I thought so as well. Though it might matter
to me, wherever we’re going.”

“You’re planning to take her with you?”

Ethan nodded, hands on his waist. Ludwig
asked with some reluctance:

“Then you two are…” he said, letting his
voice trail off rather uncomfortably. Ethan blinked and smiled
somewhat lamely with a frown upon his face before shaking his head
furiously. He told the doctor then:

“Good God, no. That kind of woman would be
the death of me. Besides…”

“Not the time?”

Ethan shrugged and said:

“She’s taken.”

“Ah. I wouldn’t think you’d draw such a
line.”

Ethan grinned despite himself and asked with
a mocking tone:

“I’d say! A gentleman like myself, getting
frisky with a lady in wedlock! Absurd!”

Ludwig shook his head with no hint of good
humor other than a slight curl of his lip. He then wiped the sweat
on his forehead with one sleeve, while he said to Ethan rather
flatly:

“How can you joke about anything after all
this?”

Ethan thought about it for a moment and then
said rather mirthlessly:

“Won’t kill us now, will it?”

Ludwig looked at him with a pondering
expression. Before he could reply, one of his staff shouted out for
his attention. He gave a thumbs up; the engines of the Rovers
roared into life one after the other. They were heading back. He
then simply said to Ethan with a shrug:

“Well, thanks again. And good luck. Maybe
we’ll meet again in a better place and time.”

“There’s always Heaven, doctor,” said Ethan
with a shallow grin. Ludwig shook his head, backtracked a few steps
and then started jogging towards the open door of a waiting Rover.
When he climbed aboard, he had one last glimpse of Ethan lighting a
cigarette and waving them goodbye.

* * *

The moon was waxing low on the night sky. Its
white sheen sometimes came through muddied behind the wispy clouds
that toiled lazily past it. And when the cool wind blew the murky
clouds away, the shapeless shadows that covered everything below
vanished within a swath of summer moonlight that could easily lure
a man into thinking all was well in the world.

Such trappings of the mind were not new to
Ethan; he’d seen first hand what such a serene, beguiling night
could do to a man. Guards stabbed from behind inside their
trenches, patrolmen lying dead on the ground, their throats slit
open, their still warm blood misting in the chilly night air. The
sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder electrified him at first
and then sent a numbing sensation that grew all along his right
side down to his hip.

He looked around as if in a dream,
half-waiting for the thrust of a bayonet through his jugular. It
was Nicole; the thought of how the hell she’d slipped behind him
unnoticed sprang inside his mind. It was unnerving, more so for a
soldier and doubly so for a Scout of the Royal Marines. Damn her!,
he thought while he saw her grinning as if she’d had intended to
catch him off-guard. Her voice sounded rather casual, but there was
the barest glint of mischievous success about it:

“Did I startle you?”

There was a small moment of uncomfortable
silence, before Ethan managed to answer:

“Well, yes. Yes, you did. Have you packed? We
should set out now, if we want to reach Onitsha in the morning. Are
you sure about these people you mentioned?”

She looked at him with a frown. The light of
the oil lamp inside the room flickered around her face as if it
danced to a rhythm of its own. She replied with a hurt tone, as if
taken aback:

“Are you suggesting that they can’t be
trusted?”

He got up from his chair and moved aside, his
back resting against the dimly lit wall. He crossed his arms as if
feeling threatened and said flatly:

“I’m suggesting something’s off. I’m
suggesting this is all too much.”

Her face grew distant suddenly. She tilted
her head and bit her lip before saying with a clear, hearty
voice:

“You were the one who insisted on going back
there for Andy. And I should thank you for that. It’s just that…
I’m doing all I can!”

Her face became contorted and it looked as if
she was about to break down into sobs and cries for barely a
moment. But she held on and said sharply:

“I risked my life back there. I could’ve
left, I could’ve run away. I did it for the sisters, I tried. But I
did it for Andy; and you as well.”

“Now that’s what’s bugging me,” replied
Ethan, stabbing a pointing finger her way. He went on with an even,
accusing tone of voice:

“You’re not just good with a rifle: you’re an
excellent shot. You didn’t hesitate, you actually went inside and
picked up that M1903. And by the way, that’s not exactly a
Derringer. Neither is that Beretta. I mean, I’m not ungrateful or
anything, but just how the fuck did you get hold of those? And
since when does one become such a pro with a couple of weeks of
fighting? Who the hell are you, really now?”

Nicole looked at him sternly at first for an
itchy moment that faintly smelled of danger, but then her face
dissolved in a small, tight smile abruptly. As if she could relax
now, she sat down on the cot across the small table and the oil
lamp and said to Ethan with a weird, all too American accent:

“I guess you’re not the only one playing in
the shadows here, Ethan. My real name is Nicole Heurgot; but I’m
Agency.”

Ethan eyes fluttered violently of their own
volition. His hand went instinctively to the Browning laying
reassuringly behind his back, but Nicole urged him:

“No, no. I mean I’m CIA. Please, that’s not
necessary. Really, we’re in this together. I really am Andy’s wife.
It’s just too darn complicated. He doesn’t really know who I work
for. Never did. In a way, I am to blame for what’s happened to
him.”

She looked downcast, glancing at Ethan,
waiting for some kind of explosive reaction, some kind of reproach
or exclamation that never came. Instead, he sat back down on the
chair and looked at Nicole as if she was barely there.

“CIA?”

She nodded slowly. Ethan took a small liquor
bottle out of a chest pocket, opened it and had a swig. He barely
grimaced while the scotch ran down his throat and asked
tersely:

“Some kind of mission, then?”

She nodded with some reluctance this time.
Her face was withdrawn, almost expressionless but for the small,
wordless movements of her mouth. Ethan gulped down another mouthful
and almost yelled incredulously:

“A yank? A bloody yank? You’re telling me my
brother’s married to a bloody yank spy?”

Nicole was staring at him without really
knowing what to say. She half-smiled as if out of politeness and
pressed the question somehow lamely:

“Maybe it’s a lot, but why not?”

Then Ethan broke into a fit of laughter that
completely surprised Nicole, adding:

“He’s going to ask for a divorce when he
finds out, you know. I’m not one for breaking up a marriage, but
when I do tell him - and I will, mind you - the poor fellow will be
demolished. Does he at least know you’re a yank?”

“He does. We were married in Louisiana,
actually.”

“That’s were you’re from then?”

She nodded briskly and added: “Close by.
Trois Rivieres.”

“Kind of makes sense. What about Algiers?
Horseshit?” he asked avidly. She replied with a nod and added:

“Mostly. I was simply posted there when it
went down.”

“So where did you learn to shoot like
that?”

“You know, it does feel kind of liberating to
talk about all this like we’re having a dinner party around
Langley, but I’d have to say I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

“So now what, you’re trying to be
professional for a change? You could’ve killed me back there and
I’d be still thinking the night’s just the thing. Your mission
involved Andy?”

She raised an eyebrow at that and hesitated.
She got up from the cot and told Ethan, her hands in her
pockets:

“I’m not at liberty to discuss that
either.”

Ethan’s grin was replaced by a taut line over
his pursed lips. He sat straight on his chair and said with a hint
of vehemence:

“Horseshit. This isn’t about the job; any
job. It’s about Andy. You said it might’ve been your fault he’s
missing now. Was he part of the mission?”

She gripped her elbows as if a sudden chill
had emptied her body of any warmth. She couldn’t hide the fact she
felt uncomfortable. He told him then with some reticence:

“He… He was my cover. The caravan, was my
cover. I know, the irony?” she said raising a hand dismissively and
went on: “But half the world knows the Red Cross is just another
part of the deal. Andy thought he’d convinced me we were doing the
right thing. In a way, I didn’t need much convincing.”

Ethan let out a long breath and stared at
Nicole for an uncomfortable, long moment. She didn’t seem eager to
challenge his mood. At length, he asked her:

“What happened? I mean, what really
happened?”

“It really was bandits. More like, the
FPLB.”

“The what?”

“The Frontiere Populaire pour la Liberation
de Biafra.”

“Secessionists?”

“Formerly. They’d been convinced to turn
their interests in more lucrative affairs. Running guns.
Information. A little mercenary work.”

Ethan’s eyes trailed Nicole’s face. There was
a strange glitter about them, an icy glow that rendered his gaze
keen like a knife. He seemed to scrutinise her features one by one,
when he finally said:

“You were their handler. The middleman.”

She stared blankly at the wall for a moment
before bowing her head and sighing. She clasped her hands together
and said softly, almost indelibly:

“Yes.”

“And Andy knew shit.”

She nodded with eyes closed. Ethan went for
his pack of cigarettes, shaking his head furtively. She then
cleared her throat and added in a very business-like manner:

“There’s more to it. The guns.”

“You mean the rifle and the Beretta?”

She nodded shallowly. Her face suddenly grew
darker than the ill lamplight could account for:

“There’s more where that came from.”

“Sure. You’ve got connections, right? You
must have had some form of backup.”

“There’s a small network. But that’s not
where I got the guns.”

Ethan’s eyes became narrow at first. When the
fear of realisation began to hit home, his eyes bulged even as he
lit his cigarette. The tip of the cigarette grew glowing red-hot
and he asked through a small fog of smoke: