POCKET CHANGE 2: A GAME OF CARDS
by Sharon R.
Chapter Twenty
MONDAY
"Maggie," Carter almost pleaded, "I have to find him."
Carter stood there with the picture, GPS and scribbled note in his hand looking around frantically as he tried to figure out where to start his search for Luka. He left camp this morning - that's what Norman had said. Left camp this morning.
"What?" Maggie had figured out that Colleen had been using them, but Carter's sudden need to get to Luka was puzzling. "What the hell is wrong? Is he in trouble?"
"Um, yeah, it's very possible." I told him what she told me. That she was off to do an investigative story on that one armed rebel.
"But Carter… John, he's not stupid. He's not going to go run into danger on purpose."
"No. He's not. But if he's going where I think he is, he's falling right into a trap." Carter raked his hair back with his hands. He and Luka had both let their hair go and the sweat and humidity pasted the tips of the long strands over his ears and eyes. "She has him so blinded. Damn it!"
Carter walked back into the hanger straight to his room where he turned in a circle as if looking for the answer.
"John, what's going on?" Maggie stood in the doorway, her arms folded in front of her. "What's in that picture that got you all upset?"
Carter looked at it once more before turning it over to Maggie. "These are proofs, actually."
"I thought she was a prize winning journalist. I haven't seen proofs like these in years," Maggie said as she looked them over. "Wouldn't she do things digitally, or via computer?"
"See any computers around here? Or in the Congo?"
The black and white photo was filled with several pictures, more than a dozen. Maggie 'read' the photos left to right scanning them for anything familiar. "Hey, is that…?" She brought the photo closer to her face, then up into the light. "Is that the one armed guy we lost?"
Carter nodded waiting for her to see the rest.
"And I've seen this picture before. Somewhere." Maggie pointed to one picture in the middle. "Where have I…?"
Carter stared at her not wanting to have to explain it all.
"Yeah. I remember now," she said as she continued looking at the face in the picture. "This was a front page photo in a paper I read a while back. Something about politics, or leaders. But I can't remember his name."
"Jules Akonda-Bouche." He felt the hairs stand up on his arms and a shiver run from his head to the base of his spine as he said it.
"So what does this have to do with Luka, and you, and Colleen?"
"Maggie, this is the guy." Carter exhaled once before going on. "This is the guy who kidnapped us, and had me tortured, and played sick mind games with Luka."
"And he's a public figure in the Congo. Why would it be unusual for someone like Colleen to take pictures of him?"
"It's not that. Look, she has lied all along. Pretended not to know him, or the Romano guy and the GPS thing. She obviously placed those drugs out in the perimeter for him. She arranged the ambush to get the supplies." It was almost as though he listed the evidence out loud to verify what he had figured out. "She's been stealing them all along and planting ideas in Luka's head about me. And when you put it all together, it's obvious she's doing it for him, probably for the photo ops."
Maggie pointed at the very last picture in the lower right hand corner. "And it looks like they have a very comfy professional relationship." Looking closer, Carter saw a posed picture of Jules, Romano, an unknown woman and Colleen. All very happy, arms around each other. "Why would she put herself in a picture?"
Carter snickered to himself. "It's a quirky photographer thing. My cousin, Chase, was a photographer. When on assignment for some event that will make big news, a lot of times the photographer will include himself - or herself - in one picture on the roll to prove the authenticity. Make sure nobody else lays claim to them." Carter's train of thought was suddenly broken. "Where are Romano's personal belongings?"
"Last I saw, they were in a box under a table in the treatment area."
The two ran back through the clinic where Maggie looked under the table and retrieved the box. Reaching in she did a quick inventory.
"Anything missing?" Carter asked.
"Yeah. The GPS, and…" Maggie rummaged deeper as a look of concern crossed her face. "… and Carter, the gun isn't here."
"Shit!" Carter raised a fist and gritted his teeth before turning once again and heading back to his room, Maggie quick to follow.
"Uh-oh, where are you going? Carter? What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that he believes that Colleen is unwittingly headed into Jules' hands."
"Well, she is."
"No, Maggie you don't get it. Luka thinks that Colleen is innocent, naïve, whatever. He doesn't know what we know. He doesn't know that Colleen is probably well known there." Carter haphazardly groped through his own belongings throwing a few into a small backpack. "He's off trying to get to her and save her before she gets to Jules because Luka knows what pure evil that man is. He's trying to save someone who doesn't need saving."
"Seems to me she's harboring a little of that evil too."
"I've got to get to him."
"No, you have to make contact with the authorities over there," Maggie countered, "and let them take care of it."
"Authorities?" Carter responded in amazement. "There is no authority over there, at least not like we know it. There are only rebel factions fighting each other and now it looks like their loyalty is being forced in one direction." Again, Carter turned around in his little bedroom looking for answers, closing his eyes tight occasionally as he fought with his own brain - his own common sense- to find the solution. And then he saw it.
The vest.
He walked over to the corner and pulled it out from behind the box of journals he had kicked across the room the previous night. He stood there staring at it, turning it over in his hands. "What was his name," he mumbled to himself under his breath. "What was it?"
"Carter?"
He zoned out away from Maggie as he slipped the vest on around his torso. It felt odd dressing like one of them. What was his name? His hands harboring the flaps of the vest to his chest wall,Carter stood still, eyes looking down, yet shifting back and forth as he made his plans.
"John?" Maggie looked at his eyes trying to gain entrance to that soul she thought she'd known so well. "What is it?"
His ID hung around his neck, he checked and made sure, before slipping it inside his shirt. He sat down and changed out of his sneakers and into hiking boots making sure the laces were sturdy and tight. His name….
"Oh, no. John are you leaving camp?"
"Emile," Carter finally remembered, "Emile dia Wamba." He said it a couple more times to set it in his memory. "Emile dia Wamba."
Carter grabbed his backpack and walked across the hall to the supply room and loaded it with supplies - vials of xylocaine and vancomyacin, trays of antibiotic ADD-vantages and piggy back IV bags for reconstitution, needles and syringes, suture material, needle drivers, scissors, forceps, bottles of oral antibiotics and NSAIDs, and anything that looked like the camp could do without until the next delivery. And something he thought he would never take, never steal again. Three vials each of morphine, demerol and fentanyl. Gold.
"Carter?" Maggie was useless as she followed him around like a pesky insect. "You can't just take this stuff."
"I bought it. I can take it. And I'm sure I'll buy some more." He barely acknowledged her presence as he scanned the room one more time. Out the back door of the hanger and Carter quickly made his way to the Midway where he loaded up on bottled water.
"Carter, where are you going?"
"Stay here, Maggie." He was on the move, on a mission. Walking as quickly as he could he found the jeep that he'd driven Todd's body back in, and the keys were right there. Couldn't have planned it better, he thought as he nearly let his eyes miss the dried blood that splayed over the tailgate - still.
"Dr. Carter," a voice called to him as he started the engine. "Excuse me, Dr. Carter, but are you leaving camp too?"
"Have to get someplace, Mr. Tyson." Carter stashed his backpack behind his seat next to the red gas cans, giving them a quick shake to make sure they were filled.
"And you, Dr. Doyle?"
As Carter started the engine, Maggie sat in the seat next to him. "Yep."
"But who's left here?"
"You have two relief docs here. Sean will be back tomorrow," Maggie answered.
"You're not coming with me," Carter told her quietly as he put the Jeep in gear.
"Oh, yes, I am." She latched her lap belt and settled back.
He didn't have time to do battle with her. "You drive stick?" She nodded. "Okay, but you're not going all the way."
"What about the camp?" Norman asked almost in a panic.
"Don't worry, Mr. Tyson," Carter told him as he looked over his sunglasses, "the camp runs itself."
"But there has to be someone in charge."
"Well, Norman," Maggie called out as they drove off, "it's your lucky day. You're in charge. Make me proud," she called without looking back.
Carter couldn't help but snicker inside. Maggie fit in well at the camp after all.
"Shouldn't we stop and get Othiamba?" Maggie asked as they turned onto the road from the gate.
"Don't have time, don't know where he is. Besides, he'd chain me to a chair to keep me here."
"I should have thought of that first," Maggie thought aloud. "Where are we going, exactly?"
Her question wasn't answered as Carter concentrated on the road in front of him and sunk himself into deep thought, bad memories and ultimately his goal at hand.
"John, why? Do you think you're the best one for the job?"
Carter pulled over and stopped abruptly. "Because I know the country. I've lived there, I've have had to find my way in and out of there." He was cocky, perhaps arrogant, most probably justified. "I know the people."
"And they know you. Look what they did to you before."
"They didn't. He did. The people there are being held hostage too. They just don't have a rich family to provide ransom. In case you've forgotten, Toomay and her children are Congolese as are all those other families we've grown close to back there. That man doesn't define the people of the Congo. Not yet, at least."
"But…"
"Maggie, I have to do this. Look, Luka had several opportunities to escape, but he didn't. He stayed behind with me because I was too injured and sick. He made sure we had a chance to get out together when all along he didn't know if he'd even be included in the ransom demand made to my family. At least I had that to hope for. He had nothing. But he stayed. And now I owe it to him."
"Just how ruthless is this man?"
Carter's clenched jaw finally loosened up and wavered from side to side as if testing the hinges before he answered. "On our last day in captivity, we were taken on a march through the jungle, blindfolded. It was long and grueling. We were put to our knees with guns held to our heads." He couldn't look at her - knew he wouldn't be able to tell her about it if he did. Instead he stared down at the worn steering wheel. "When we came to our senses and got our blindfolds off we were all alone in the middle of nowhere. And lying next to Luka with his head blown away was Toomay's husband - our friend. We didn't even know he'd been taken." Carter mindlessly rubbed his hands together as he squeezed his eyes open and shut a few times. "Joseph Bisango. Translator, tour guide, engineer, friend…"
The two sat momentarily in silence, the warm late day dry winds whipping their hair, their exposed skin feeling the heat of the sun. He had to do this, Carter knew it. Depressing the clutch and throwing the Jeep into first gear, they continued on, driving in silence, Carter contemplating his next move, Maggie just now understanding that part of Carter and Luka that had been so elusive.
The long drive on the highway came to an end after a couple of hours when Carter turned off and parked near a rickety looking bridge. He sat and looked across to the other side before turning off the engine and grabbing his backpack.
"Make a right onto the road and drive straight back to the camp. You have just enough time before it gets dark," he told Maggie. "Don't stop for anything except to gas up. You hear me?"
"No, I'm coming with you," she told him as she got out of the Jeep.
Carter stepped around the Jeep and put his hand on her shoulder, and not so subtly pushed her back into the seat. "No, you're not. Go home, Maggie. There's danger over there that I can't protect you from." He was serious and she knew it.
"Where are you going? There's nobody even here."
Carter again looked to the other side of the bridge. "Oh, they're there." Hoisting the pack on his back he stepped onto the bridge. He wouldn't turn back, he couldn't.
"John, be careful."
Maggie watched as Carter carefully walked over the bridge to the other side where, almost magically, a group of straggly looking pseudo soldiers with large guns slung over their shoulders emerged from the dark woods covering the other side. She squinted through the hazy sun as Carter conversed with them, pointed towards the woods and finally reached into his pack and passed over many of the supplies he had taken from the clinic. The last thing he did before disappearing through the blanket of green and brown foliage was point back at Maggie. She didn't know what he meant and jumped out of the Jeep intent on following him. Half way across the bridge she was met by the same men, only this time their guns were in front of them pointed at her. She could tell even before they got within ten feet of her that they hadn't bathed in weeks. One of them shook his head and pointed towards the jeep. The other waved his hand at her, taking steps forward until she got the hint and backed away. She understood now. Carter not only paid them to let him in, but to also keep her out.
"Emile dia Wamba." That's all he had to say. It was like a magic password. "Emile dia Wamba." In like Flynn, his grandfather would have said. In like Flynn, but now at the mercy of the two men who took him on the next part of his journey. Carter hated himself for being so pig headed in Ikela when Joseph and Luka were trading language lessons. If he'd stuck around he could have had an elementary understanding of Lingala and not be so unsure of what the men leading him were talking about as they chomped on the ends of their stubbed out cigar butts and whacked away at the dense foliage with their machetes.
Long after darkness, a couple hours into their trek, they finally stopped. And just like in a fantasy driven Wizard of Oz kind of way, the rebels each pulled back a curtain of leaves and vines revealing a village of huts and small houses. People milled about, children laughed and played. It was a community - one where weapons from knives to grenade launchers out numbered people - but a community nonetheless.
When the inhabitants saw Carter, they ran to him, recognizing the white doctor from before. Children high-fived him, the littlest ones raising their arms wanting to be picked up. The commotion brought the leader from the confines of his hut, and he too walked over to Carter, extending his hand in a warm handshake, while patting him on the back and pointing at the vest with the other.
"Bonsoir, Dr. Carter. Comment allez-vous?"
Great, he thought. French. "Très bien, merci." He reminded himself to take that eccentric French-Canadian gay guy in Medical Waste up on his offer of French lessons when he got back to Chicago. If he got back there.
"Non Rouge?" Emile asked.
"Rouge? Excusez-moi," Carter asked confused. "Red?"
"Oui. Rouge. Mademoiselle Colleen."
"Oh. Colleen." It made Carter chuckle in a sick sort of way to think that she had a rebel street name. "Non, non Rouge." He looked down at the leg he had previously sutured, remembering the rather large knife strapped to the calf very well. "How's the leg? La jambe?"
"Oh! Bien. Très bien." He pulled his pant leg up and proudly displayed his almost healed wound.
"Emile, pouvez-vous m'aider?" Somebody had better help him, he thought, before he ran out of the few French phrases he knew and started unintentionally insulting people.
"Oui. Oui."
Good. He was all too willing.
"Pour aller à Jules Akonda-Bouche?" Carter hoped he had asked how to get to that piece of shit, but by the looks on their faces he may have said something to start World War Three.
"Um, vous pouver de… um…no," He scratched his head. "Oh shit… okay," he took a deep breath and spoke very haltingly one word at a time: "Vous pouvez me faire un dessin avec les directions?" He grimaced as he looked at Emile who stood with a blank look on his face. "I'm sorry, my French sucks." He said to himself knowing it wouldn't matter.
"Yes, it surely does." A young man stepped from behind Emile and shook Carter's hand.
"I know you?" Carter asked of the vaguely familiar man.
"Yes, I am Emile's oldest son, Lamia. I think last time we met we were on a mission, you could say."
"You speak very good English, Lamia."
"Yes, well, my father insisted on it. Sent me away to school."
"And brought you back to this?"
"I guess you could say it is the family business." Lamia laughed and Carter laughed with him while inside curdling at the thought of being prideful about this sort of 'business'. "Now, what can we do for you?"
Carter cleared his throat. "Well, I'm looking for a friend. Another doctor. He might be in trouble and I think if I can find this Jules Akonda-Bouche I can find my friend."
Lamia translated for his father who then asked a question back. "You know Jules?"
Know Jules. Hmm. Carter paused while he figured out how to diplomatically answer that one. "Let's just say I have had business dealings with him in the past."
More talking went on between the two men before Emile gave Carter another pat on the back and turned to go back to his hut. "My father says that he would be glad to help you, that he owes you at least that much, but that you must be careful."
"Well, thank you. Tell him… later I guess, that I appreciate it."
"We will leave tomorrow at first light. I will take you myself."
"Tomorrow?" Carter asked concerned about the head start Luka already had on him. "I'm afraid I won't get to him in time."
Lamia laughed again. "No, not to worry. Nobody travels at night. I guarantee you that your friend is not moving around the country right now. I'm sure he's resting very comfortably for the night."
TUESDAY NOON
Maggie had paced circles around the hanger, both inside and out, waiting for Sean and Bob to get back into camp. The sun had been up for hours and there was no sighting yet. She told the staff that Carter and Luka had taken a few days off, which actually gave them some relief seeing as how the doctors had been on edge lately. But Norman knew. He knew and it worried Maggie. The camp was still reeling from the ambush and Todd's murder as well as Sera's sudden absence. As he crossed the compound after getting his lunch at the Midway, Maggie caught his eye and he returned the inquisitive look. She marveled at how the man could quite possibly drop trou and shit bricks on her command if she so desired.
"Norman? I think we need to talk."
"No, Dr. Doyle. I think we understand each other."
"Do we?" For the first time she saw that his eyes were actually connecting with hers.
"Look, I've been here long enough to know it's about more than money."
"Norman, I don't know what… I can't be sure…" She suddenly found herself speechless in front of the pencil necked accountant. "We need to keep our cool and give the staff and families a sense of safety." She emphasized the we part.
"I understand. Business as usual. I'll do what I can," he said. "I can even count beans in the kitchen if I have to." A very faint smile sneaked out from his mouth as he did his best to put Maggie at ease.
A new Land Rover entered the camp and parked next to the Midway. Sean got out of the driver's side, but there was no Bob. Maggie never thought she'd actually wished to see Bob.
"Sean," Maggie ran to him, "we have a situation. Where's Bob?"
"He stayed back in Kampala. There was a lot of paper work and whatnot to deal with. He had to do his … well… whatever it is he does." Sean looked exhausted and drained from having to present Todd's body to his parents. "What situation?"
Maggie explained what had happened, everything she and Carter had found in Colleen's bag, Romano's pack and that Luka had left camp right after the meeting the previous day in search of Colleen. "And Carter's gone too."
"What?" Sean threw his hands over his head. "Bloody hell, what the feck do those lads think we are here? A search and rescue? Shite." He walked his own circles around Maggie while trying to figure out just how to get Carter and Luka safely out of the Congo. "I'll be gobsmacked if those two bloaks get out of this one alive." He was wearing his Irish brogue on his sleeve. "I canna molly coddle those two flipin' eejits twenty-four hours a day. And here they go off risking their nobs for a scrubber like her."
"Sean…" Maggie had had the entire night and then some to get used to the situation and was trying to calm Sean while he heard for the first time. Maggie, on the other hand, didn't understand a word the man was saying.
"I swear, those two are not the full shilling!"
"Sean!" Maggie startled Norman and well as Sean. "We have to get Bob back here."
"I dunno how you expect me to. He took nothing with him. I did not see a satellite phone on him when he boarded the chopper. And he didn't think he'd get back here until tomorrow."
Lamia knew the region well, and evidently the people were just as eager to welcome him as they made their way in and out of small villages and encampments. By late afternoon they had hitched three separate rides and were on what Lamia told Carter would be their last transport of the day. Carter's stomach began to turn as the thought of going face to face with Jules crept up on him. But instead of the stop off being their final destination, Carter learned that it was just that - a stop-off.
Lamia left Carter there after telling him that someone would be there the next day to take him on the final leg of the journey.
"I hear that Jules is having a big celebration tomorrow night. Many dignitaries." Lamia told him. "You will be just in time."
"Your father too?"
"No. My father is not that kind of dignitary," the young man chuckled.
Now alone, Carter walked into the small building and was greeted by a man wearing surgical scrubs. He had a cap and gloves on and was just finishing suturing a man's leg where it appeared a bullet had landed.
"You doctor?" the man asked, obviously not proficient in English. Carter nodded. "Yes, yes. Me doctor too."
The tiny room was the surgery suite. The table was filthy, the floor cluttered with discarded bandages and pools of drying blood. Carter thought that this is what must pass as a rebel MASH camp. It made him shudder. With daylight fading, there would be no more surgery and the 'doctor' began picking up for the day. When the man stepped out to wash up, Carter reached into the trash bin and carefully pulled out two empty vials, both with Luka's unique inventory codes. With the swiftness of his former addict life, Carter pocketed them.
The man stepped back in and motioned Carter to join him outside for a meal.
"Parlez-vous français" Carter asked.
"Oh, no." Somehow the man's answers were always accompanied by a big grin.
"Parlez-vous anglais?"
"Oh yes." That was a comfort. "I talk little English good. No?"
Oh boy.
Now it was the man's turn to ask. "You talk Kinyarwanda?" The man was awful hopeful.
"Excuse me?" Carter was definitely out of his element. "I am from America. You?"
"Rwanda."
The meal wasn't half bad as far as rations go. Carter decided to do what he had to to get through the night while keeping his distance from Frank Burns over there. The man simply smiled a lot, probably grateful to have someone to talk to that wasn't armed to the hilt and bleeding from filthy wounds.
A tent was set up next to the campfire and Carter escorted inside. Definitely decorated with the minimalist approach, he thought. A cot and netting, one blanket. He was dead tired and didn't care. Surprisingly he fell asleep quickly.
WEDNESDAY
He was hot. He could feel the heat as it scorched his neck. And the insects were crawling all over his skin nipping at him and punching their stingers through his epidermis whenever they got the chance. Carter wanted to reach around and swat at them, but he couldn't. He couldn't move his hands and his head felt like it was in a vice held in place by his upper arms. Dark. Darkness all around, and he couldn't move.
A bug landed on the back of his neck but didn't stick around, the sudden whoosh of air pushing it away. Not air… breath. Someone was breathing on his neck, and making snapping noises through his teeth. The breath moved from left to right as the man's presence felt like electrical energy just inches away.
"Aristophenes 385 B.C.," he spilled out into Carter's ear with vile intent and an evil laugh.
Carter bolted upright, fighting with the netting, and sucking in his breath as deeply and fast as he could. Looking at his hands he convinced himself that the dream was a long ago event, but it didn't prevent him from getting out of the suffocating confines of the tent as fast as he could.
The sun had just risen and people were beginning to mill around the small encampment. Walking into the makeshift surgical suite, Carter found his new friend just waking up himself having spent the night on the surgery table.
Within a couple hours the sick and wounded had formed a line outside of the building. Lots of wounded, but no escort for Carter as Emile's son had promised. The Rwandan doctor wasn't phased that these people would be waiting hours for treatment, so without even asking, Carter jumped in and started tending to them. He found a basin of gloves - not the disposables that they'd become spoiled with at the PCRC - but washed, rewashed, and re-powdered gloves just as they had used in the clinic in Ikela, only the source of the water was suspect.
He took a short break to eat, then it was back to work, this time assisting the Rwandan doctor with an amputation and the anesthesia of choice - or rather availability - was ether. By mid afternoon, Carter was covered in sweat and blood, he hadn't shaved in two days and a shower was even more ancient. He fit right in. Finally while sitting on a log swigging down one of his last two bottles of water, a small pick-up truck pulled in.
A clean cut looking African man got out from behind the wheel and tossed Carter's pack into the back.
"You a government soldier?" Carter asked pointing to the man's clothing.
He didn't answer Carter, but instead took out some papers. "These are from Emile." He handed them to Carter and pointed to the ID around his neck. "Get rid of those. They are worthless here now."
Carter put his Alliance ID inside his shirt and looked at the papers. "A visa? I didn't apply for…" He put the papers closer to his face, cocked his head and noticed one irregularity. "Canada?"
"No picture required for a temporary visa."
"Are these forged?"
"They will get you where you need to go and home again." The man was all business.
Carter was getting used to the roads tossing him around and punishing his back side. His driver didn't say another word to him for the few hours they were in the truck. At one point they veered from the roadway and took what looked like - and felt like - a lesser known route. When the truck got stuck twice, the woods emptied of men with weapons who pushed them out and then disappeared back into hiding, not one word exchanged among them.
The sun had set and the full moon reflected off of the green shiny frons of the banana and palm trees. The truck came to another stop, only this time the driver stayed put.
"You go now," he told Carter, "around the curve and up that hill there. You'll be safe."
"Where exactly am I going?" Carter asked hoping to get an honest answer.
"You will see. Many people are there from other countries. It is well guarded. I am sure you understand why I cannot go with you."
Carter got out and shut the door, leery of separating from his rebel escort, yet conflicted about his reliance on him and his colleagues during this trip as opposed to a few months ago. He twice looked back at the driver while attempting to get his feet moving.
"Dr. Carter," the man sensed the insecurity, "you are not alone - as you saw. If you need help or feel that you are in trouble, just ask for Emile dia Wamba. He does not give his name out freely and only those in his inner circle know to ask for him. He must think highly of you." With that, he turned the truck around and left Carter standing in the jungle - alone.
Once the rumble of the truck could no longer be heard, Carter heard the faint sounds in the distance of drums and singing. Odd musical instruments punctuated the air with their off key notes and haunting melodies. He was no longer alone when he came around the curve, walking directly into a check point. Holding his breath back so as not to hyperventilate, Carter tried as best he could to look nonchalant, taking his 'visa' out and showing it to the guards.
"Parlez-vous français?" they asked Carter.
Great, he thought. Now I really have to put on the act.
"Oh, oui, oui," he spewed with a cocky smile conjuring up images in his head of the corny French cartoon characters of his youth. He so wanted to roll his eyes at himself.
"Merci." His papers were handed back and he was waved through. Just like that. Before the man had a chance to give Carter a second look, the doctor was well on his way out of sight. If Carter had learned anything from his past experience, it was to take what he was offered and to move on quickly - and quietly.
It was another mile of walking before he passed a large open field and a house set way back, but his eyes were drawn to the light ahead of him - a large bonfire surrounded by hundreds of people, many wearing ceremonial African costumes. He stood at a distance and watched the dancers around the fire and the men, woman and children cheering them on. The drums were so loud he felt them resonating through his chest wall and the high pitched singing voices shrilled in his ears.
"What are you doing here?"
Carter snapped his eyes away from the goings on and startled when he saw Luka standing in front of him holding onto the arm of a pregnant African woman.
"Carter. You need to get out of here."
"I came to get you. Come on, there's still time and I have a contact - a good one - that can get us out of here safely."
Luka looked haggard. His face was bruised, his arm hung to the side like a dead weight and he was certainly unkempt, but so was Carter. There was something else about him that wasn't right. Something that peaked Carter's concern.
"Luka, we have to go now."
"No. You do."
Carter looked Luka up and down puzzled by how he was dressed, how he didn't look like… Luka Kovac. He pulled out the folded up sheet of proofs and the scrap of paper with Colleen's hand writing. "Luka, we found these in Colleen's bag." Luka looked at them but Carter wasn't sure if he really registered what was on them. "She's dirty, Luka. She set me up. She used you." He wasn't even sure if Luka was hearing him. He seemed so disaffected. "She's dirty."
"No."
"Luka, look at me. I just came from a rebel field hospital where I found these." He took the two marked vials from his pocket and showed them to Luka, hoping he would take them. He didn't. "They're ours, with your marks. Don't you see? She's buying her way to Jules through us, all for pictures."
"Get out, Carter. Go home."
For a moment Carter wondered if Luka was all part of it. "What? Have you been helping her? Did you give these meds to that field hospital?"
Luka had a cold, hard look about him. They stood face to face and looked through each other for what seemed like forever.
"You've seen him, haven't you?" Carter asked incredulously. "You've been talking to Jules." It made him sick to even think about it.
"Go back down that road, Carter. There are vehicles going in and out of the area. Get a ride."
Luka walked off into the trees to the side of the road disappearing with the woman into the darkness of the jungle without even looking back.
"Luka," Carter called after him, "you know you can't believe him."
He'd done what he'd come to do. He tried to convince Luka. He tried - he failed and now he was left standing there. He turned to walk back down the road hoping that somehow he would meet up with Luka again. After all, he wasn't with Colleen or Jules, and he was leaving the celebration where Jules was thought to be. An SUV with darkened windows pulled into the field and parked next to the little house Carter had passed on his way in. Walking through the field he approached the vehicle hoping to get a ride out, or at least directions. At least he could ask for Emile. A man exited from the driver's side and walked around the front, eventually close enough so that Carter could see him.
At first Carter thought the moonlight was playing tricks on him, or that somehow what he was seeing was a figment of his imagination. But it wasn't.
"Well, fancy meeting you here Dr. Carter," the refined British voice remarked to him. "What brings you back to these parts?" His voice was smooth and succinct, his words languishing into each other, never pausing, always accentuated with deep, dark purpose.
The backpack, having lightened its load since leaving the PCRC, slipped down to Carter's hand as his shoulders wept downward in disbelief. His face fell in concert with the pack as Jules took out his neatly pressed white handkerchief and deftly blotted the sweat from his brow and sucked in the air between his teeth.
"It is a lovely evening, Hmm? Full moon and all." Jules moved away from the SUV and circled around to the other side of Carter giving him no where to go but the large vehicle behind him. The several feet that separated the two might as well have been inches.
"I so miss your voice, Dr. Carter. You see, of all of the pained screams I've heard, yours was the most refined, I'm sure due to your privileged upbringing." The moon acted as a spotlight ringing the two with white light and shadowing all else around them. "Do you not have anything to say?"
Carter stood immobile, not wanting to back down, but certainly not ready to give in to Jules. He clenched his fists, the fingernails digging into the thin skinned palm of his hands.
"It's a pity, really, that we could not share with one another on a more equal level like your colleague, Dr. Kovac, has seen fit to do. I do believe that you and I would have more to talk about than a commoner such as Luka." He was smug, and he loved it. "Who is it that your grandfather so admired? Winston Churchill was it? I believe it was he who said, play the game for more than you can afford to lose... only then will you learn the game. Have you learned the game yet - Carter?" He curled a smile only on one side as he relished his position.
Without moving, but with perhaps an air of upping the anty, Carter looked straight into the vile man's eyes. "I believe he also said, a cat looks down on man, a dog looks up to man, but a pig will look man right in the eye and see his equal."
Jules laughed. No, he howled in laughter. "Are you calling me a pig?"
"I'm saying you are no better than a pig."
"Well, you suddenly have a spine, my dear doctor. Now, what is it I can do for you?"
"Let Kovac go."
"He's a free man. He can come and go as he pleases." A loud series of explosions lit up the night as Jules turned and looked into the sky behind him. "Splendid," he remarked with excitement, "they've started the fireworks. I do so love a good display. Don't you?"
"Has Colleen Reilly been working for you?"
"Ms. Reilly is distinguished in her profession. I am simply but one of the public figures she documents. Are you jealous?"
Carter snickered at the thought. "She tried to have me killed."
"Oh, now, I wouldn't go that far. Hmm, how can I say this?" Jules playfully tapped his chin with his finger as if in deep thought. "It's not that she tried to kill you, but that you were… let's say… expendable."
"So you knew. You knew all about the trip to the satellite clinic - the ambush."
From the moonlit cast shadows, Carter saw a figure silently approach Jules from behind.
"You and your friend are quite gullible subjects, do you know that?" the demented dictator spewed. "No, I don't suppose you do."
Luka's presence went unnoticed by the rebel leader as he very slowly and with great confidence stood within feet of Jules. He looked past him at Carter - looked directly into his eyes - and with his good arm, pulled a large pistol from in his waistband under his shirt before returning his focus to the back of Jules' head.
Carter didn't let on that he knew. "Do I need to ask what side Luka is on? Are you using him too?"
"He and Colleen make such a lovely couple. Both so strong and determined. Not all too bright, but, oh well…," he sighed.
Luka remained frozen in place as Jules continued lathering himself with his narcissistic tongue.
"Isn't the human mind remarkable? It is so pliable, and like a flimsy piece of rubber, it can be pulled and twisted into any number of shapes. But in the end, the owner of that mind won't do anything that he - or she - truly does not want to do… or so I'm told."
"You're one sick bastard."
"Mmm. I believe that is debatable. After all, who in their right mind would return to the place that made them a broken man? Maybe those who seek to become one with his tormentor? Is that what you came here for? To purge your angelic character of the evils you associate with your last visit?"
A brilliant array of colors fell from the sky. Carter was glad that his occasional glances at Luka would be interpreted as a viewing of the fireworks. But once again, his stomach knotted up as Luka's demeanor frightened him.
"Or was it to eliminate what was interfering with your life? Because sometimes one must eliminate those… things… that clutter the soul."
Luka was so one dimensional. He stood like a statue, his head lowered slightly, eyes cast up away from the dark circles that had traced the orbs below them. Luka lifted the heavy gun with his right hand while his left hung mercilessly at his side, but instead of pointing it at Jules, he aimed it squarely at Carter. His eyes… his eyes were so cold and devoid of emotion.
"You see, my friend, I can make anyone do just about anything for me."
The fireworks reached a crescendo and blended in well with the sound of the gun firing.