The Outlaw (16 page)

One foot in front of the other, on they walked, hammered relentlessly by the African sun. Jake's mouth was parched and his eyes ached from the intense light. He could feel Kas close beside him, but for an hour and a half they did not exchange a single word.

At three o'clock they came across a water pump in the middle of nowhere. A beaming African woman interrupted her pumping to let the herders drink directly from the standpipe. Clear, cool water gushed against their palates, ran down their chins, and drenched their robes.

"
Allahu akbar!
"cried Idrissa, drying his face with his sleeve. "I have come back from the dead!"

At that moment Jake heard the choppy whir of rotor blades. A helicopter came into sight, flying low above the treetops and heading their way.

"Hats!" yelled Yakuuba, the first word he had spoken all afternoon.

Boureima threw his herder hat to Jake. Diallo threw his to Kas. The helicopter passed overhead and yammered off toward Kongoussi.

 

When night fell, the herders pitched their camp next to a dry well half a mile south of a village called Sogolzi. While the cows grazed, Idrissa, Diallo, and Boureima performed their twilight prayers—standing, bowing, and kneeling toward the east. Macha went into the village and came back with a bowl of
sagabo,
an enormous whitish dumpling made of maize.

Idrissa nodded ruefully. "You know you are close to Ouagadougou when the only food you can buy is
sagabo.
Thank heaven I have sugar in my satchel."

"I will watch the cows while the rest of you eat," said Yakuuba. He sat down beside the dry well and rested his chin on his hands.

Boureima milked two of the cows, and then the meal began. Crouching around a single bowl, they took turns breaking off handfuls of the still-warm dumpling.

When the bowl was empty, Idrissa reclined on his elbows and sighed. "
Ah hamdilillalay!
" he exclaimed. "God did not give us
nyiiri
tonight, but we have eaten our fill of
sagabo
and we shall still be alive in the morning,
inshallah.
"

The cows were full as well. They stopped grazing, and some of them lay down. Others stood and stared, their crescent horns and parabolic humps silhouetted in the moonlight.

"Where do we sleep?" asked Kas.

"Right here, on God's own mattress," said Idrissa, patting the ground affectionately.

Kas blanched. "What about the snakes?"

"They will sleep on the ground as well."

"No, what I meant was—"

"I know what you meant," said Idrissa, his shoulders shaking with laughter. "Do not worry,
tuubaaku.
I have slept on the ground in the open air too many times to count, and in my whole life I have had only two snake bites."

"
Two?
" Kas did not sound reassured, but she lay down anyway and closed her eyes.

Jake went and sat down next to Yakuuba. "You must be hungry," he said.

Yakuuba shook his head and threw a small stone into the dry well.

"I'm sorry," said Jake. "I should have reacted quicker. I could have grabbed the gun before he started shooting. I was the closest to him. If I had grabbed the gun, you could have come and helped me, and Paaté would be—"

"Paaté would still be dead," said Yakuuba. "Such things are written." He reached into his trouser pocket and took out Jake's phone. "I have never seen a phone like this," he said matter-of-factly.

"It is a clever phone," said Jake, unsure of the French for smartphone.

"It takes pictures?"

"And video."

"Show me."

Jake took the phone and opened up the folder "Africa Vids." The first clip in the folder was the panorama he had captured on arriving at the gold banquet: golden chandeliers and candlesticks, crisp white table linen, shining vases full of fire orchids, and crowds of idle rich.

"Who are all these people?" asked Yakuuba.

"Gold barons. You once haunted their mine."

"
Allahu akbar,
" Yakuuba murmured. "
Hoore waawnde roondaade lefol buge na waawi roondaade ledde.
A head that wears a crown can also carry firewood."

"What does that mean?"

"Two nights ago you feasted in a banqueting hall made of gold, and tonight you ate
sagabo
with your fingers, sitting on the bare ground—" Sor broke off suddenly and craned his neck to stare at the screen up close.

"What's wrong?"

"Play that clip again," said Yakuuba. "Look in the farthest corner of the hall, on the left there in the shadows."

Jake paused the video and pinched the LCD screen to zoom in. "Two men talking," he said. "So what?"

"The one on the left is Commissioner Beogo," said Yakuuba. "And with him, if I am not mistaken, is the man who chased me in Djibo this morning."

Jake looked again. In spite of the low resolution, Beogo was indeed recognizable. As for the other man—Jake zoomed in some more—yes, Yakuuba was right about him, too. It was the
gendarme,
their kidnapper, wearing his waiter disguise.

Jake's head swam. All this time he had been carrying in his pocket the evidence they needed: proof of a link between their kidnapper and Police Commissioner Beogo himself.

"Well spotted, Yakuuba!" he cried. "Just wait until Dad sees this! Beogo is going to have a lot of explaining to do."

"
Faa faa rimataake,
" replied Sor. "Until until is never born! Stay on your guard, my friend—we are not in Ouagadougou yet."

Jake
did not sleep well. Sor's warning to stay on their guard did not help; nor did God's own mattress. When Jake lay on his back, his shoulder blades and tailbone hurt. When he lay on his side, his ribs and pelvis hurt. But most unsettling of all were the terrible memories of the day just gone. Whenever he closed his eyes and began to dream, he saw an action replay of the Kongoussi massacre and woke up with a start. In the end he stopped trying to sleep altogether. He preferred to gaze at the stars all night rather than be forced to revisit that terrible ward one more time.

Kas was having a hard time too. She was curled up in the fetal position with her head in the crook of her arm, but her eyes were wide open.

"Hello," whispered Jake. "Can't you sleep either?"

"No. I keep thinking about—"

"Me too."

"What time is it?"

"Midnight."

Jake sat up and looked around. All the herders were wide-awake. Boureima sat to the north of the cows, Diallo to the east, Macha to the south, and Idrissa to the west.

Suddenly Jake heard the sound of running footsteps right behind him. He jumped up and turned around, blood pounding in his ears.

Yakuuba Sor burst out of the black night, ran around to the south side of the herd, and grabbed Macha by the scruff of the neck. "It was you, wasn't it?" he snarled in French, shaking the lanky herder until his teeth rattled.

"I don't know what you mean!"

"When you went into Sogolzi to buy
sagabo,
you told the villagers about the
tuubaaku
children."

"I never!" Macha shook his head.

Old Idrissa hurried toward them. "Tell him the truth, Macha," he said. "Deceit cannot trick the son of a djinn."

Macha scowled and tried to break away, but to no avail. "All right," he said. "I told the villagers. And they told me about the two-hundred-thousand-franc reward being offered by their father for the return of his children. That money is the reason the Chameleon is so intent on seeing his
tuubaakus
safely home. And that is why he chose us to aid him in his getaway. We are the only four people in the country who have not listened to a radio in the last week.
The only people who would not demand a share of his winnings.
"

Idrissa clapped his wrinkled hand over Macha's mouth. "Enough of your babbling," he cried. "The Friends of the Poor are only one step lower than the angels of heaven themselves. If you ever again insult the Chameleon in my presence, I will take my staff to you."

Macha scowled, and fierce tears welled in his eyes.

Yakuuba let go of the herder's scrawny neck. "I forgive you, Macha," he said. "After seven sunny days and seven wakeful nights even the strongest head may addle. As for the reward—"

"No!" cried Idrissa. "We do not want to hear it. You have always done what is right, Yakuuba, and you have our absolute trust. The important thing now is that we plan our next step wisely. What are the men of Sogolzi doing?"

"The elders are talking in the Palaver Hut," said Yakuuba. "They are planning to capture the
tuubaakus
by force and claim the reward for themselves. The young men of the village will attack us within the hour."

"We shall fight them off!" cried Diallo, unsheathing his machete.

"We would not stand a chance. The village of Sogolzi has thirty fighting men."

"Then we must run away!"

"Impossible," said Yakuuba. "They have two horses and eight motorcycles. They would catch us easily." He closed his eyes and thought for a very long time. "Idrissa," he said at last. "How much sugar do you have left?"

"A one-pound bag."

"That will suffice," the outlaw said, then turned to Jake and looked him up and down. "I am sorry,
tuubaaku
"

"Why are you sorry?" asked Jake, the hairs rising on the back of his neck.

"I am sorry for what I am about to ask of you. Tonight you are going to make a very great sacrifice."

Salif
Yako, eldest son of the village chief, donned his leather hunting boots, slung a quiver of arrows over his shoulder, picked up his bow, and hurried outside to join his men in front of the village mosque. He stepped up before them and shone his flashlight over the ranks. The Sogolzi fighting core was a spirited rabble composed of farmers, hunters, and blacksmiths. They were passionate and loyal and long overdue for a scrap.

The men were armed each according to his trade: The farmers wielded hoes and machetes, the hunters carried bows and slingshots, the blacksmiths had brought clubs and hammers. Some of the men carried kerosene lamps, others held flashlights, and their ranks pulsed with fiery optimism. Tonight the numbers were clearly on their side—thirty experienced fighting men versus five cattle drivers and two children. If they got the pitched battle they longed for, it would very soon be over.

Salif led his men out of the village and across the plain toward the herders' camp, a distance of about half a mile. But when they arrived, the camp was empty. A wisp of smoke rose from the campfire. Cattle tracks led southward into the night.

"This cattle dung is fresh!" cried Bukari the hunter. "They are not long gone. If we move fast, we will overtake them within the hour."

"After them!" cried a blacksmith, waving his club high in the air.

"Don't let them get away!"

"Wait!" Something had caught Salif's attention—a square of parchment skewered on the thorns of an acacia tree. "They have left a message for us. Do any of you men know how to read Arabic?"

Faruk the maize farmer stepped forward. "My grandfather was an imam," he said. "He taught me Arabic when I was just a lad." Faruk took the parchment and examined the spidery writing. "'The wealth you seek is in the well.'"

"In the well, he says!"

"The wealth we seek is in the well!"

All thirty men rushed to the dry well. They shone their flashlights down the shaft, but it was fifty meters deep, and even with their flashlights they could not see the bottom.

"Listen!" cried Salif. "I think there's somebody down there."

The men shushed each other loudly and then fell silent.

"Help!" A frightened English voice came from the well. "Somebody please help!"

"That's
tuubaaku
language!" whispered Salif. "Those fiends have thrown the
tuubaaku
boy into the well."

They listened again, and now there were two voices shouting in unison, a boy and a girl. The girl was sobbing as she shouted for help, a truly heart-wrenching sound.

"Why would the herders disappear and leave both of their
tuubaakus
down the well?" said Hassan.

"They must have known we were coming," said Faruk.

"I agree," said Salif. "They dared not fight, so instead they have given us what we wanted."

A murmur of disappointment rippled through the ranks. Those feeble cattle drivers had handed Sogolzi the victory and spoiled all the fun. The bows and hoes would not be called upon tonight. But at least the
tuubaakus
were now in their possession. With judicious negotiation, perhaps they could persuade the father to double the reward.

"Somebody get us out of here!" The children were getting desperate now, and their faint but frantic shouts from the well brought the men back to the task at hand.

"How are we going to get the
tuubaakus
out?" asked Bogodolo the blacksmith, ever practical. "Those vagabonds have cut off the rope at the crossbar."

"So they have!"

"They've taken our rope!"

"The rope is down here!" yelled the girl in the well, and this time she spoke French. "They threw the rope in after us!"