Blood Covenant (3 page)

FIVE

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 12:54 P.M.
MT. MAJA, SENGANIE ROUTE, 7,800 FEET

Brandon Collins leaned over, hands against his thighs to catch his breath, and stared out across the glistening landscape of Mt. Maja. After six hours of trekking up the slippery slopes of the rainforest, the thick canopy had finally given way to the open terrain of grassy moorlands, where yellow rays of light spun patterns of gold across the dozens of colorful wildflowers. With the first day almost behind them, the seventeen-thousand-foot dormant volcano still hung above them in the distance. In another three days, they’d reach their goal: the summit of the mountain’s icy peak.

Unzipping his waterproof jacket, he drew in a lungful of frosty air, then glanced at his wife, Jodi, who was making her way up the narrow slope behind him. He shouldn’t worry, but he couldn’t help but be concerned that even the year of training she had under her belt for this trek wasn’t going to be enough.

Jodi’s expression shifted from one of deep concentration to panic as she lost her balance on the loose gravel. She grabbed for a tree limb, missed, then slid back down the incline.

“Jodi!” Brandon skidded down the worn path to where she’d fallen.

She wiped her bloodied palm against her pants. “I’m okay.”

Brandon knelt in front of her, unconvinced. Blonde hair peeked from beneath her fleece hat, framing her flushed cheeks. “You just slid a good fifteen feet down the mountain. Don’t tell me you’re okay.”

“I lost my balance and cut my hand. It’s nothing.”

“I want to check your ankle.”

She grinned up at him. “Is that my husband or my physical therapist speaking?”

“Both.” Brandon removed her boot and carefully rotated the scarred ankle with its metal pin. “Does that hurt?”

“It just feels a little stiff.”

There was no swelling, no heat —

“I told you I’m fine, Brandon.” She slid her boot back on and tied the laces.

He frowned, still unwilling for her to take any chances. “Stand up carefully.”

She shot him a disapproving look, but complied by testing out her foot on the ground before she put any pressure on the ankle.

Brandon pulled a tissue from his back pocket and pressed it against her palm. “You feel hot.”

“I’m hot because someone convinced me to wear too many layers of clothes.” She reached up and kissed him on the cheek, then grabbed a bottle of water from her pack and took a long sip. “Stop worrying.”

Looking into Jodi’s dark-brown eyes reminded him again why he’d asked her to marry him. Several friends had questioned their decision to spend three months trekking across Africa for their honeymoon, but eighteen months ago Jodi had faced off with death and won. Neither of them intended to let life pass them by without really living.

But that didn’t erase his concern. She might be convinced of her ability to reach the top, but he knew her limitations as much as she did. Even with the relatively slow pace of today’s climb, she’d need to conserve energy in order to make it to the summit.

He laced his fingers with hers. “We’re almost to the camp and you can rest.”

Jodi screwed the lid back on her bottle. This time she didn’t argue. “Lead the way.”

At the top of the hill, their camp, already set up by their guides, spread out before them. One of the other climbers, Ashley James, dressed as if she’d just stepped out of a pricey outdoor sports catalog, jerked back the flap of the small orange dome tent, and set her hands on her hips.

Brandon slid off his jacket. “Is there a problem?”

The twenty-something’s frown deepened. “Where’s the wash tent?”

“Wash tent?” Brandon pointed to the bowl of water at the edge of the tent.

Ashley picked up the bowl and dumped the warm water into the bush. Her success on last season’s surprise-hit sitcom might have made her a household name — and given her temporary job security in Hollywood — but apparently the tabloid rumors of the actress being difficult to get along with had been right on target.

“My father and I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania two years ago and we had a private bath area.” Her frown deepened. “He told me I could expect a similar experience, but this …”

“Similar, yes.” Robert James walked up behind Ashley and grabbed the empty bowl from his daughter. “But I also told you that climbing in the RD would be a more rustic setting. I was hoping you’d enjoy the experience.”

“Enjoy the fact that even though I can call home from my satellite phone and receive text messages from the office I can’t take a decent shower or have any privacy?” She tugged on the edge of her knit beanie. “You’ll need to talk to the guide. This is not acceptable.”

Brandon watched Ashley saunter off toward the other side of the camp and forced himself to hold his tongue. With less than twenty- four hours on the trail together, he already found the woman’s constant complaining intolerable.

Robert dropped the bowl back in front of the tent. “I know what you’re thinking. I love my daughter, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of her faults.” He glanced toward the edge of the trail, where Ashley now stood beside a fallen log, talking on her satellite phone. The girl’s roaming charges were going to cost a fortune. “She thinks I drag her on these expeditions so I don’t have to travel by myself. But the truth is I keep hoping I can ingrain a better appreciation of life in her.”

Brandon chuckled. “I suppose I can see the benefits of heavy discipline and a sense of accomplishment this trip provides.”

“I hope so, but I’m starting to wonder if it hasn’t all been a waste of time.”

Brandon caught the tinge of disappointment in the older man’s voice. Their group had met at the base camp last night for dinner and Robert had kept them laughing with anecdotes from a recent business trip to Brazil. Ashley, on the other hand, had complained that the food was too salty and the service too slow, then escaped to her room before most of them had eaten half their dinner. Whatever her father had tried to ingrain in her thus far had obviously failed.

Robert jutted his chin in his daughter’s direction. “For now, she’s gone and gotten herself engaged, so I figure in four months she’ll be her new husband’s problem.”

Brandon sat on one of the provided chairs and helped Jodi take off her boots, wondering what kind of man would want to saddle himself with someone as high maintenance as Ashley. Or how someone as nice as Robert James had failed to pass on any of his charm to his daughter.

Robert pulled an energy bar from his pocket and ripped it open. “I don’t want my daughter to know this, because it will only give her one more thing to worry about, but have you heard what the porters are talking about?”

Brandon looked to Jodi, then shook his head. Gossip about the actress had no doubt become fodder for conversation during the uphill trek.

Robert took a bite of the bar. “There was an attack at the base camp a couple hours after we left.”

“An attack?” The older man’s words took Brandon off guard. Whining and complaining could be tolerated, but unrest on the mountain potentially put all of them in danger. “What happened?”

“A group of men carrying automatic weapons broke in and stole a bunch of supplies.”

“Was anyone hurt?” Brandon asked.

“I don’t think so.”

“I know there’s been unrest in parts of the country, but we were told that this route was far enough away from the conflict that we’d be safe.”

“The last thing the government wants is to scare away potential tourists.” Robert stroked the bottom of his salt-and-pepper beard. “But even so, I can’t imagine them hiking up this far for a handful of electronics.”

Brandon glanced at Ashley, who still held the phone to her ear. Between her electronic collection and the porters who carried communication devices as a precaution during the climb, their group could easily be viewed as a prime target for a bunch of desperate rebels. “What were they looking for? Electronic equipment?”

“Satellite phones, radios, and food. And while I don’t think we have anything to worry about, I do think we should all be on the lookout for anything unusual.” Robert crumpled the foil wrapper in his hand. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything …”

“No, we’re glad you did.” Brandon dropped Jodi’s boot onto the ground beside him and started rubbing her foot, wondering if he might have more to worry about than the hardware embedded in his wife’s ankle. He tried to shake off the slivers of alarm while at the same time hoping the man’s prediction was correct.

SIX

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 2:21 P.M.
AMERICAN EMBASSY, BOGAMA, RD

Paul Hayes downed the extra packet of cold medicine his secretary had left on his desk with a swig of lukewarm coffee, trying at the same time to forget the ultimatum his wife had just left him on his voice messages. Three months ago, he’d have sworn their marriage would last forever, but that was before Maggie had left to spend the holidays with his family in Denver, amidst promises that he’d be there by Christmas. Now Valentine’s Day had come and gone and he’d yet to join her. Which translated into the dismal reality that their marriage was on the line.

How had it ever come to this?

He cleaned his glasses with his shirttail, rubbed his eyes, then slid the glasses back on. When they first married, Maggie hadn’t seemed to mind his long hours at work. She’d been caught up with advancing her own career as an associate in a small firm in Denver. Even their six months apart while he was on assignment in Afghanistan hadn’t left any permanent damage to their marriage.

Nine months after his return, their twin daughters were born and everything changed. Maggie, who’d once reveled in making a name for herself in the corporate world, found everything she wanted in motherhood.

When the girls were seven, he’d been assigned the position of deputy chief of mission at the U.S. Embassy in the RD. The hardship pay and adventure of a new place had seemed worth it at first. But the novelty of living in a peaceful country had recently been replaced by not only the current turmoil facing the government, but also the fact that the ambassador was currently out of the country, making him the acting chief of mission. And he had no idea when he was going to be able to leave.

He sneezed, willing the congestion in his lungs to vanish. Or if nothing else, for the cold medicine to numb his heart. Picking up the phone, he hesitated, then jammed the receiver back in the cradle. While he couldn’t blame her, Maggie’s ultimatum couldn’t have come at a worse time. Daily reports from the government continued to downplay the situation brought on by the attempted assassination of the president two months ago — an act that had plunged the country into political chaos. And just when he thought everything was settling down again, the legendary Ghost Soldiers had come forward with demands of amnesty for the leaders who’d been arrested three weeks ago.

He took another sip of his coffee before shoving the bitter drink aside. Everyone hoped the situation would be resolved as soon as possible, but he knew how quickly circumstances like this could spiral out of control. Rebel soldiers had put the entire country—and himself — in a precarious position and a quick resolution wasn’t likely.

Sighing, he glanced at the photo of the twins propped up on his desk and ran his finger across the silver frame. He had tickets to return to the States on Friday, but he’d yet to tell Maggie that more than likely he’d have to postpone the trip. Not that she wanted to see him. She’d made it quite clear that unless he resigned from his post immediately, she was filing for divorce.

Despite everything that had happened between them, he still missed her like crazy and wished they were here. The girls turned nine next week and in January had started third grade at the local elementary school down the road from his parents. A thread of helplessness wound its way through him. With hundreds of lives potentially at stake it didn’t seem fair to have to decide between his country and his wife and children, but the life he’d picked had been full of unfair choices.

Isaac knocked on the open door, then plopped a stack of folders onto the edge of his desk. “Mercy asked me to drop these off and tell you she is being bombarded with calls from expats wanting to know if rumors of rebels raiding villages and slaughtering villagers in the north are true.”

“How did my Foreign Service National investigator get drafted into the role of gopher?”

Isaac’s smile broadened. “That’s a good question, sir.”

Paul flipped through the stack of folders Isaac had given him. As a Foreign Service National investigator, Isaac was the head liaison between the embassy and the RD’s security and law enforcement. He’d become Paul’s right-hand man from day one of his assignment, especially with the ambassador out of the country. “I’ve got an e-mail box full of the same thing, despite your government’s assurances to the contrary.”

“You sound as if you do not believe them.”

“To be honest, I’m not sure what to believe. They might be labeling the death of the American aid worker this morning as a misfortunate accident, but it’s hard to know who’s telling the truth, especially when no one will give me a straight answer.” Paul pushed the folders to the edge of his desk. Any nonessential operational issues would have to be dealt with later. “The rebels, no doubt, want to repress what’s happening so it doesn’t become an international affair. That would call for the UN to come in and clamp down on them, and I’m quite sure that the government doesn’t want to lose their international aid or turn away tourists.”

“Or maybe the reports are right, and it was just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Maybe.

Paul rotated his neck in a slow circle to try to loosen some of the tension that started at his jawline and made its way down to the small of his back. If he could find a free moment in the next twenty-four hours, he’d take an hour off and go running. But until then, his bottles of Tums and Tylenol would have to ease the ongoing symptoms of stress. “All I know is that it’s getting hard to distinguish fact from fiction. For now, we’ve got to make sure we keep all local wardens and volunteers in the loop in case we have to recommend an evacuation for the rest of the country.”

“Do you think it will come to that?”

“At this point, I don’t think so.” Paul caught the concern in Isaac’s expression and felt for the man and his family. As an American citizen, he could leave before the situation spiraled out of control, but for Isaac and most Dzambizians, there was nowhere for them to go. He cleared his throat and pushed away the guilt freedom often brought with it.

“I hope you are right.” Isaac’s smile had faded. “But we all know how situations like this can turn into an international incident overnight. Three months ago the RD was hailed as a poster child for not only a peaceful election, but as an example to other African nations.”

“And now that has all changed.” Paul picked up his pen and tapped it against his desk. “I want you to get a hold of Digane Olam at the hospital in Kingani. It was his aid workers who were involved in this morning’s incident. I want to hear his version of what happened.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And while you’re on the phone with him, tell him to call me once the convoy makes the refugee camp.”

“A convoy?”

“It left early this morning from here full of medical supplies, food, and equipment, and a dozen aid workers. Tell him I want confirmation the minute it arrives at that camp.”

“I’ll let him know.” Isaac started to the door, then stopped. “Before I forget, how are Maggie and the twins? I promised my wife I would ask.”

“They’re good.” Paul again felt the sting of guilt and wished he could avoid the subject. “She told me how much she hated missing your daughter’s birth. How is she?”

Isaac smiled. “She turned four weeks old yesterday. She is beautiful.”

“I’m sure she is.” Paul steepled his hands in front of him and rested his elbows on his desk. “How long have you been working here?”

“Four and a half years.”

“What does your wife think about the long hours?”

“She has always been supportive. I think right now she is more worried about the rebel attacks in the north where her family lives.”

Paul shook his head. “Don’t lose her, Isaac. I know we come from different cultures and different backgrounds, but this job has a tendency to come between you and everyone you love and pull you apart. You don’t have to let it.”

No one had given him that advice twenty-five years ago. His father had been a workaholic, and he’d followed blindly in the old man’s footsteps. At this point there was no turning back for him. He knew what his choice would be. Maggie knew what his choice would be.

Isaac nodded. “Of course not, boss. I have no intentions to.”

“Good.” Paul cleared his throat. Dumping his personal problems on his employees wasn’t in his job description.

But neither was sacrificing his wife and children. He’d seen how unrest could escalate overnight, and with armed rebels on the move, he was left to try and ensure the safety of the Americans living in the country. Those in the Mponi region had already been ordered to leave. Next, they’d contacted all the local wardens and volunteers throughout the rest of the country who’d been organized to ensure everyone was in the loop and received the latest warnings. If things did end up spiraling out of control, the next step would be to recommend all Americans— who were mainly humanitarian workers, missionaries, and a handful of tourists — leave the country. A task that could end up involving the U.S. military and miles of red tape on his end.

“Anything else you need me to do, sir?”

“Get your people to tell you what’s going on while I run through a few contacts of my own. And I’ll want hourly updates on what’s happening out there.”

“What happens if this conflict spreads beyond the northern region?”

Paul shook his head. “Let’s pray it doesn’t get to that.”