The Summoner: (2 page)

With one caveat: at all times during the course of the investigation, a member of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs must be present.

Nya gave a stiff nod. “Why don’t we begin with an overview of the facts. Although I believe we’re all aware of the regrettable dearth of information.”

Her voice had an elegant, almost haughty British inflection, typical of the Zimbabwean elite. She spoke slowly and precisely, as if selecting each word from a private dictionary in her head.

“William Addison,” she said, “was last seen on December 6
^th
—this past Saturday. His girlfriend, Tapiwa Chakawa, reported his disappearance the next morning. The police report was faxed to your office. According to Ms. Chakawa, Mr. Addison had asked her to attend a traditional Yoruba ceremony the night of his alleged disappearance, and-”

Harris interrupted with a wave. “What kind of ceremony?”

Nya regarded him with a cool stare. “Questions concerning the Yoruba will be addressed by Professor Radek.” Harris leaned back, and she continued. “Ms. Chakawa accompanied Mr. Addison to the ceremony. At eight p.m. they drove to an undetermined location approximately an hour outside Harare.”

“Undetermined?” Harris said. “Is it a town? A village? A theme park?”

“It’s bushveld. Apparently these ceremonies have been taking place periodically and in secret, remote locales.” She paused. “We know little else. Sometime during the ceremony Mr. Addison entered, apparently of his own free will, the center of a large ring of worshippers. As you know, according to his girlfriend, he never exited.”

Harris snorted. “It’s a circle of people in the middle of the bush, for Christ’s sake. Where the hell did he go? What was she on?”

Grey tilted his head down to distance himself from Harris’s outburst. It was a familiar movement.

“I haven’t met with Ms. Chakawa,” Nya said. “The police report states she was unable to see into the ring of worshippers. This is your investigation, Mr. Powell. I suggest you start by familiarizing yourself with the one piece of documentation we have.”

“I’ve read the report,” Harris said.

Professor Radek shifted; even a slight movement of his gargantuan frame drew attention to him. “Ms. Mashumba, if I may?” Although not as booming as Grey expected, his voice commanded.

“Before we continue,” Harris interrupted, “and forgive me, Professor—I understand the Ambassador requested your assistance—but what exactly do you do? I like to know who I’m working with.”

“Of course,” Viktor murmured. “I’m a professor of religious phenomenology at Charles University in Prague.”

“Religious what?”

“Phenomenology is a branch of philosophy that eschews abstract metaphysical speculation, and instead focuses on reality as it’s perceived or understood in human consciousness. The phenomenologist studies actual experiences, or “phenomena,” and how they affect the perceiver.”

“I see,” Harris said dryly.

“I apply the principles of phenomenology to the study of religion, by exploring the diverse phenomena that practitioners from various faiths claim to experience—including those religions not officially recognized by any authority except their own.”

Grey was familiar with phenomenology; he found it one of the more practical branches of philosophy. But he didn’t know there was a religious subset. He said, “What kind of phenomena?”

“Any occurrence, encounter, miracle, awareness, or other extraordinary spiritual experience. The subjective side of religion as opposed to the objective. Acts of faith and spiritual belief.”

Grey failed to keep the skepticism from his voice. “How do you study those types of things?”

A patient nod. “I observe the practitioner as he’s experiencing the alleged phenomena, and analyze the effects. I’m concerned with how the experience impacts the devotee, not the veracity of the event itself.”

At least Professor Radek’s clinical description implied that he housed his religious beliefs just where Grey thought they belonged: in the classroom.

“Perhaps a more concrete example would help clarify?” Nya said.

“Make it very concrete,” Harris added.

Grey followed Viktor’s eyes as they darted, with the economy of motion of a practiced observer, to regard a silver cross that clung to Nya’s throat. “I assume all three of you come from a Judeo-Christian background, or are at least familiar with it. Within this belief system I might explore phenomena such as mass prayer, a Catholic rite, or a charismatic worship service. Were I to delve deeper, I might seek out a faith healer, a snake handler, an exorcist, or a sufferer of the stigmata.”

“It sounds like you have plenty to talk about at cocktail parties,” Harris said, “but how does any of this help us here?”

“My profession has led me around the world in pursuit of phenomenological experiences, and I have acquired a rather… unique… knowledge of the workings of a large number of fringe religious groups. Over the years, this knowledge has proven useful to various law enforcement organizations.”

Viktor interrupted himself, as if realizing his explanations were too academic. “Forgive my lengthy answers. Simply put, I’m an expert on cults.”

3

H
arris and Grey exchanged a glance. Cults conjured for Grey the worst religion has to offer: manipulation, gullibility, charlatanism.

“Isn’t this a bit premature?” Harris asked. “We haven’t interviewed any witnesses, and his girlfriend could be lying. It
sounds
like she’s lying. Disappeared from a circle of people? Either she’s hiding something, or Addison slipped off with someone younger and firmer.”

Professor Radek didn’t answer, initiating an awkward silence. When Nya spoke again Grey thought he detected a hint of reluctance. “There is precedent.”

Harris started. “This has happened before? A disappearance at one of these…”

“Yes.”

Harris sighed and showcased the palms of his hands. Nya gave a long pause before she resumed speaking, as if considering what to reveal or how to reveal it. “Zimbabwe is comprised of two main ethnic groups—the Shona and the Ndebele. Zimbabwe is predominantly Christian, but like any African country, we have our own native traditions. About three years ago, a traditional religious movement took hold in some of our villages. Not a religion indigenous to Zimbabwe, but to Nigeria. From the people of Yorubaland.” She turned to Viktor. “Professor?”

Viktor said, “The Yoruba are a sizeable West African ethno-linguistic group. There are large diasporas in Sierra Leone, Brazil, Mexico, and across the Caribbean. While many Yoruba have converted to Christianity and to a lesser extent Islam, the religious practices indigenous to the Yoruba have survived surprisingly well, despite attempts to stamp them out. The ancient Yoruba religion is known by many names: Ifa, Orisa, Juju, Sango, or simply Yoruba. Are you familiar with any of these?”

Neither were, and Viktor said, “Due to the slave trade, West African religions were mixed and infused with Catholicism, and evolved into an intriguing syncretism of beliefs and practices. Perhaps you recognize the terms Lucuma, Oyotunji, Candomble-”

Grey leaned forward. “You’re talking about Santeria. Voodoo.”

“The Vodou religion of Haiti, more commonly known as Voodoo, derives from the Fon-Ewe of present day Benin, and from the Congo-Angolan region. However, Vodou does incorporate many Yoruba deities, ideologies and practices and can be considered a cousin religion.”

“Fascinating,” Harris said. “Tell me again how a history of barbaric religions helps us find Addison?”

“It was at a Yoruba ceremony that William Addison disappeared,” Nya said. “And it was at Yoruba ceremonies that at least ten other people disappeared as well; the first has been missing for months. Your personal opinion of the Yoruba religion is irrelevant to this investigation. What is relevant is understanding what sort of practice, and what sort of man, we’re dealing with.”

Nya’s reproach was lost on Harris. ‘”What do you mean what sort of man? Is there a suspect?”

“Yes. Although perhaps you consider our police procedures archaic, and our primitive conjectures not worth your time. Perhaps you wish to wait until the next disappearance to begin piecing together the clues.”

Grey fought back a grin. Harris muttered to Grey under his breath, “Have fun with her,” and then aloud, “Ms. Mashumba, I meant no disrespect. I have no use for religion unless it’s essential to an investigation. It appears that might be the case here.”

She inclined her head. “As I began earlier, a movement deriving from the Yoruba religion began to surface among the villagers.”

“Why?” Grey asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Why did this new religion spring up all of a sudden in a different part of Africa?”

Viktor stepped in again. “For the same reasons any cult or religious movement develops and spreads. To provide hope in a threatening world, to return chaos to order. A place like present-day Zimbabwe is a breeding ground for cults.”

“A few years ago,” Nya said, “we heard reports of villagers engaging in the practice of—Professor, what would you term the movement?”

“Let’s refer to it as “Juju” for clarity.”

“This practice of Juju,” she said, “was confined to the most rural areas and to Harare’s Nigerian immigrants. We’ve kept an eye on it, and seen no cause for concern. Until eight months ago.”

“I’ll bite,” Harris said. “What happened eight months ago?”

Nya gave a quick glance around the room. “A
babalawo
arrived. A Juju priest.”

In spite of Nya’s cross, Grey thought her nervous glance curious. She didn’t seem the superstitious type.

“A Juju priest,” Harris repeated.

“We don’t know his name, or even his nationality, though we assume he’s Nigerian. Think what you will, but we believe this man is responsible for these disappearances. Perhaps including Mr. Addison.”

“Why not just arrest him at one of the ceremonies?” Grey asked.

“We don’t know when or where they’re held. Nor do we possess any evidence.”

“That’s never stopped this government before,” Grey said, low enough for Harris alone.

Harris said, “How do you know it’s a man?”

“The rumors agree on that much. We assume he arrived eight months ago because,” she hesitated, “this is when the nature of the Juju ceremonies began to change. Reports circulated that a real babalawo had come to Zimbabwe, and the villagers are either in awe or complete terror of this man. And the ceremonies—Professor, this is your territory again.”

Viktor stood and began to pace, filling the room with his presence. “As we discussed, Santeria, Candomble, and other syncretic religions are offshoots of Juju in the Americas. You’re probably aware of some of their alleged practices: animal sacrifices, necromancy, curses, spirit possession—I assume these sound familiar?”

Grey shrugged. “Sure.”

“Practitioners of these sects are deeply religious. They believe our world is populated by spiritual forces, both good and evil, and they seek to petition, placate, and even interact with them through spells, ritual acts and sacrifice. I see your expressions, but the Judeo-Christian tradition is rife with similar beliefs. You’ve simply been conditioned to Christian doctrine. Concepts such as resurrection, prophecy, the Virgin Birth, turning water into wine—these don’t sound fanciful or outlandish to you, even if you’re not a believer. They’re part of your milieu.”

Viktor waited as his statement sunk in. Grey didn’t like it, but he had to admit Viktor had a point.

“The Yoruba religious system includes a pantheon of lesser gods, goddesses, and spirits that the Yoruba believe take a direct hand in this world. The Juju practitioner believes these lesser gods, called “Orisas”—you might liken them to the Christian concept of angels and their demonic counterparts—can and must be dealt with.”

He stopped pacing and leaned on the table. “Enough rhetoric. Understand that the practices of the derivatives of Juju in the Americas—understand that these are adulterated, watered down, Westernized versions of Juju. In Nigeria, the practice of traditional Juju is alive and well. And this Juju has a dark side, filled with black magic, ritual sacrifice, and worse.”

If it wasn’t for Professor Radek’s sober air of professional authority, Grey would have chalked his speech up to melodrama.

Viktor sat back and averted his eyes. “I assisted on a case involving Juju once before. The mutilated body of a young boy was found floating in the Thames, and a forensic examination identified the boy as Yoruba. After a lengthy investigation twenty-two men were arrested. The men were part of a Juju cult based in London, and they’d tortured and killed the boy during a religious ceremony.”

Grey saw Nya pale.

“Occurrences of this sort outside of Yorubaland are rare, but it’s estimated that hundreds of Nigerians are victims of ritual murder every year.” Professor Radek looked at Grey, and then Harris. “Before you judge, remember that the vast majority of babalawos are not evil—no more so than any other priest who adheres to religious tradition.”

“That’s comforting,” Harris said.

Viktor smiled as though Harris were a clever, but misguided, student. “There are exceptions. The mixture of traditional Juju with greed and capitalism has led to the existence, especially in the urban centers of Nigeria, of rogue babalawos who corrupt their religion for their own gain. These Jujumen employ men called headhunters to gather human body parts for use in various rituals believed to enhance wealth, power, or even sexual prowess. Last year a taxi driver was arrested in Lagos for plucking out the eyes and tongue of his wife and decapitating his fourteen month old son. He sold the parts to the headhunter of a prominent Jujuman.”

“Good God,” Nya whispered, and Grey sank into his chair. He’d seen and heard a lot of terrible things in his life, but that was pretty near the top.

“Do you see now,” Viktor said, casting his eyes on each of his listeners, “why this man should be taken seriously?”

“I find it hard to believe human sacrifices are happening in the twenty-first century,” Grey said. “I thought we’d at least put
that
behind us.”