On the riverside of promise (22 page)

As he did so, she finally grabbed the gun and
breathing heavily brought it to bear against Ethan, who missed her
for an arm’s reach.

“Don’t move!” she shouted above the
thundering roar of the rain and carefully tried to stand back up on
her feet.

“I won’t if you put the gun away,” Ethan
managed to reply through heavy, pained breaths in between.

“You throw away the knife and start running
before I change my mind,” she said as she barely lowered her
aim.

That tiny slice of time was enough for Ethan
to lunge forward as he swiveled his torso sideways, trying to
present a smaller target. The gun didn’t go off but a rather hollow
click was heard; Nicole was already running away towards the
burning grove behind them, tossing the now useless gun away and
cursing:

“Merd!”

Ethan was right behind her, only two or
perhaps three steps short. She ran through thick brushes nimbly
without looking back, swerving this way and that, changing
direction as if following an unseen trail. Ethan felt he was
falling behind, but he couldn’t risk throwing the knife at her; he
had to catch up somehow.

In front of them the grove had turned into a
smoldering ring of trees and bushes, the small nests of fire slowly
dying away as rain fell and the napalm mix burned off. The stench
of burned human flesh, an acrid, sickly sweet smell assaulted him
and made him queasy. He kept on running, even though his lungs had
started to burn; the gasoline fumes from the napalm, and the
exertion from the hand-fighting were taking their toll.

Nicole jumped above small sizzling logs and
pools of mud; once or twice she slipped and lost her footing only
to regain it not a moment too soon, with Ethan’s hand outstretched
right behind her.

Frustrated and exhausted, Ethan thought she
was actually going to get away. He made a final push and leaped
after Nicole more so in faith and hope; as he did so, Nicole
stumbled on something on the ground and fell head-first on a sheet
of thin slippery mud.

She tried to get up but Ethan had already
fallen right on top of her. She heard him then, breathing
laboriously, probably in as much pain as her:

“You’re a real bitch, d’you know?” he said as
he immediately grabbed her arms behind her back, causing her to let
out a cry of pain.

“They thought so too, but they’re dead,” she
said as she flinched and relaxed her body, yielding to Ethan.

“Well I’m not just anyone. I’m your brother
in law, remember?” he said with a smirk and scrounged up his face
from the terrible stench.

“I would’ve shot you in the leg so I could
get away.”

“Good thing that priest of yours didn’t keep
it fully loaded then. We’ll never know now, will we? Up. Up,” he
said with an authoritative voice, urging Nicole on her feet. She
saw that she had stumbled on a charred corpse, frozen in a bizarre
stance. She suddenly became sick, while Ethan produced an extra
pair of shoe laces from one of his pants' pockets.

“Up against that tree,” he said and pushed
her, both hands holding her arms behind her back like grappling
hooks. She complied almost meekly and using his weight he pinned
her against the trunk of a tree that hadn’t been engulfed in the
flames of napalm. He tied her just enough so that blood barely
flowed and then grabbed her from an arm, before leading her back
towards the church.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked,
exhaustion trimming her voice.

“To Andy,” he said flatly.

“I told you, there’s no way we could-”

Ethan interrupted her with a violent tug:

“Shut up and walk. We’ll be at the
rendezvous.”

“There’s no-”

He turned her around and grabbed her face,
his words coming out harsh and accusing:

“Maybe you’re thicker than you look. Those
numbers back there, on Likembe's desk, those were coordinates.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she said sniffing
sorely.

“Is it now? What about your so called
friends?”

“There are no friends in this business,” she
said as Ethan let go of her face.

“So, let’s make this a family affair. Shall
we?” he said and pushed Nicole towards the church, as the rain
continued to fall.

* * *

James was sitting at his office, his
shoulders tense with impatience. At a corner of his desk sat an
empty glass jug, filled with sagged, dried out lemons; it had been
sitting there for days.

He threw cursive glances at the phone, as if
he was trying to make it ring. When it did though, the voices of
the men that talked to him rang hollow in his ears. He rarely
answered in anything other than a curt, official tone; he could
hardly remember what had been going on around Headquarters for the
past couple of days.

There were reports and briefings, both from
the British and their own intelligence branch; there were troop
assessments and updated maps, but there was nothing very
intelligent about them. Whatever Lagos thought about the war had
little to do with the war itself; and those on the front had little
idea of what they were actually doing, other than pushing forward,
shooting at everything that moved.

But that was just hazy imagery in James’
mind’s eye. What he longed and waited for wasn’t in those reports.
He was waiting for a phone call that never seemed to come. It had
been days since Ethan had left; no contact whatsoever. It was a
feat in itself keeping him loosely tracked by filling in the gaps
from all the reports he could get his hands on.

He’d reached Owerri for sure, that much he
knew; it wasn’t hard to find an Englishman, even amongst all the
chaos and death. Especially when he made such dramatic appearances
like the one in Onitsha. He didn’t expect him to have it in him;
and there was no real chance the incident at the bar wasn’t Ethan’s
handiwork.

It had began to take shape; everything was
coming together nicely. All those years before, he could have never
expected things to turn out that way; he had never expected fate to
turn the cards in his favor. If only Enkele were still alive, he
would taste the changing age, and know that it wasn’t all for
naught.

The white elephant’s days are over, thought
James. It’s our turn now, brother.

He had stopped the ceiling fan; the window
blinds were closed but still the heat was almost unbearable. Sweat
ran down his forehead and his cheeks. It touched his lips and he
tasted it; it was sour and salty, with a hint of bitterness.

It must be all those lemons in the tea.

The phone rang and James heartbeat went
racing. He looked at the telephone in awe, as if it was a thing of
magic, a powerful beast in hiding. It rang twice more before James
snapped out of his stupor and picked up the receiver hesitantly. A
voice on the other end reported name and rank curtly and added in
Yoruba:

“Your presence is required in the radio room,
sir.”

“Concerning?” blurted James with
annoyance.

“Operation Castor,” replied the subordinate
hesitantly.

James eyes lit up suddenly and his face
became slack. Sweat ran down the edge of his mouth which curled up
suddenly in a grin.

“I'm coming down there. Don't lose contact or
I'll have you shot,” he said, dropped the phone receiver and
stormed outside his office.

His mind raced with the last details. It
would probably be a matter of few hours, no more than a couple of
days at the most for this blasted ordeal to end. He hadn't expected
the waiting would have been so unforgiving; all he could do was
wait, hope and remember.

James went down the flights of stairs fast,
with practiced ease. Officers and guards along the way to the radio
room had saluted but he had paid them no attention; they were
nothing more than dark shadows in his eyes.

When he reached the radio room, he motioned
the guard to stand aside. The guard seemed to hesitate for the
barest moment, but a mere look from James made him move aside and
let him enter. The radio room was a small, crammed affair with
three radio sets, matching operators and a young lieutenant in
charge. He was still holding up the headphone set, when he saluted
and addressed James with fear concealed in his voice:

“Major, sir.”

James grabbed the headphones and said with
authority:

“Everyone out. You do not have the clearance
for this communique.”

The lieutenant looked surprised instantly. He
was about to say something when James told him through gritted
teeth:

“Get out.”

The young lieutenant nodded, saluted and
motioned the men to follow him outside. When they closed the door
behind them, James wore the headphone set and said with expectation
into the attached microphone:

“Ethan? Do you copy? Ethan? This is
James.”

There was some static and a lot of
interference when James heard Ethan's voice crackle and fizz
through the headphones:

“James? I copy but there's lot's of
noise.”

“It's good to hear you, Ethan. Where are
you?” said James urgently. After a short moment, the reply came in
equally poor:

“Never mind that, it's a miracle this radio's
intact. I've got Andy's location. I'm getting him back. Give me two
days; come by nightfall. That landing zone near Omuku should fit
the bill.”

“Where is Andy? How did you find him?” asked
James with genuine interest in his voice:

“It's a hell of a story, James. Let's talk it
over a stiff one, all three of us,” said Ethan through a hail of
noise.

“I read that, Ethan. At nightfall, two days
from now. Near Omuku. Do you copy that?” said James slowly, clearly
and loudly. A moment later Ethan replied:

“I copy, James. I owe you one.”

“You sure do, Ethan. Good luck and godspeed.
Over and out,” said James and changed the channel on the radio.
Nothing other than a loud buzz of static came through the earpiece.
He took the headset off and tossed it on the small desk. He opened
the door, saluted the men standing outside and walked away without
a word, his face a stony mask.

When he went back to his office, he sat on
his desk and sighed with relief. A moment later he was peeking
through the window blinds; he looked at the garden plaza and saw
the same, tiny swarm of men that he saw everyday.

They haven’t got a clue. Poor bastards.

He shook his head, picked up the phone
receiver and dialed a single digit. An operator came on the line,
and James told him in his professional, strict manner:

“Get me flight operations.”

The bonds that tie

It was almost dawn. They were walking slowly,
Nicole leading the way while a few feet behind her Ethan traced the
tiny path in front of them, mindful of his surroundings. His eyes
darted this way and that with a nervousness compounded by the lack
of sleep. Each tree, bush and grove ahead seemed to him a perfect
place for an ambush, but none carried the tell-tale signs. Nature
all around them continued to be ever present; the plentiful cries
of small monkeys and night-birds mingled with the brushing up of
leaves from small rodents and the occasional snake or lizard.

The wet ground teemed with rotting
vegetation; it was the rain season after all. It made walking an
unpleasant experience, since the earth below one’s feet shifted,
the feeling of mushy undergrowth around one’s ankles weighing on
every step. Ethan had learned his way around such marshy terrain
but that did not make it agreeable at all.

A distinctive shrieking cry pierced the air
around them and Ethan felt a sudden swoosh of air. His eyes barely
caught the glimpse of a bird sweeping up and away into the rosy red
sky with some small prey wriggling in its feet.

“Bloody thing caught me off guard,” said
Ethan mostly to himself.

“That’s a harrier,” said Nicole

“A what?”

“A kind of hawk. Weird though; that was an
African marsh harrier.”

“This is a swamp,” said Ethan and gestured
around them, prodding Nicole with one hand to keep moving, while
all the while he kept looking around, as if waiting for more of the
damnable birds, or perhaps something really dangerous to make an
appearance.

“It’s a forest,” said Nicole as she minded
her steps through a thick, rustling brush. “Obofia forest,
actually. It’s more of a swamp, granted, but it’s not a marsh.
Marshes don’t have trees,” she said, with evident enmity in her
voice.

“I’m not interested in natural science.
You’ve kept your mouth shut about Andy, so all you’re useful for is
getting me to this rendezvous of yours.”

“What rendezvous?” she asked in a
provocatively nonchalant manner, as if they were taking a stroll
through the woods.

Ethan paused for a moment and yanked the rope
that bound Nicole’s hands behind her back, signaling her to
stop.

“Look at me!” he said hoarsely, his voice
rife with indignation. She did not comply, but rather stood there,
trying to straighten out her back, sore from all the walking with
her hands tied so uncomfortably.