Chapter 20

 

By late afternoon, Elaine and Dmitry were more than halfway to N’Djamena. The rain had let up but the sky remained heavily overcast. While still muddy in places, the road was not in as bad a shape as it had been in Sudan. Apparently there had not been as much rain in this region—yet.

Now that they were making good time, Elaine was feeling much more positive. Talking to Luna and formulating a plan, and realizing that they could still finish this nightmare of a mission and bring Raj to justice, had raised her spirits, or at least pulled her out of her anguish. “All” they had to do now was make it to N’Djamena and then deliver the package to Raj without him knowing that Stan was dead.

As Dmitry drove along, Elaine had first busied herself with drying out the interior of the SUV. There were drain plugs in the floorboards through which she had let the bulk of the accumulated water flow out. She soaked the rest up with the towel, squeezing the excess out the window. Parts of the car’s electrical system were no longer working, unfortunately—the switches to raise and lower the windows were dead and the headlights and taillights were out—but everything else seemed operational, including the dashboard instruments and GPS. The GPS was crucial since Stan’s handheld device had been in the back seat and had been ruined by the flooding.

Dmitry had hidden the package of diamonds back in the same spot where Stan had hidden them, inside the passenger door panel. She figured if Stan had thought it was the safest place for them, it probably was.

Poor Stan, she thought, as she dried off the spot in the back seat where he’d been sitting. Some hand-written pages of his geology manuscript were in his soaked backpack, pages from the book he would never finish, and probably never would have finished. She had rifled through all the bags in the back of the vehicle to make sure there was no other contraband that might get them into trouble if the police searched the car at a checkpoint. Dmitry’s sat-phone had been in one of Stan’s bags, so it was shot, of course, ruined by the water. Amazingly, her own rucksack and her purse had both landed on the higher end of the seat after the SUV had done its mudslide somersault, and everything inside it, including all her clothes and the burner phone she’d bought in N’Djamena, were completely dry.

When she finished cleaning up the interior, she climbed into the very back and changed out of her still damp sundress and put on rather dirty jeans, an even dirtier top and sandals, shuddering as she glimpsed the red welts on her calves and arms from the leeches. She found three more of the nasty parasites on her lower legs and peeled them off, disgustedly flinging them out the window.

 

* * *

At noon, Elaine and Dmitry were driving by the same refugee camps that she and Stan had passed on their way to Sudan. It was depressing to see the tents stretched out to the horizon and glimpses of the rain-soaked, malnourished people struggling along the roadside in the mud. But, as Dmitry pointed out, at least they had water to drink—next to having enough food, potable water was one of the biggest challenges everyone faced here.

Just as they started to reach the city limits of the little town of Abéché, the sat-phone started ringing.

Elaine quickly picked it up and glanced at the display, thinking it was probably Luna.

ANNEKE it said.

She hesitated, not wanting to answer. Anneke was probably calling to make sure Stan was alright and had safely made it to Doctor Tim’s clinic. Elaine and Dmitry had already decided not to stop there—there was no point in it now. Dmitry told Elaine that he could just keep driving all the way to N’Djamena. Besides, what would she tell Doctor Tim or Anneke? That Stan was dead, had been eaten by crocodiles? What would be the point? Anneke might panic about the funding for the clinics and somehow jeopardize the task at hand—Elaine had no idea if Doctor Tim or Anneke knew Raj Malik, but she couldn’t take any chances.

As the phone continued to ring, Elaine and Dmitry glanced at each other.

Finally, the ringing stopped.

 

* * *

When they reached Abéché, they stopped at the main outdoor market and had a much-needed meal of roasted chicken, rice, and vegetables. Having a full stomach helped Elaine feel stronger and more determined to finish what she’d started.

Dmitry managed to fix the SUV’s lights—some of the fuses were blown, and as there were no replacements available, he wrapped foil from the energy bar wrappers around them and put them back in place.

The only thing they had to worry about between here and N’Djamena was police checkpoints. Encountering trouble at one of them was much more probable now that Stan was no longer with them.

Elaine and Dmitry worked out a cover story for the cops at the checkpoints: namely, that they had been on a safari in Eastern Chad, which was the same story Dmitry had given when he’d passed through the checkpoints on the way in. Elaine was concerned that if the same men were on duty at any of the checkpoints that they’d passed through before, they might wonder how Dmitry, the Russian tourist who was going on a safari, had gotten paired up with the female Nasara friend of Stanley Ketchum, whom they knew as an eccentric, rock-collecting geologist.

Elaine decided that the best course of action was to disguise herself as much as possible in hopes that they would not recognize her. But as a Nasara with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tall, slim figure, it would not be easy.

After they finished lunch, Elaine roamed around the Abéché market and bought three inexpensive, colorful African-made wraps, or rabott, along with one five meter-long scarf called a lafai, which could be wrapped any number of ways around the head and body.

She also bought a handkerchief, bracelets, and a few fake facial rings.

When they got back into the SUV and continued on towards N’Djamena, Elaine put all three of the rabott over her jeans and top, around her breasts and hips, to make herself appear heavyset. They came all the way down to her sandals. She then wrapped the lafai around her shoulders and head, stuffing her blonde hair underneath it. After she covered her bruised cheek with makeup, she checked herself in the mirror and found that her lower lip was still a bit swollen. To draw attention away from that, she put one fake gold facial ring around her lower lip, wincing as the steel prong bit into the inside. She put the other ring in between her two nostrils. To top it all off, she donned a pair of Dmitry’s sunglasses, which were far too big for her.

“How do I ‘ook?” she asked him, having trouble talking with the ring in her lip. She outstretched her arms to show the colorful friendship bracelets lining her wrists.

Dmitry glanced at her, then laughed and looked back at the road. “You look like American hippie who think she African”

Elaine laughed, and winced. Even smiling hurt her mouth. “That’s just the ‘ook I wan’.”

 

* * *

Elaine did not have to wait long to test her disguise.

After they rode along for barely fifteen minutes, she glimpsed the familiar flashing blue strobes ahead, pickup trucks partially blocking the road at an angle.

“Uh-oh,” Dmitry said.

“Just stay cool,” Elaine said. “Stick to our planned script, and use the whiskey as a bribe.”

“Horosho.”

Elaine had taken out the two fake facial rings, but she quickly put them back in her nose and lip. Stan’s Kalashnikov was on the floorboard at her feet—she quickly disassembled and put it into one of the backpacks and placed it on the floorboard behind her.

Up ahead at the checkpoint, two pickup trucks and a minivan had stopped. Elaine could make out two khaki-uniformed officers standing on either side of the first vehicle, checking the occupant’s papers.

As Dmitry brought the SUV to a halt behind the second pickup truck, Elaine quickly glanced around the interior to make sure everything was in order. Stan’s passport, along with a few fake ones with his photo on them, were hidden in the door panel next to the package of diamonds. Her Sig Sauer, which Dmitry had brought from France, was in the glove compartment. There was nothing to indicate they weren’t a couple of American tourists who were roaming around a war-torn region of Chad, stupidly or not.

As they waited for their turn, the minutes ticked by. Elaine’s heavy get-up was suffocating. Perspiration began to run down her stomach and back.

The vehicles ahead of them were finally waved through.

Dmitry rolled the SUV forward. There were a half a dozen uniformed men milling around. One of them strode towards the window, a hard look on his bearded face, his camouflaged fatigues dirty and soaked from the rain. Since the windows still weren’t working, Dmitry had to crack the door open.

The man started to say something, but when he saw Dmitry’s face, his mouth broke into a broad smile. “Merry Chreestmas!”

What the hell? Elaine thought. This was July.

“Hey, Russky Santy-Claus!” the man called happily to his colleagues, who sauntered over.

Dmitry was already dragging two bottles of Jack Daniel’s out from under the seat. Now Elaine understood.

As the men gathered around Dmitry’s door, and he handed out the two bottles. Elaine grabbed a couple of the smaller ones from underneath her own seat and passed them to Dmitry, who passed them on.

One of the men twisted a top off of the big bottle and threw his head back, gulping the whiskey down. Grinning, with the liquid running down his chin, he said, “I love Chreestmas!”

Dmitry has these guys wrapped around his finger, Elaine thought.

But then one of the men bent down and peered in at her. She nodded politely, but did not smile.

He said, “Hey, looky, Russky Santy got him apprenti!”

Dmitry quickly said, “She work for tour agency what make safari.”

Now another man was approaching. He wore a green beret and his uniform was less dirty and wrinkled than the others—he looked like the commanding officer.

He bent down and glanced through the window at Elaine. She tensed, but tried not to show it.

He gave Dmitry a wary look. “You know poaching illegal, yes?”

“Poaching?” Elaine said incredulously. “We’re against poachers! I’m with PETA!”

The man frowned—she was sure he had no earthly idea what PETA stood for. He glanced at her painful-looking facial jewelry, then at her shapeless form—he didn’t look impressed.

“We only watching animals,” Dmitry said, picking up the binoculars from the console. “No shoot them.”

“No ivory or skins in the vehicle?” he said, glancing into the back seat.

“No.”

Elaine frowned, trying to look offended by such a question. “Of course not.”

One of the other men said offhandedly to Dmitry, “You see some good critters, eh?” He looked curious, as if he could not imagine why anyone would want to come so far to merely gawk at elephants and leopards and giraffes.

“Oh, yes, we saw many interesting animals,” Dmitry said. From the slightly pale look on his face, Elaine thought he was remembering the crocodiles that had devoured Stan.

Now she became even more anxious—the one in the beret had noticed the ill-fitting windshield and the pockmark in the glass from a Janjaweed rifle shot. They were prepared for questions but Elaine really had no idea how the men would react.

“What this?” the man said, pointing at the damage, but backed away before they could answer, glancing at the fenders—he had apparently noticed the patches of painted-over duct tape. He squatted right next to the left rear door and started tapping on the metal.

That’s where the diamonds were hidden.

“Some men attacked us,” Dmitry blurted, and he turned and pointed to the bandage on his upper arm, which was visible through his torn shirtsleeve. “Crazy men on horses, with rifles, beards...”

“Janjaweed?” the commander said, glancing at the bandage, then turning back to the door panel. Elaine could only see his head and shoulders. She prayed that he was not sticking his finger through the tape and into the space behind the door.

“Yes,” Elaine said, leaning over Dmitry to look at him. “Definitely Janjaweed. Not rebels.”

“Where?” the commander said, rising again.

Dmitry motioned vaguely in the direction from which they’d come. “Other side of Abéché.”

The man shook his head disgustedly. One of his men handed him a Jack Daniel’s bottle and he took a slug, eying Dmitry and Elaine with disdain. Wiping his mouth on his hand, he said, “Why you Nasara always want safari here? Go to South Africa! This country very dangerous! You lucky you not die.”

Elaine thought it was best to remain silent.

The man took another swing of whiskey, then cocked his head towards the road ahead. “Go!”

 

* * *

Moments later, they were cruising along the muddy road, continuing on towards N’Djamena.

“That was fun,” Elaine said, carefully pulling the uncomfortable rings out of her nose and lip.

“Da.” Dmitry glanced at her. “You can say it again.”

“Excuse me?”

“You can say it again.”

“I can say what again?”

“It is English idiom! Luna teach me.”

“I see.” Elaine smiled, looking out the window. “No, you have to say ‘You can say that again.”

Dmitry frowned. “That is what I say you!”

“No, you said ‘You can say it again.”

“It, that? One small word making so much difference?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Chort!” he said, slapping his beefy hand on the steering wheel. “Stupid English idioms!”

At least they were well clear of the Janjaweed now. The road ahead looked muddy but clear enough to navigate, at least for the time being. In the SUV, they had been averaging about fifty kph—she figured it would be virtually impossible for men on horseback to keep pace with them now. The tribe had probably given up at the Batha River, if they had even gotten that far.

Elaine turned around and glanced at the backpack, wondering if she ought to reassemble the AK-47 and have it loaded and ready, just in case.

The sat-phone started ringing.

She and Dmitry glanced at each other. She thought it was probably Anneke calling again, but when she checked the display, it showed Luna’s number.

Elaine clicked the answer button.

“It’s me,” Luna said. She spoke in an excited, breathless tone. “I’ve got some important news, baby-doll. A game-changer, I’m afraid.”

“What is it?” Elaine said, her heartbeat racing as fast as it had been at the police checkpoint.

“Giorgio Cattoretti is in Chad.”

Elaine blinked a couple times. “What? No—that’s not possible.”

“I’m telling you, he’s in Chad. Or at least he was when you called him last night.”

“But that number had a Moroccan country code—I punched in the numbers myself.”

“Yeah, but he had that phone number forwarded to a sat-phone. I took a risk, Elaine—last night I contacted the cell service provider in Tangier, and poured on the pressure. I knew there was something strange going on with Cattoretti. I posed as an agent from Homeland Security and told them we were after a terrorist hiding out in the Moroccan desert. Once I had the forwarded sat-phone number, I called my friend at the FBI and he got the GPS location from the sat-phone service provider.”

As Luna spoke, Elaine’s mind was jumping from one possible explanation to another, trying to figure out what Giorgio might be doing here. But her first thought was that he was pulling some kind of double-dealing trick.

“Where is he exactly?” Elaine asked.

“At a point five kilometers south of Abéché.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. I’ve got the GPS coordinates right here, I’m looking at it on a map.”

“What’s at that location, what do the satellite maps show?”

“Nothing much around there, just farmland. At the exact coordinates there is a small building of some kind.”

“A hut?”

“I don’t think so—it’s rectangular, but no larger than a small house. The nearest village, which is actually just a cluster of huts, is about two kilometers west.” Luna paused. “Where are you now, Elaine?”

“We just came from there, damn it,” Elaine muttered, glancing at Dmitry. “We’re about two hours away.” She lost control of her temper—now it was her turn to bang her fist down on the dashboard. “God damn him! What the hell could he be doing in Chad?”

“I have no idea,” Luna said. “But I have a feeling it’s not good.”

Elaine slammed her fist into the dashboard again.

“Janyet,” Dmitry said, “you will hurt your hand.”

“I hate to make this worse, baby-doll, but they told me he’d placed a couple of more calls the day before yesterday, and the day before that from Chad, too. So he’s been there for quite a while.”

Elaine was so mad she thought she might have a stroke. She started cursing again, kicking her feet against the floorboard. “We just came from there! And we just made it through a sticky police checkpoint.”

Luna didn’t speak. She was probably afraid to.

“I do have some good news,” Luna finally said.

“What?”

“I heard Raj make the reservations to come to Chad tomorrow—the bug in his car caught it, the first conversation it has ever picked up of any value. He actually made the reservations last night but I just got the twelve-hour voice download this morning. Anyway, the bottom line is this: he’s arriving in N’Djamena at nine-thirty tomorrow morning, via Frankfurt, and he’s leaving Chad again on an Air France flight that departs at noon, bound for CDG in Paris, where he’ll catch another Air France flight to Antwerp. So it looks like he’s all set to pick up the diamonds and unload them in Belgium.”

“Yes, that is good news,” Elaine admitted.

“He made all the reservations under the name of Vinod Patel. It all matches what you said he told Stan on the phone.”

“Yes it does,” Elaine said. “Perfectly.”

“He also made a reservation for one night at The Mobutu Plaza—I guess that was just for show, or to give him a private meeting place with Stan...?”

“Right.”

“Excellent. Once Raj is back in the air with the rocks, we can arrange for him to be searched by French Customs the moment the plane lands in Paris.”

Elaine digested all this. The arrest of Raj Malik for diamond smuggling now suddenly seemed much more imminent and even within her reach...but there was the unexpected surprise that Cattoretti had been in Chad all this time.

“So what do you want to do now?” Luna said, when Elaine did not speak.

Glancing at Dmitry, and gritting her teeth, Elaine said, “I think I have to go back to Abéché and find out what the hell Cattoretti is doing there.”

“Is there time for that?”

Elaine glanced at her watch. “There will have to be. There’s no way I’m going to turn these diamonds over to Raj and arrange for him to be searched in Paris until I know what Cattoretti is up to.”

 

* * *

A moment later Dmitry and Elaine were sitting on the side of the road, discussing their trip back to Abéché. Elaine was still furious that she had to backtrack now. When had Cattoretti actually arrived in Chad? Had he been here all along, ever since he’d robbed the DHL truck and gotten the evidence back?

More importantly, why?

She looked into her side mirrors, wondering if he could be following them, have followed them to the market in Abéché. She wondered if he could have planted a tracking device on the SUV during that hour or so.

But how would he have known they would stop at the market, or even go into Abéché? And how would he have identified their vehicle? Presumably Giorgio would have expected her to be in Stan’s jeep. He couldn’t have even known that Stan was dead. She assured herself he couldn’t have known any of this. Luna had checked her house for bugs and had been using her burner phone.

Then again, when it came to Giorgio Cattoretti, anything was possible.

She finally looked at Dmitry, at his downtrodden expression.

“I don’t want to go back any more than you do,” she said, glancing at his wounded arm. “But I have to find out what Cattoretti is doing here. You understand, I hope.”

“Of course I understand, Janyet. But how we can go back through police checkpoint? What we say them?”

Elaine glanced out the window to the north—the land was relatively flat and didn’t look that treacherous. “What about going off-road?” Before Dmitry could respond, she turned around and fished out Stan’s area maps from his knapsack. The maps were still wet, so stained with the muddy river water that they were hard to read. Stan had marked various off-road routes in colored highlighters that Elaine knew he had taken before. Those marked in red were the most dangerous. Yellow meant so-so, and green meant “relatively safe,” as Stan had put it. Of course the situation was in a constant state of flux here and she had no idea how long ago Stan had marked the routes.

“What about going this way?” Elaine asked. “It looks like the turnoff is only a couple of kilometers from here.”

Dmitry sighed, looking uneasily at the wavering yellow line on the map. “Maybe.”