Ten

After hot coffee and water to wash with in our tents the next morning, we ate the same breakfast as the day before. My boots crunched on ice as I stepped outside, and a mist clouded before my mouth when I spoke. This would be our most demanding day so far and would separate the more seriously inclined climbers from the dilettantes. Until now I’d not used poles to assist, but when Magumbo offered a pair to me I took them, though I declined his offer to take some of my load. The poles were made of light metal, and I’d use them like a cross country skier. They allowed my arm strength to be added to my legs and made ascending in these conditions much easier.

Our atypical route would lead us out of the moorland we’d traversed the previous day, up into the barren Alpine desert common to the Seven Summits as you approached the peak, as it is to all high mountains. Then we’d descend back into moorland to make camp. Though we’d climb to nearly 15,000 feet, we’d spend the night only a few hundred feet above that of Shira Camp. It was an expedition leader’s dream, making forward progress on the climb while providing climbers an acclimation night’s sleep. But a portion of the day would be demanding. Those who were already footsore would find it a challenge—perhaps too much of one.

The pace again was quite slow, especially as we set out. Even those in good shape were stiff from the first two days and the cold. The mist was not as thick as the morning before, but everything was damp and beaded with moisture. As we rose, we slowly climbed into swirling clouds.

For the next three hours we climbed steadily through the rocky landscape that surrounded a formation known as the Lava Tower. We stopped for lunch before the steep ascent to it. We were served hot soup from containers, which was very welcome. I sat on a rock and glanced at the faces about me. Everyone looked tired.

Msingi held us here longer than most climbers wanted, as we were eager to tackle the steep incline before us. But he wanted us as rested and refreshed as possible. When we finally set out, I experienced symptoms of breathlessness for the first time and soon had a headache. The air was noticeably thinner and the pitch steeper than it had been. After about two hours we took another break at a rocky knoll. There had once been a campsite here, but it was no longer in use, probably as a result of the government’s efforts to slow climbs and reduce deaths.

Stretching about were the giant senecio trees. With their thick trunks and spreading growth on top, they vaguely resembled palm trees. Given the dry conditions, Magumbo said, they stored water in their trunks to sustain them during the dry season.

I was joined by Onesphory and his two friends, Brendan and Ian. The three had been enjoying themselves immensely. I could certainly understand it. This was an adventure for anyone, especially so for such young men.

We talked about their climbing in Scotland and New England. When I mentioned I lived in the Berkshires, they were enthusiastic and asked if they could crash with me sometime—and if there were any decent peaks nearby. I told them they were very welcome and that there were some very nice granite walls nearby, and that satisfied them.

When Brendan and Ian moved back up, I asked Onesphory how the climb was going, as once his friends left he looked pretty downcast.

“I’m having fun,” he said, not sounding like it. He seemed to want to talk, so I gave him some time to work it out. After a long minute, he quietly said, “It just isn’t the way I pictured it. I was hoping for…something more. You know, I was really stunned when I learned that my father was not my real father. He has always been good to me. I knew something special was going on, but I didn’t know what. You know how kids are. You just accept that everything happening to you is normal. I was sent to a private British academy at Dodoma here in Tanzania, then to school in London, and now Harvard. I knew it was all expensive. Like I said, at first I thought the clan was paying for it. I never asked. The time or two I tried to talk to my mother, she just told me that I deserved it and not to ask questions. When I got into Harvard, I was very surprised. I was told it was a long shot for me. When I registered, there was some hint that I’d had help, but nothing definite. I’d been suspecting it for a long time. My room and board are paid for, and every month I have been receiving a modest stipend, enough for my needs if I’m careful, but nothing lavish.”

“How did you learn the truth?” I asked.

“Brendan and Ian told me. It was on the news. I was studying in our room when they burst in, followed by some of the others on the floor. I thought it was a joke. Imagine. Someone telling you that the President of the United States of America is really your father! They turned the telly on, and there it was. The phone started ringing. Reporters. Then there were reporters everywhere. They sneaked me away. That part was just awful. I was in shock.”

“You knew the president had been to your village years ago, that his father was from there?”

“Oh, yes. When I visited, people spoke of it all the time. They were hoping we’d get some American money, you know? There was talk of a monument to the president, but my father…my stepfather…said we couldn’t do that.”

I wanted to ask what his mother had said when he’d talked to her but that was just too personal. He’d have to bring it up himself. “Now, here you are, back home, doing this climb together.”

“Yes.” He didn’t sound very happy at the idea. “I couldn’t go to classes once the news broke. I had to hide out like a criminal. It’s been hard going back to school. I’ve got Secret Service agents with me all the time. A week or two after the news broke, though, I was contacted by Ms. Maurasi, from the White House. She’s very nice, very pretty.”

“Yes, she is.”

He smiled sheepishly. “I think she likes you.”

“I like her too. Go on.”

“She set up a visit. It was very big news, though I was told it would be confidential. I guess you can’t keep something like that a secret. I was flown to Washington in a private jet, then taken to the White House by car and went in the back way. Even so, there were reporters and cameras outside. They know about the back entrance. It was a zoo. The driver had to ease the car onto the White House property. I was kinda scared. ” He paused. “Inside, the White House was really exciting, though, but kind of overwhelming, too. You saw where I come from, the kind of life I led as a boy. Ms. Maurasi met me and took me to the Oval Office. Staffers came out to look at me. It was really strange. Then I met my father for the first time.”

Again he stopped, and again I didn’t press him. He’d tell me what he wanted to tell me in his own way and at his own pace.

“He was friendly enough at first,” Onesphory continued. “I was surprised, though, that he sat behind that big desk in a suit, like this was a regular meeting. He asked some questions about me and my life, but I guess he’d read a report because he seemed to know everything about me already. I asked if he knew how word had gotten out after all these years. He said that he didn’t know. ‘I never wanted to cause you trouble. You have parents who love you, and I told your mom I’d see to your education,’ he told me. His wife came in at one point and was friendly enough, I guess, but I don’t think she’s very happy about me.”

“He was dating her when you were conceived. She’s probably pretty unhappy about him and your mom…” Plus a child showing up 20 years later to rub everyone’s nose in it, I thought, but I kept that to myself.

“After she left he invited me to spend a weekend with him at Camp David. At first I was really excited, but that turned out to be really awkward and strange. The campaign is all any of those people talk about. We didn’t actually get to spend that much time together, not alone, you know? On Sunday, after lunch, I realized this was going to be it. He said something about getting up to Harvard when he could, maybe my meeting him again at Camp David. I mean, the man’s the president. How am I going to get to him? Get to know him? How’s he going to get to know me?”

“So you suggested this trip.”

Onesphory grinned. “Yeah. I was desperate, like. I remembered that everyone thought the village and the clan would get some money, since his father was born there, but nothing happened. So I thought if I could get him to come for a visit he’d see how things are. Then I mentioned that maybe we could do this climb, that I had two friends I wanted him to meet. He already knew their names. They’d never been to Africa, and I wanted to show them my home. I was really surprised when he said he wanted to come here, then later I got a call telling me he was going to climb Kili with me, that he wanted to spend some time with me.”

“So it’s worked out.”

“Not really,” he said, crestfallen. “All they talk about up there is politics.”

“He’s in the middle of his re-election campaign. I’m frankly surprised he was willing to take the time to do this.”

The young man laughed lightly. “I think he preferred this to vacationing with his wife, you know what I mean?”

“I think so, too.”

“Politics is really boring. It’s all the talk, except when that woman is trying to get my father alone.”

I didn’t need to ask. Tarja. “She’s with Cavendish, right?”

“I think he’s willing to share her. It’s all disgusting.”

“But your father’s not taking her up on it, is he?” I found the thought shocking. It was enough that she was even allowed in proximity to the man. If he was foolish enough to be alone with Tarja, her tell-all book would be out before the election.

“No, he is careful. I think, like all powerful men, this is not new to him.”

Just then word spread that we were about to set out again. He said goodbye, then moved ahead to the president’s group and his friends.

Now we began our climb up a relentless slope of volcanic scree. The porters called out, “Pole! Pole! Pole!” repeatedly and held our pace to a slow trudge. After an hour we again entered clouds, which I’d seen gathered above us, and the temperature dropped precipitously. We’d been moving for some hours now, so I doubted anyone suffered from it, as our bodies were generating plenty of heat.

When it was clear enough for me to see ahead and behind, I saw that our line was well spread out. Groups were advancing at different paces, individuals who found this too taxing dropping back, a porter by their side as a safety precaution. The scree made for unstable footing, and it seemed as if you advanced only one foot up for every two steps you took. It would be much worse coming down but it was bad enough now. It made the ascent more difficult than it would have been on firm ground.

Tom, Stern and Fowl all complained of headaches, as we were now at 14,000 feet. Calvin had joined us briefly and expressed his displeasure with this development. Fortunately, the climb became less steep at this point, though the route was mildly undulating, rising then falling only to rise again as we moved relentless upward. We passed through the clouds and were greeted by bright sunlight above them. I slipped on my special sunglasses, as did everyone else. They were built to filter out the most damaging of the sun’s rays. About us were so-called pedestal rocks, hard sprouts of lava exposed as the softer ground about them had slowly eroded away. Orange lichen on many made them colorful.

Finally, we reached the Lava Tower, one of the main landmarks for anyone climbing Kili. We paused there only a few minutes, however, before beginning our descent into the Barranco Valley. The route was slippery on the loose scree, so our walking poles were very useful to maintain balance. Ahead, however, I saw more than one climber slip to the ground.

I glanced left, then right, and wondered where the security teams were. We were on the only route through this area, with very rugged country beside us. Flanking just wasn’t possible. I decided they’d moved ahead of us earlier, clearing the sides of the path as best they could on the assumption that even an assassin would be unable to gain access. It was a practical decision and a calculated risk, as a determined, skilled climber could have managed it.

As we descended into the valley the imposing Barranco Wall we’d tackle the next day came into commanding view. I could make out the zigzag line of the route up, and while from here it didn’t look that demanding, I knew the next day would be daunting. I took out my camera and snapped several photographs of the Western Breach and of the wall itself, both of which were gloriously bathed in the late afternoon sunlight.

Despite the fact that we were descending, it was a long haul from the Lava Tower to Barranco Camp, or Camp Three as it was known, which was positioned at the foot of the wall. We passed through a hillside before finally dropping into the valley itself. We were relieved when we spotted the campsite, where tents were already being erected and fires started.

Just a few minutes after we halted at our spot, Tom pointed to the west and said, “Look there.” I glanced in that direction and saw a spectacular sunset, made all the more pleasant by the welcome smell of dinner steaming in a pot over the fire. I collapsed into a camp chair.

Stern flopped beside me and immediately complained about the condition of one of his feet. He pulled off his boot, then two layers of socks, and proceeded to pick at his toes. Fowl was opposite him, watching with disgust. Tom looked on, haggard and noncommittal.

Dinner was a hearty stew that came with oversized crackers. I was so hungry, I had seconds but I was in the minority. One of the symptoms of high altitude sickness is loss of appetite, so I asked how the others felt. Each said he was fine, though each complained of a headache.

It was getting cold, and since fuel was in short supply, the fire was allowed to burn to embers once it was no longer needed to cook. Climbers no longer wandered freely from group to group. Even the porters behind us were silent, with just the occasional snippets of conversation. There was a stiff breeze blowing now, and it had become downright cold. Fowl turned in, followed soon after by Stern. Then Tom announced he’d had it, as well, and followed suit.

Just as I was deciding to do the same, a figure stepped out of the darkness and took a seat before I realized it was Hooker. I couldn’t make out his handsome features; the dim light from the embers of the dying fire cast his face in unpleasant contours. I asked how the climb was going.

“Fine, just dandy. I’ve been wanting to talk to you alone.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “What can I do for you?”

“You can get sick and turn back, that’s what you can do,” he said, unpleasantly.

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Because you aren’t welcome, that’s why!”

“No need to raise your voice. People are sleeping.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“I’m here at the request of the president. And I’m not sick. If I get sick, you can be sure I’ll turn back. I take altitude sickness very seriously. I’ve seen more than my share of deaths from it.”

“If it makes the decision any easier, you wouldn’t be alone. We’ve got some sick people up there talking about heading down in the morning. You can go with them without losing any face.”

“You think that’s the issue?”

“Listen,” he said testily, “I’ve had enough of you coming between me and Diana. You had your shot and you blew it. This is serious between us, and you just get in the way.”

“If it’s serious, then whether or not I’m here makes no difference. Anyway, I haven’t spoken to Diana on the climb except when she asked me to see the president last night. You’re in her group. You hike with her most of the time. My being here or not means nothing to you and her.”

“You’re a distraction, that’s what you are. It’s always Scott ‘this’ and Scott ‘that.’ It makes me sick. You’d think you were some kind of hero or something. But I’ve seen the shows on you, and you’re no hero.”

“I never said I was.”

“Guys like you know how to milk it. I’ve seen it before. All that fake humble pie. It’s an act. I can see right through it.”

“What’s eating you?”

“You are!”

“I told you to lower your voice. I mean it.”

Hooker’s eyes seem to burn as he glared at me, but there was never the hint that he was prepared to take the next step. Instead, he backed down.

“What did the president have to say?” he asked, switching into reporter mode.

“Not much. He just wanted to hear war stories.”

He smirked. “The guy’s got a thing about you spooks. Thinks of himself as some sort of frustrated secret agent type. Listen, I could use a favor. I need some access. Every time I bring it up with Diana, she brushes me off. She says he’s spending time with his son. But I can see what’s going on. He talks to you and to that old fart, Fowl. He’s got Tarja making eyes at him. He’s got five minutes for me. Hell, I’m representing all the reporters assigned to this climb. I’m supposed to be feeding them stories, and I’ve got nothing close up and personal to add. Next time you see him, bring it up, will you?”

“So which is it?” I asked. “I’m to get you some quality time with the president, or fake illness and go back down the mountain?”

“Screw you!” Hooker snapped as he suddenly rose and stomped off.

Our departure the next morning was delayed, as there were so many cases of intestinal problems. Calvin came into our group during breakfast to tell us and ask how we were. I was having no problems, but Tom and Stern both complained of stomach trouble. Stern, in particular, said he’d had to run into the bushes in the middle of the night with the trots, providing a too graphic image of his condition.

Calvin passed out anti-diarrhea pills. “Take these. They’ll help. Wash up whenever you can, stick with the purified water the porters provide, stay away from the sides of the trail. So many expeditions take this route, they’re heavily contaminated—even at this altitude.”

“When will we be setting off?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I don’t know. The president’s under the weather. The decision will be based on how he feels. I know of three turning back today from altitude sickness, and I’ve still got more to talk to. Two of the Secret Service agents look pretty bad to me, but they claim they’re okay and are going to tough it out.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

“I’ve warned them. I’ve talked to Tony, and I’ll talk to him again before the group going down takes off. They only have to drop to Shira Camp. There’s a route for trucks to get there and drive them down the rest of the way.”

“You might remind Tony that he doesn’t want any deaths on this climb.”

“Good point. I’ll bring it up.”

“How are the young men doing?” Tom asked.

“Just fine. Youth, you know.” Calvin moved away toward the next group below us.

As we waited before setting off I thought again about what Fowl had told me. Why would the stepfather, Kleruu, leak the information that Onesphory was not his son? Hadn’t he spent his entire marriage and his many years as chief of his clan living the lie that he was the father?

As much as I recalled from what Fowl and Msingi had said was that there was a dispute over who would become chief. Perhaps Kleruu had decided he wanted his biological son to take over. That made a certain amount of sense. No other plausible reason came to me, since the truth would, in some traditional quarters, hold him up to ridicule, even to scorn and contempt.

Calvin passed us on his way up the hill, and a half an hour later two men—Secret Service agents, I assumed—came down with two guides. I learned a few minutes later that a guide would be joining them and going back down. A while later the climb resumed.

The Barranco Wall is generally called “infamous,” as it is the first true obstacle on the Kilimanjaro climb. Despite its reputation, it rises no more than 800 feet and is generally managed in about 90 minutes. The route up is a series of zigzags with some excellent rock scrambling at points. At these places there was no trail but rather a series of boulders of various sizes to surmount, and the poles were a nuisance. I’d hand mine to the climber in front of me and make my way up a boulder on my own or with a lift from above by gripping the end of the pole which the climber used to assist me.

Again we moved at an excessively cautious pace. I took the slow progress to be the result of climbers having turned back from altitude sickness and the reported ill health of the president. Today was much like the previous one, in that we’d reach 14,500 feet once we’d climbed the wall, then we’d descend to 13,400 feet, not much higher than the altitude at which we’d camped the previous night. Once again, this was a guide’s ideal route, providing acclimation while still advancing the climb. Too often on summit attempts it was necessary to climb, then retrace your steps to jump start the body’s blood cell building process that allowed you to more efficiently carry oxygen at very high altitudes.

We were two hours making the wall, with plenty of stops along the way. I never learned what all the delay was about. On top, we were still in the Alpine desert, but this was a more picturesque version, featuring bizarre plants and stunningly sculpted boulders. Four hours after we left Camp Three we arrived at Karanga, Camp Four, which was situated on a patch of barren rock in a largely exposed area. We arrived in time for a late lunch.

There was just one more day of climbing needed to reach High Camp, from where we’d assault the summit. I could sense the excitement among the climbers. The sky was brilliant overhead, the sunlight piercing in its intensity. I took a comfortable seat, where I was joined by Tom, and the two of us took in the view as we truly enjoyed ourselves for the first time since we’d set out. Though it was cold, colder than any other day of the climb, the air was still and the sun warmed our skin.

Much of the tedium of the climb was behind us. What remained was conquering the summit, which would be followed by a rapid descent. We’d be back at the lodge before we knew it.

Lunch was a repeat of the stew we’d had the day before and, if anything, it was better. Stern was still complaining about intestinal issues and vanished into the boulders before we’d finished, not bothering to use the potty assigned to us. Fowl was up ahead with Diana’s group, while Tom and I reminisced about previous climbs, revisiting happy times often with men no longer alive.

At mid-afternoon I spotted Diana approaching. “You two look a little too comfortable,” she said with a smile. She was looking very sharp in casual clothes, hat and sunglasses. “Do you have minute, Scott?”

“Sure.” I rose and she pointed away from the trail to a small stone amphitheater positioned to catch the late sunlight. We found a flat-topped boulder on which to sit.

“I want to apologize about Christopher. He told me he talked to you,” she said.

“There’s nothing for you to apologize for.” No, that was up to Hooker.

“Still. Scott, I…Christopher and I have been drifting apart for some time now. We’ve not really been a couple for some weeks. We’ve never been that close, for that matter. I know everyone thinks I rigged the selection to get him as the pool reporter, but no one was more surprised than me when his name came up. I objected, as I knew it would look bad, but I was overruled.”

“You don’t owe me any explanations. Things just haven’t worked out for us. Sometimes the timing is all wrong in life.” I saw her blinking under her dark sunglasses then she reached up and brushed her hand across her upper cheek.

“I just want you to know that…I’ve…broken off with him.” She tipped her face to look at me directly.

“Are you sure that’s wise right now? I got the distinct impression you were under orders to keep him close.”

“Yes, so was I, and that’s another reason I’ve ended it.”

We sat quietly for a while, then I took her hand. Overhead, a single bird was fighting winds that didn’t touch us, suspended in the air above even as he flew into it. When I spoke I told her what I’d heard about the leak. “Could that be true?” I asked.

“It’s not common knowledge. I’m surprised you know, but if I’ve learned anything it’s that things like that can’t be kept quiet.”

“Why would Kleruu do it? I can think of many reasons that speak against it.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve thought he wants his other son to be chief. I understand that he and his wife have not been getting along for some time. Maybe it was his way of getting back at her.” She smiled. “You know how men are.”

“How are the president and Onesphory getting along? He’s a really fine young man.”

“Yes, he is. A wonderful young man. It’s okay, I guess. Scott, you really don’t know the president, very few do. I certainly didn’t when I was approached for this job. But I’ve gotten to know him very well these last years. He’s just not someone who gets close to just anyone. There’s always a wall, a sense of distance with him. He’s impossible to read.

“I thought for a long time that it was just the usual politician reserve. At some level, elected officials have to watch absolutely everything they say. At the same level, there are no friends, only allies with common objectives. It has the effect of making your entire life political, in every way. What I’m saying is that Opie’s never going to find what he’s looking for in the president, and I think he’s starting to realize that.”

“And he’s lost his other father.”

“Yes. It’s sad.”

We sat quietly for a time. I watched the suspended bird winging his way nowhere. Finally, he gave up, turned and raced off with the wind he’d been fighting. “What are your plans after the election?” I asked without thinking.

“I’ve already told him I’m not staying on for a second term. What do you have in mind?”

“Well, the Berkshires are very nice. Quiet, a bit of hiking.”

“Have you finished remodeling your house?” I’d bought a Colonial style stucco house and was methodically restoring it. It had lovely hardwood floors, a turned staircase, ample molding and woodwork, and a gorgeous, paneled office that had been custom-built for the original lawyer-owner. But it was a lot of woodwork to refinish. I’d complained about all the work to her once when we’d been attempting to resuscitate our relationship.

“Huh, well, I could use an extra pair of hands, I admit.”

She smiled lightly. “We’ll see, Scott. We’ll see. I’ve got this year to get through, however the election turns out.”

On impulse I leaned over and kissed her. After a moment her hand came to the back of my neck and she pressed our warm mouths close together. When we broke off she stood up. “I’ve got to go, soldier.” She hadn’t called me that since Afghanistan. “See you later. And keep your distance. I’m a perfectly respectable recently-broke-up-with-her-boyfriend kind of woman.”

As I watched her walk away I caught sight of a figure standing the other side of my group looking our way. Hooker.