A Touch of Betrayal (16 page)
“Miss Prescott?”
A tall African in a gray police uniform awakened Alexandra out of a troubled sleep. She lifted her head from Grant’s shoulder and tried to focus on Mombasa Hospital’s waiting room and her unexpected visitor.
“Is your name Alexandra Elizabeth Prescott, madam?” the policeman asked. “Are you a citizen of the United States of America? Are you visiting Kenya on a tourist visa? And is this your passport?”
At the sight of the familiar little blue booklet, Alexandra nodded and sucked in a breath. “Where did you get my passport?”
“The manager of the Amboseli lodge sent it to us some days ago along with your other baggage. Your schedule listed Mombasa as your next stop. The manager felt that you might choose to continue your journey to the coast. We are holding your things at the main station.” He tucked the passport into his pocket. “I need to speak with you now, Miss Prescott. Please follow me.”
Grant slipped a protective arm around Alexandra’s shoulder. “
Bwana
, we’re waiting to hear the results of a surgery. Can this wait?”
“Are you Dr. Thornton?”
“That’s right.”
The flicker of a smile crossed the man’s somber features. “I am glad to meet you.” Then he sobered again. “I must speak with you also, Dr. Thornton. We received word this morning that there was an attack on your camp near Mount Kilimanjaro last night. I must ask that you and Miss Prescott accompany me to police headquarters to file a report.”
“
Bwana
, I respect your request, but I can’t go anywhere until I find out how the woman in that operating room is doing.
Mchomwa mwiba hawi mtembezi
.”
At this, the officer couldn’t hold in his grin. “‘He that has a thorn pricking him will not be a walker.’ What they say about you is true, Dr. Thornton. You speak our language as one of us, and you understand our customs. Is the patient your close friend?”
“She has been a mother to me. I don’t want to leave until I know her condition. Could you question us here?”
The officer studied the waiting room for a moment. “Very well. But you will be expected to stop at headquarters later today.”
He pulled a chair across the bare tiled floor and took out a notebook. For some reason, Alexandra found she didn’t mind in the least having Grant’s arm around her. In fact, she welcomed it. His broad shoulders had come to symbolize a sort of Rock of Gibraltar to her. His voice comforted her down deep, where fear and hunger and exhaustion had formed a big knot. And when he touched her fingers, a blessed warmth flowed through her heart.
“Miss Prescott,” the officer said, all business again. “Please recount for me the experience you had at the lodge in Amboseli National Park.”
Alexandra took a deep breath, dreading the ordeal of dredging up the haunting memory. But she knew she had no choice. She began with the poolside encounter that led to the attack under the tree. Then she told the officer about the wild dogs, the Maasai, and her torturous journey to Grant Thornton’s camp.
“Why did you not contact the authorities when you and Dr. Thornton drove up to Oloitokitok, Miss Prescott?”
“I was afraid if I told anyone that I was alive, Nick Jones would come after me again. I wanted to grow well enough to leave and get on a plane back to the United States.” She thought for a moment. “But I did tell someone. I phoned my financial adviser in New York and told him to contact the Nairobi authorities and call off the search for me.”
“Your disappearance is the subject of much speculation and a thorough, ongoing investigation.”
“I’m very sorry, sir.” Alexandra rubbed a hand over her eyes. “I
am
all right, and I didn’t intend to cause trouble.”
“Dr. Thornton, do you have anything to add to this woman’s testimony?”
Grant’s fingers tightened on Alexandra’s shoulder. “Only what happened last night in my camp.” He briefly related the attack on Mama Hannah and their subsequent flight to Mombasa. “We want this Nick Jones stopped. Do the police have any idea where he might be?”
The officer shook his head. “This is private information, of course. But allow me to assure you that you will be among the first to know when we apprehend this man.”
“We’d like to help you capture him,” Alexandra said. “Officer, Nick Jones is after
me
. Where I go, he’s bound to follow. We know he was near Mount Kilimanjaro last night. He’ll easily find out I flew to Mombasa, since lots of people at the lodge saw us there with Mama Hannah. Jones probably suspects the police will be looking for him at the airport, so I would think he is driving. How quickly could he get to Mombasa?”
“By this evening, madam.”
Alexandra swallowed. “Okay, why don’t I stay someplace where he thinks he can find me alone? If he senses I’m vulnerable, he’ll try again.”
“I believe you should leave this matter to the police. It would not be wise to place yourself in unnecessary danger.”
“You don’t understand. I’m convinced Jones can track me anywhere, sir. No matter where I go, I’m in danger. I might as well do my part to help you catch him. I’ll book a room at a small place somewhere on the beach. Not a fancy hotel because it would be too public. If we could find some sort of—”
“Bungalow,” Grant cut in. “The Thornton family has owned a little cottage on Diani Beach for years. You can stay there.”
“I will speak to my supervisor about this matter,” the officer said. “It is possible he will agree to your request—with our constant protection, of course. By day, you would be followed by an armed detective. We would post a guard near your room at night. In Kenya, it is a common practice to hire a night watchman. The man would not suspect.”
“I can do the usual tourist things,” Alexandra continued. “But I’ll make myself vulnerable. I’ll lure Jones to attack me, and then you can step in and catch him.”
Grant frowned. “I don’t like it. This isn’t some detective show on television, Alexandra. This is reality here. Jones is strong. He managed to disarm a Maasai warrior who was carrying a spear and a fighting stick. Then he strung up Loomali from a tree limb like a piece of meat. Jones told you he worked as a bodyguard for a living, so he knows the tricks of the trade. And he was smart enough to track you to a camp on the back side of nowhere. You’re risking your life playing cat and mouse with a man like that.”
“The police will be near me everywhere I go,” she said.
“Indeed,” the officer avowed. “The man may be clever and strong, but Dr. Thornton knows our Swahili proverb:
Taritibu hushinda nguvu.
Persistence overcomes strength.”
“Grant, it makes sense,” Alexandra said. “Jones is going to try to get to me. I might as well set him up.”
“Not without me, you won’t.”
“What are you saying, Grant? Stay here with Mama Hannah. She needs you.”
“
You
need me, Alexandra.” His gray eyes crackled. “If Jones wasn’t afraid of Loomali and his spear, he won’t be afraid of me. But he picked the wrong place to cross me. We’ll do this thing together.”
“Grant, really, I don’t want you to risk—”
“Dr. Thornton?” A white-coated African doctor pushed through the double doors. Alexandra and Grant leaped to their feet. “The surgery was successful, and Ms. Wambua is in the recovery room. She received a deep laceration over the left eye extending down toward the ear. The temple muscle was partially severed, but we have stitched it. We expect a full recovery. She did lose a great deal of blood, however, and she is weak. I would like to perform a transfusion.”
“No way.” Grant shoved his hands into his pockets. “Not with AIDS in the blood supply. You’ll have to try something else.”
Alexandra took a deep breath. “Use my blood, doctor,” she said softly. “I’m O positive—the universal donor. And I don’t have AIDS.”
Grant gaped at her.
“Come with me, please, madam,” the doctor beckoned. “I will need you to sign release forms. Dr. Thornton, please wait here.”
Alexandra started for the double door, but Grant caught her hand. “Wait a second,” he said. “Why are you doing this?”
“Don’t ask. You won’t like the answer.”
“Tell me.”
“Jesus commands us to love each other in the same way he loves us. I’m happy to give Hannah my blood.”
“Come, come, madam,” the doctor called. “We must hurry.”
Alexandra squeezed Grant’s hand. “See you in a bit.”
It took the rest of the day to get out to the Thornton bungalow. After giving blood, Alexandra was ordered to rest at the hospital for several hours. The doctor had examined her thoroughly and treated her peeling skin and blistered feet before he finally agreed to release her. The attending officer drove Alexandra and Grant to the police station after a brief stop at a local restaurant for lunch.
After recounting the details of her ordeal a second time, Alexandra had to go through her papers and every item in each of her bags to identify her possessions. That done, the police allowed her to try to call her broker in the States. She couldn’t get through. By the time the police had arranged for an undercover detective and a night guard, Grant had rented a small car. He drove them to a supermarket, where they picked up a supply of groceries, and then they set out for Diani Beach.
Night fell, and Grant greeted the police guard before showing Alexandra to the room that would be hers. A large living room and dining room that opened out onto a huge verandah separated her side of the house from his. She went through her luggage again and was relieved to note that her sketches and designs were intact; evidently no one had touched a thing. She ate a snack, took a long shower, and fell into an exhausted sleep, aware only of the sound of crashing surf outside her window.
She awoke midmorning to the arrival of Mama Hannah, whom Grant had fetched from the hospital. Hearing the low tones of conversation coming from the living room, Alexandra eagerly ate a banana and got dressed.
She tucked a pair of sunglasses into her pocket and then hurried to join Grant and Mama Hannah. In the expansive, open-air room, the old woman was stretched out on a long striped sofa, her white bandage taking the place of her usual nylon scarf.
“Good morning!” Mama Hannah cried warmly, extending a hand.
Alexandra took the gnarled brown fingers and kissed them gently. “They let you go.”
“God is good,” Mama Hannah said. “And so are you,
toto
. How can I thank you for such a gift?”
“You don’t need to thank me. I’m just grateful you’re well enough to leave the hospital. How do you feel?”
“Ehh, they have given me enough medicine to make an elephant believe he could dance on the clouds at the top of Mount Kilimanjaro. I have no pain. I also cannot walk unless Grant holds me. My steps are like those of a woman who has drunk too much
pombe
.”
“Pombe?”
“African honey beer,” Grant said.
Alexandra turned to him, but the question on her tongue froze solid. Grant Thornton looked positively rakish this morning. His faded denim shirt and jeans brought out the color of his eyes. He had rolled up the shirtsleeves just far enough to reveal thick golden hair that covered his forearms. Though he had combed back his damp hair, a single curl fell onto his forehead. With his clean-shaven chin and a sparkle in his eyes, Grant would have knocked any woman flat. Alexandra was doing her best just to breathe.
“Fermented honey,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin that sent a shiver down to the tips of her toes. “I doubt if Mama Hannah’s ever tasted
pombe
in her life.”
“I have not,” the old woman said. “But I have seen men staggering down a street just as I stumbled through that hospital. Grant, I think I must sleep again now. My head swims.”
Grant knelt beside the sofa and drew a lightweight blanket up to Mama Hannah’s chin. “The armed guard is right outside, and I’ll be here with you, too. Just rest.”
“No, no. You must take Alexandra out to the beach. Show her the water and the ferry and even the old town. Take her to see Fort Jesus. You are both too young to stay by the side of a sleepy old woman all day. Go now.”
Grant lifted his focus to Alexandra. “Have you seen the beach yet?”
“No, but I’d rather stay here, if you don’t mind.”
“
I
mind,” Mama Hannah said. “Go away, both of you, and let me sleep. I am not afraid. ‘Oh, how I wish I had wings like a dove; then I would fly away and rest! I would fly far away to the quiet of the wilderness.’ This was the song of David, and it is now the song of Hannah Wambua. Shoo!”
