The Zombie Game (8 page)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Sanfia’s Home

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

2:30 a.m.

IT HAD BEEN A
long day. As we entered the dining room, I inhaled the heady aromas of freshly prepared foods. I leaned over the table and closed my eyes, enjoying the scents of the eight beautifully presented, steamy dishes. Three Haitian women peeked from the kitchen, but Sanfia closed the door.

Sanfia looked me directly in the eye, “Food is expensive in Haiti since the earthquake,” she said as she held out an empty hand toward me.

I reached in my wallet and gave her one of the one-hundred-dollar bills.

She tucked the money in her bra, whispered to Emmanuel, and went back downstairs to the basement. The men smiled and nodded.

Keyes, Jakjak, and I sat at the table as Emmanuel uncovered the food. Waving his arm across the table, he said, “Food from my mama’s kitchen.”

One of the women hiding in the kitchen giggled. I was cautious about what I ate, fearing poisons. But I was hungry, and the rice and red beans, fried pork with scallions and peppers, cornmeal with black beans, and fried plantains looked and smelled delicious.

Emmanuel held up a quart bottle half-filled with a brown liquid and then filled the three glasses. “Clairin my papa cooked. He makes it from molasses, but be careful. He cooks it twice and it be real strong.”

Twice distilled?
That makes it close to absolute alcohol: 180-proof!

We all were hungry, even Jakjak, as sick as he was, and we heaped large portions on our plates.

Keyes tasted the clairin. “Wow, this’ll knock the socks off a monkey. Do you have any water? I have work to do tonight.”

Emmanuel spoke. “Water will make you sick. Cholera is but one of the things you can get.”

He picked up Keyes’ nearly full glass and downed the clairin. He wiped his mouth with his forearm and smiled. “Alcoholic beverages are all safe. And they’re good for you.” He held both his arms in the air, shuffled his feet, and gyrated in a tight circle behind Keyes as he added, “And it makes you dance good.”

“Thanks for telling us that.” I laughed. “Now, pour her a little more so she can wash down her food, and don’t drink it this time.”

I wanted to snatch the clairin from him and drink it straight from the bottle, but I restrained myself. I was drinking a lot when I’d arrived in Haiti and had continued drinking when I was on the
Ana Brigette
. It was time to stop. I had to think clearly. I wanted to be clean and sober when I went back to my two sons in Jackson City.

I still wasn’t certain that Sanfia and her people were our friends. I’d heard of black magic and the Vodoun cults in Haiti even before I came to the country. While working on the hospital ship, I’d heard the patients talk about the cults and the fear Haitians had of them. If their own people were afraid of Sanfia and groups like hers, maybe there was a reason for outsiders to fear that we may be at risk.

Emmanuel interrupted my thoughts. “Sanfia tells us to stay here and help you for as many days as you need us. What would you have us do?”

“Jakjak needs surgery. We need to be—”

“At the hospital in L
é
ogâne at eight. Yes, I know. I’ll have Dr. Duran’s Lexus waiting for you at five-thirty. I’m to drive you. You have only a couple hours to rest, so why don’t you sleep awhile?”

I nodded in agreement, even though I was still apprehensive about many things—including our personal safety, Jakjak’s well-being, and how we were going to get rid of the terrorists on the
Ana Brigette
. But I was tired, and those would be tomorrow’s worries.

“There is but one bedroom on this floor. That’s for the two whites.”

“As pale as Jakjak is, I think there are three whites here tonight,”
I joked, not expecting an answer.

Jakjak looked in a mirror and turned to me. “We can’t expect Miss Hart to sleep with no strangers, so are you volunteering to go upstairs?”

I looked at his serious stare for a moment before he laughed and slapped me on the back. “Just kiddin’,
Doktè
.”

Keyes palmed some of her money and placed it in Emmanuel’s hand. Without looking at it, he said, “Thanks. I’ll give this to Sanfia. We aren’t allowed to keep any money.”

Jakjak walked upstairs with Emmanuel and Jean-Pierre. Benoit and Shaza went down to the basement.

Keyes opened the door to the bedroom. There was no bed, just a mattress on the floor. The sheets were yellow with age and showed a half dozen repaired tears, but they were clean.

Elizabeth looked at me and then away. She turned her back to me and slid in between the sheets on the bed, her clothes still on. She assumed a fetal position on her side of the bed with her back to me. I lay down next to her and gently rubbed her back.

She started to purr a bit and seemed to enjoy my touch, but she didn’t move. I pulled the sheets partway down, but she pulled them back up. She looked down as she spoke. “We’ve been through a lot, Scott, and ... ”

“No worries.” I looked at her beautiful face and kissed her forehead. “Let’s just get some sleep. I think we both need it.”

But a few minutes later, she stirred. “It’s just, well, we need to go slow.”

I’d waited two months for this moment and was happy to wait another few minutes. I gently caressed the back of her neck.

With hardly any body motion, she pulled off her blouse. I tried to keep my eyes focused on hers, but couldn’t. I watched as she slid the sheet off her body and peeled her panties over her legs.

She let my eyes devour her.

Suddenly the bedroom door flew open.

Keyes screamed and jumped to her feet, covering herself with the sheet from the bed. Men entered the room and were coming at us. I jumped in front of Keyes and looked for something to use as a weapon.

I grabbed a chair and cocked it back, ready to strike anyone or anything that might harm us. A tall, thin man with a bent-over posture charged. His mouth was open and drooling. His eyes were open so wide they were round.

Before he could tackle me, I swung the chair. Someone jumped from behind our assailant and took the full force of the chair. It was Emmanuel!

He jerked the chair from my hands. I balled up my fists to hit him, but he turned his back on me and grabbed the bizarre-looking guy behind him.

What the hell was happening?

Sanfia magically appeared. Her face showed fury as she screamed at me. “What have you done? Fornicating in my house!”

Keyes answered, “Sorry, we didn’t try to—”

“
Estipid moun blan!
Stupid
blancs
! You think I don’t know everything? You need to respect my men and this house.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

With that, Sanfia marched out the door and down the stairs, with Emmanuel doing all he could to subdue her anger.

Keyes and I stood watching the closed door and allowing our pulses to drop a bit. Finally, I walked to her and led her back to the mattress. We lay down, and I wrapped my arms around her. We were still naked, but neither one of us dared do much more. She was comfortable with that, and we soon fell asleep in each other’s arms.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Sanfia’s Home

Port-au-Prince, Haiti

5:00 a.m.

ELIZABETH KEYES AND
I were awakened by the sound of children singing. Though I didn’t understand much Haitian Creole, I enjoyed the melodic songs. The singing continued for twenty minutes. When it ended, Keyes got up from the mattress and rearranged her clothes as I watched.

”Put your eyes back in your head,” she said.

I laughed and tucked my colorful shirt into the fisherman’s trousers.

“I sure could use a hot shower,” she said.

I shook my head. “I’m not opening any more doors without Sanfia’s permission. Besides, with all the problems I’ve seen in Haiti, I doubt this house has running water, much less hot water.”

She looked serious. “What’s going on in those basement rooms?”

I shivered just thinking about it. “Don’t know, but there’s something eerie down there.”

Someone knocked on the door. I opened it to see Jakjak standing in the darkness, smiling.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked.

Though we’d had only a couple hours of sleep, I felt better than I had in a long time. “Very well, thank you. How are you feeling?”

“Never felt better.”

“Don’t believe you,” I said. “Let me see for myself.”

I felt his pulse; it was about 120. I listened to his breathing; it was shallow and rapid, with wheezing. I laid my hand on his forehead; he was hot, probably 102 or 103 degrees. I had to treat this man soon or he’d die of sepsis in a couple days.

Emmanuel drove Tomas’ Lexus, and Jakjak lay in the back seat with his head on my lap. Keyes rode in the front passenger seat. She was as amazed as I had been, not just of the extensive damage caused by the earthquake but of how little had been done to make repairs in the years since the quake. Occasionally, we came across a rebuilt home, and there was one newly constructed flat-topped school. But my impression of Port-au-Prince was a city with thousands of unemployed, empty-faced men and women wandering the streets and children and beggars in ragged clothes standing by the roads.

“I’m shocked that so little has been rebuilt since the quake,” Keyes said as we drove down roads with un-repaired ruts and fissures.

Finally, we encountered a recently repaired highway with the designation RN2.

Jakjak coughed as he told Keyes, “
Madmwazél
, this is the road to L
é
ogâne, where the hospital and Duran’s home are located. This is one of two major highways that have been fixed since the quake.”

The “fixing” involved smoothing and grading but not actual repaving. But it was much better than the other roads in Port-au-Prince.

The road was scenic, with the cerulean blue Caribbean Sea to the right. The beach was wide and covered by pearly white sand, but there were no bathers. I looked where the
Ana Brigette
had been anchored a mile from the beach, but it was gone.

As we traveled down the highway, I told Keyes about how my life was in ruins back home. I hadn’t told anyone this before, but I had started drinking after the events two months prior. Until then, I’d been happy with my work and my family. Keyes knew all about Herb Waters, the hospital administrator who’d framed me for a couple murders. In fact, with her help, I’d been able to sort things out and clear my name.

I told Keyes that I’d taken over Herb Waters’ job after his death and gained custody of my two boys in the divorce.

I’d fled to Haiti, in part, because I knew I had to dry out while on the hospital ship. Finally, I talked with her about the hijacking and my escape two nights earlier.

Keyes was quiet the rest of the drive. She looked at Haiti for the first time in her life. The destruction of the earthquake of January, 2010, was evident everywhere. Eighty percent of the buildings in Port-au-Prince were either damaged or destroyed. Three thousand bodies had been counted, and it was estimated that another thousand were still buried underneath houses that had not been razed or hidden in rubble carted away to the dumps. Years had passed, and only sixty percent of the quake debris had been bulldozed and carried to ravines and low-lying areas to be flattened in preparation for new home construction.

People still lived in tent cities, which we saw everywhere we looked. The tents were fabricated using sheets, cardboard, and discarded tin from the roofs of demolished homes. Numerous ten-foot-tall wooden poles stuck up from the ground, supporting electrical wires. From the sparse supply of electricity, a few wires with bare bulbs dropped to the lucky tent dwellers that were afforded the luxury of light.

We saw less earthquake damage as we neared L
é
ogâne.

When we approached the Duran house, Jakjak got excited. “
Doktè
, Mrs. Duran’s car is gone. She’s not home, so we don’t have to explain nothin’ to her.”

“Can’t we trust her?”

“I’m certain we can, but the fewer people who know what’s going on, the better.”

We drove up a hill devoid of trees and shrubbery in an affluent neighborhood. Many of the yards of the homes were covered with rock debris. Lawns that were formerly well-maintained had knee-high grass in need of mowing. We pulled into the driveway of a dust-covered, two-story, white stucco home with a red tile roof.

Jakjak had a key, and he led Keyes and me into the house. We saw the opulently decorated interior, which was in sharp contrast to the rough exterior appearance of all the homes in the neighborhood. Jakjak showed Keyes the offices of both Julien and Tomas Duran, each equipped with a computer.

Keyes turned and whispered to me, “This is good. I can search their computer network. That may be helpful.”

Just then, there was a loud
clunk
. Keyes hunched over and looked around while Jakjak searched the house. He opened every door except the one to Mrs. Duran’s bedroom. Earlier, he had told me, “Madame Duran’s bedroom is off limits to everyone except her husband.” Even the maid was not allowed there.

Keyes put her head on my shoulder and said softly, “Forgive me. I’ve been a tough bitch for so much of my life. Now I’m terrified that Omar Farok will find me. Maybe I’m not the totally brave and fearless woman you knew in North Carolina. But it was you who caused my change. You’re the first good man I’ve ever met who hasn’t tried to take advantage of me or possess me. You showed me the right way to live, and you opened my heart. But once you allow yourself to feel love, you are also open to feeling fear and all the pain that goes with it. So, to survive, I’ve sort of shut everything down for the past two months, so it’s going to take me a while to open back up again. I hope you understand.”

“Of course. I’ll help you work through this. You’ll be safe with me.”

Then, she stood tall and pushed me away. “Go. Take care of Jakjak. I’ll be fine. I’m not usually jumpy like that.”

I watched as she went to Minister Duran’s desk. Before sitting at his computer, she looked under the desk, behind the sofa, and in the small closet. I backed out the door and hurried to the car.

Aden International Airport

Aden, Yemen

6:30 a.m.

The white and blue-striped Kaza West jet landed and taxied to a hangar owned by Farok. As the plane approached the building, the hangar doors opened. The plane came to a stop just inside and the doors closed. Immediately, a dozen men in camouflage fatigues exited the Kazakh plane and circled it. They stood at attention, holding their semiautomatic rifles in front of them.

A 747 was already in the hangar. It was Farok’s plane, the one he had used when he flew to Kazakhstan. Farok exited his aircraft and took the Kazakh plane’s manifest from the pilot. After reviewing it, he nodded and the cargo hatch of the Kazakh’s plane lowered, revealing two crates. A forklift lifted the largest crate, a lead-lined container the size of a mid-sized car, and carried it to Farok’s 747, where it was transferred to the jet’s interior. Most of the 747’s seats had been removed and replaced with a flat platform that had heavy cleats and straps to hold the cargo.

The cargo hatch of a third plane, Farok’s camouflage-painted Piaggio Avanti, opened. A group of men loaded a smaller crate onto a wheeled dolly and rolled it off the Kazakh plane and into the Piaggio.

Within thirty minutes, the Kazakh’s plane was in the air and Farok was sweating profusely as he gave instructions to the crew of his Piaggio. After the Piaggio flew away, he walked to the Bentley parked in the hangar and got in.

The driver turned to him. “Everything go well?”

Farok did not answer.

He sighed as the guard to his right poured him a glass of Scotch. But he raised both his palms to the offering. “No. I’ll not celebrate until all the pieces of my puzzle are in place and millions of American infidels are dead.”

Farok remained silent all the way to his apartment in Aden.