You know, 29 years ago in Sierra Leone there was a farmer named Samwel Zuma who had the audacity to identify several low level Mombasa operatives to local authorities. The cartel massacred the entire family. All but the youngest son. He was sold to a local ring of flesh peddlers. The majority of children in those circumstances don't last more than nine months. He survived eight years. He was 14 when I found him. Too old. Too tall. Too angry and dangerous to be of any further value. He was left to die chained to a standpipe in the basement of a squalid brothel in Nairobi. Branded. Burned. Barely alive. So I took him. Made him well. Saw to his education. He graduated university with a Bachelor's in English Literature. He speaks four languages fluently and can get by in half a dozen more. He is…splendid. His name is Dembe. Dembe Zuma.
Red Reddington
The two men were in the car; one driving, the other sitting in the back seat watching the scenery go by. Geoff Perl was newly dead, much to the satisfaction of the rider and the acceptance of the driver.
Dembe felt as if he should say something to change the focus and mood in the car. He knew that chastising Red for killing Perl was a waste of time. He knew why Red had done it. Red had always and would always do what he felt necessary to protect him and right whatever wrongs had been done to him. A thought occurred to him that caused him to smile.
Red had glanced forward just in time to catch sight of the smile in the rearview mirror. "What?"
"Do you remember the first time we hugged?"
Red's smile matched the younger man's. "Yes, I do. Like it was yesterday."
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Red was living in Paris, but was in Nairobi, Kenya looking after one of his many business ventures. His associate, Jomo Abasi, was not his favorite person to deal with, but he knew how to get things done. Besides, this final deal would conclude their association and his time in Kenya.
The two men were in a Nairobi neighborhood that was not the best or the safest to meet with Abasi's contact to collect the information Red needed to solidify his mining holdings. Abasi had his own personal security detail so neither man anticipated any problem.
Jomo had explained to Red that his contact owned a brothel, but when they entered, he twisted his lips in distaste when he noticed the females and males all appeared to be young teenagers and, in some cases, preteens.
As if reading his thoughts, Jomo said, "Do not say anything, Mr. Reddington. I do not approve of this either, but he was the only person who could do what we needed."
A man came out of an office. "Welcome, welcome! Please, come in, have a seat." They followed him inside as Jomo's guards took up positions right outside the door. As they sat, he asked, "May I get you some tea? Or something stronger?"
Jomo raised his hand. "No, thank you. My colleague and I cannot stay long. Mr. Owite, this is Mr. Reddington."
Red stood long enough to shake Owite's hand. "How do you do? Mr. Abasi is correct; I must leave shortly. Do you have what was requested?"
Owite sighed, "Americans; you are always in such a rush. You need to slow down and learn to appreciate life. Fine. The information is in my basement safe. Have your car brought around the corner. There is an exit down there. I prefer that you not be seen leaving my premises. Bad for business."
They followed him downstairs and when Owite went into another room where the safe was, Red surveyed the darkened room in which they stood. In one corner, a pile of dirty blankets sat next to a mop and bucket. Red was turning to look at something else when movement in his peripheral vision made him look back at the pile. To his horror, he saw a child lying there. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed as he went to the boy's side. "I won't hurt you," he said when the boy's eyes widened and he scurried back to put his back against the wall, "My name is Red. Let me help you stand." That was when he saw that the boy was chained to a pipe running along the wall.
"Here you are, Mr. Reddington," Owite said as he came back into the room. He handed the papers to Jomo. "Be careful, Mr. Reddington; that one is dangerous."
Red turned to glare at the man. "Dangerous? He's covered in filth, looks like he hasn't had a proper meal in weeks and you think he's dangerous? He's a child!"
"A dangerous child. If you feel so strongly about him being in that position, I will sell him to you."
Red looked at the boy chained to the wall by a pipe. The eyes that met his were full of intelligence and fear. "Do you understand English?" Red asked and when the boy nodded. Red turned his attention back to Mr. Owite. "What is his name and how much for him?"
Jomo started to voice his objection, but the look Red shot him cowed him into silence.
Sensing money to be made, Owite replied, "His name is Dembe. Dembe Zuma. Fourteen years old. And you can have him for two thousand American dollars."
Red pulled his wallet from his inner jacket pocket and counted out two thousand dollars. "Here. Unchain him. Now. I have to leave."
Mr. Owite took the money and produced a key from his pocket. He unlocked the chains and stepped back. "I think I got the better end of that deal, Mr. Reddington."
"I don't," Red replied before pulling his gun and placing a bullet between his eyes to the astonishment of Mr. Abasi and Dembe. He reached down and snatched the money he had just given Owite back. He looked at Dembe and said, "You have no reason to trust me, but listen to me. You do not belong to me or anyone. I want you to come with me. I will see that you are brought to your full potential, but if you do not wish to, you do not have to. But make up your mind now because we are leaving."
Red and Abasi started walking quickly toward the exit. After a moment's hesitation, Dembe followed. The car took them directly to Nairobi Airport where Red and Mr. Abasi said their goodbyes and Red and Dembe boarded Red's private jet. Dembe was immediately dispatched to the shower to strip and clean himself. The skinny boy was swimming in Red's clothing, but it was clean and smelled good. The rags he had been wearing were placed in a plastic bag and thrown into an incinerator after they landed in France.
Dembe's entire life from the ages of six to fourteen was a never ending nightmare of rape, betrayal and pain. From the moment he got on that plane, he never looked back. He feared the white man who had bought him from his captor, but was fascinated by the fact that this same man had killed Owite, seemingly for him, and had told him he belonged to no one but himself.
Red hired tutors for him and was thrilled when they reported that this young boy hungered for knowledge and soaked it up like a sponge. As fast they introduced material to him was how fast he learned it. After six years of home schooling, he qualified to enter a university in England where he majored in English Literature and minored in Languages. His graduation day was one of the proudest of his life and Red Reddington, the man who had made it possible, sat in the front row of the ceremony beaming with pride as he received his diploma.
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"You were twenty – two years old and home for Christmas break your sophomore year. You walked in the door and I shook your hand and said 'Merry Christmas.' You had filled out and gotten taller. You were home for a week when you came to me and asked if you could ask me something. When I said 'Of course' you said, 'I have watched you for years greet friends and acquaintances with hugs and kisses, but you have never attempted to hug or kiss me. Why is that?'"
Dembe laughed and said, "I remember. You said, 'I never wanted you to think that I was anything like the men who had used you. I had decided that you would have to approach me for affection. I never wanted you to think my interest in you was sexual.'"
It was Red's turn to smile. "You came to me and said, 'I know your intentions toward me are honorable. I know…I know you love me.' And then, you stepped closer and threw your arms around me. I was so moved, I hugged you tightly and kissed your cheek."
"And now, if I am out of your sight for more than two days, I know I will be hugged and kissed when I do see you!"
"It's your own fault, Dembe! When you let me know you were ready for my affection, you opened a door that cannot be shut. I am not one to say 'I love you.' I believe my actions speak for themselves. And your actions tell me: My love is reciprocated. That is all I need to know."
Dembe absorbed what he had been told. After a few moments of silence, he asked, "Red, when do you think you will hug and kiss Lizzie?"
Red looked into the rearview mirror and locked eyes with the man he regarded as his son. "When she is ready."