Angel of Mercy (10 page)

18

"Things are heating up in Sudan again, but stay with the Mission Air people and you should be fine.” Paul Warring stuffed clothes into a duffel bag while he talked to Heather. He was driving her to the airfield in Kampala in the morning. He’d wait until she returned from Sudan with the baby.

“The Mission Air pilots are usually retired military,” Jodene added. “Many have been missionaries themselves, so they’re sympathetic to our work.”

“In the old days,” Paul continued, “it was the only way they could get around Africa. You’ve seen the roads, so you know what I’m talking about. A family could get stuck in the bush for months, so men took flying lessons in order to move around more freely.”

“What about a ticket?” Heather asked.

“You’ll buy it tomorrow at the airstrip. And you can pay for it with your credit card.”

Heather remembered being surprised at the large number of banks and ATM machines in Kampala. But with the number of international travelers coming through Africa, it made sense. The universal use of credit cards made purchasing things a snap for tourists.

“How much money should I take with me?” she asked.

Paul and Jodene exchanged looks. Jodene went to the closet, took down a pouch from the top shelf, and unzipped it. She reached in, pulled out several coins, and plopped them into Heather’s hand. “Take these.”

“I have money. I don’t want to take yours.”

“You don’t have these,” Jodene said.

Heather turned the shiny coins over in her hand. “What are they?”

“South African Krugerrands—coins made of gold bullion. We keep them on hand in case of emergencies. In case something terrible happens to Uganda currency, well . . . people will always take gold in payment.”

“I have American dollars—” Heather began.

“If you run into any trouble, all paper currency may be useless.
Goldspeke
is the universal language, trust me. Use it if you need it. You can pay us back when you get to the States.”

Heather took the gold, knowing its value. “If I use any, you’ll get them back with interest.”

“We can’t put a price on the baby’s life, now, can we?” Jodene said.“Keep them close to your body at all times. When I travel, I put the coins in a pouch pinned to the inside of my bra.”

“And don’t let go of your passport, either,” Paul said. “Keep it with you at all times.”

As the seriousness of her undertaking began to sink in, Heather felt growing apprehension. This would be the only attempt to bring Kia’s sister out of Sudan. If Heather failed, the baby would surely die. Heather knew that even if her mission was successful, there were no guarantees. The baby’s cleft palate must be repaired, and Heather didn’t know whether Dr. Gallagher’s team could perform the delicate surgery in their less-than-state-of-the-art hospital. Everything would have to go perfectly if the baby and Kia were to be reunited and live happily ever after, Heather told herself.

As for Kia, she still preferred the underside of her cot to the run of the house, but she did slip out more frequently. Especially when Heather showed up at the house. Kia took candy from Heather’s hand whenever it was offered and had taken to following Jodene around the yard as she hung out laundry. Kia had still not spoken.

Jodene said, “You’ll be taking boxes of medical supplies on the plane with you. That will be your entry ticket into the country. At the airport, you’ll hand over the supplies to Ed and he’ll hand you the baby. Then get back on the plane. These pilots don’t stay on the ground long. They load up and return ASAP.”

Paul took hold of Heather’s shoulders. “In and out, Heather. That’s the plan. Hold your head up and act confident. You’ll do fine.”

Heather offered a weak smile. “That’s my line, remember?”

The three of them laughed. Jodene sobered and looked Heather in the eye. “Listen . . . we’ll be holding a prayer vigil for you. From the time you leave until the minute you return, someone here will be praying for you. We’ll pray that God’s angels go with you and bring you and Kia’s sister back to us safely.”

Angels.
Heather would never have thought to enlist the aid of angels. She couldn’t help wondering where they might have been when Ian made his journey, but she didn’t say anything. It hurt too much to even think about Ian. She turned to Jodene and smiled with as much confidence as she could muster. “Thank you. I appreciate all the help I can get.”

Early Tuesday morning, with the Ugandan children from the home surrounding them in the front yard, Heather climbed into Paul’s Jeep, which was piled with boxes full of supplies. She wore an armband with a bright red cross emblazoned on it, a plain black baseball cap, sunglasses on a cord around her neck, and a small knapsack that fastened around her waist. “Travel light,” Paul had said.

Jodene leaned into the Jeep, kissed her husband, and squeezed Heather’s hand. “Go with God.”

Paul backed the Jeep and pulled onto the rutted road. Heather hunkered down, folded her arms, and pulled the cap low over her eyes. The noise of the wind made it impossible to talk, so they rode silently into Kampala. Every mile of the way, Heather looked for some sign that angels were following them, but she saw nothing except charcoal fires beside the road as people stirred to start another day of hunting up food to fill their empty stomachs.

The Mission Air airfield was simply a grassy expanse with a couple of low buildings and a single runway. By noon, the plane was ready to go. Paul hugged her. “I’ll be here when you return.”

“Well, at least you won’t be hard to spot,” she said, looking around the nearly empty room that served as the passenger terminal.

Heather walked out onto the field and up the steps into the belly of the propeller plane, which looked like something she’d seen in an old war movie. Seating consisted of two long metal benches bolted along the interior walls. Seat belts clamped on from the wall behind the benches, fastening over her shoulders and around her waist.

Her fellow passengers were men—two World Health Organization representatives from Great Britain and several Africans. The pilot came aboard and welcomed them, saying the flight time was approximately an hour and that they expected no turbulence. He and a copilot entered the cabin, and Heather glimpsed a maze of gauges and switches. With the cargo in the hold and the passengers loaded, the plane’s engines roared to life. Heather twisted to see the spinning propellers through the porthole-sized window.

The plane began its slow roll down the landing strip, gathered speed, and lifted sharply, clearing the tops of the trees surrounding the field. Heather’s heart pounded as she waited for the plane to level off. Commercial airplanes made it appear so effortless, but this plane seemed to groan and clank like a tired knight in rusty armor.

The engine noise filled the cabin with a dull roar. The air was warm and close. She was glad the flight wouldn’t take too long. When finally the plane began to descend, she braced for the touchdown. She felt relief when the plane rolled to a stop and the door opened. She descended the stairs into blinding heat. She put on her sunglasses and walked into a small building, trying to act confident and self-assured.

Heather fell into a short line to clear customs, which consisted of two armed soldiers checking passports. They looked her over as they stamped her passport. The automatic weapons in their hands were black, with tubular steel stocks and barrels. Leather straps held the guns across their shoulders.

On the other side of customs, she went to where the cargo had been piled on the cement floor. Her boxes were clearly marked with bright red crosses, but when she approached, a soldier stepped in front of her. He held his rifle at his waist and gestured for her to stand aside. He said something to her, but she couldn’t understand a word.

“Medicine,” she said in English. “For doctors.”

The soldier glared and his weapon came up. Heather thought she might pass out from sheer terror.

“Can I help here?” A man stepped between them. He said something to the soldier in Swahili, and the man lowered his gun and stepped away from Heather and the boxes. Heather stood frozen in place. Her rescuer was in his thirties. He held out his hand. “Ed Wilson,” he said. “You must be Heather.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice.

“Let’s get you outside and into the Jeep. I’ll send my driver, Barry, in to get the supplies.” He spoke to the guard, took Heather’s elbow, and walked her out of the building. A Jeep with a Sudanese driver waited at the roadside.

As she folded herself into the back of the vehicle, Ed said, “Sorry I wasn’t here when the plane touched down. We left in plenty of time, but some farmer decided to herd his cows across the road and held us up for twenty minutes.”

“It’s all right.” Heather found her voice. “I know all about those cows.”

Barry was loading the boxes in the back. Ed said, “I’m really sorry about what happened to that Ian fellow. Did you know him?”

A sharp pain sliced through her heart. “Yes,” she said. “I knew him well.”

“Then I’m doubly sorry. Rescuing this baby— we’ve come to call her Alice—hasn’t been easy.”

Heather looked around the Jeep. “Speaking of the baby, where is she? Paul told me you’d have her with you and all I had to do was get back on board the plane with her.”

“Well, it may not be that simple.”

Heather’s stomach did a flip-flop. “Why not?”

“The rebels have gotten aggressive again. They routed a village less than twenty-five kilometers east of here. The military is crawling all over the place, which means they’ve clamped down on travel.”

“Are you saying I got in but maybe I can’t get out?”

“Yes,
you
can leave. In fact, that plane’s returning to Kampala in fifteen minutes. It might be best if you left with it.”

“But what about the baby?”

“You can’t take her with you.”

Heather couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She couldn’t have come so far to fail! “I’m not leaving without her.”

A soldier began walking toward them, waving them off with his rifle. Barry started the Jeep. Ed said, “Let’s get out of here.”

They drove off in a cloud of dust.

“Where are we going?” Heather asked.

“Into a town near here, to a hotel where most of us health workers and foreigners stay. If you’re here more than a few weeks, it gets old living in tents at the camp, so the hotel becomes our permanent quarters. The baby’s there with Sister Louise, the nun who’s been taking care of her.”

The Jeep bumped along a rutted road, swerving to miss a child playing in the middle. Heather swallowed hard against a rising tide of fear and watched as the airfield, and her means of escape, shrank in the distance behind her.

The town was a dusty collection of buildings—shops, a gas station, and the hotel. Men lounged lazily against walls and along the roadside. Chickens ran in circles, pecking at the hard-packed dirt.

The hotel rose only two stories and looked run-down. Chipped pink paint flaked off the walls. Intense sunlight gleamed off a roof made of tin. A courtyard held small tables and wooden chairs, where several people sat sipping coffee. Inside the lobby were a desk with a clerk sitting idly, a broken-down couch, and a TV. Ed nodded at the clerk, who waved. Ed told Heather, “My room’s on the second floor.”

They climbed a flight of stairs and went to a battered door. Ed knocked lightly, then opened it with a key. Across the small room, a nun sat by an open window, reading a book. She rose and smiled. “So glad you’re here, Ed. Is this Heather?”

Heather greeted her and looked at the bed, where a baby slept on a folded blanket on a mattress that sagged in the center. The room felt stifling, and noise from the street drifted upward.

“Still sleeping?” Ed asked.

“Like an angel.”

Heather tiptoed over and peered down. Alice lay on her back, her small fists tightly closed. Her dark face, marred by the birth defect, looked peaceful. Instantly tears welled in Heather’s eyes. She thought of all the people who’d stepped in to try and save her. She thought of Kia. They were tiny, defenseless children, caught in a terrible drama of politics and death that was not of their making. All they had in the world was each other.

Just then Barry eased into the room. “He’s downstairs,” Barry told Ed.

“Heather, come with me. We’re going to talk to a man about a plane.”

Down in the courtyard, Barry, Ed, and Heather took seats at a table with a small, dark-skinned man whose gaze kept darting around the open spaces. Barry made introductions, calling the man Mr. Oundo, Odo for short. “Sometimes Odo flies cargo out of the area for us,” Ed explained to Heather. “In spite of difficulties.”

Odo sat stonily. Ed began to talk to him in Swahili, but Odo kept shaking his head.

A man brought them a tray with coffee cups and set it on the table. Heather’s stomach churned.

More discussion, but still Odo remained adamant. “Too dangerous,” he said in English, surprising Heather.

“Does he understand English?” she asked.

Odo’s gaze darted to her face. “I speak English,” he said with an odd accent. “The problem is, I do not wish to risk my plane at this time.” He started to stand up.

Heather felt as if she was going to be sick. He couldn’t just walk away and leave her and the baby stranded. He couldn’t! “Wait! Just a minute. Please . . .I have something to say. Will you listen?”

19

Looking reluctant, Odo settled back into his chair. “I tell you, it is too dangerous to fly. We can be shot down . . . like birds by a hunter.”

Silently Heather tuned her mind to the only ear she believed could hear her. She prayed,
“Dear God, help me.”
Gathering her courage, she said to Odo, “I appreciate your caution, Mr. Odo, but I really need to return to Kampala. Will you consider this?” She reached inside her shirt and extracted a small cloth pouch. She opened it discreetly and poured five gold coins into her hand.

Odo’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

“If you take me and the baby to Kampala today, I’ll give you these.” She placed three of the coins in a line on the table so that they could catch the sun. “And when you come back, Ed will give you these.” She handed the other two to Ed. “Plus,” she said, watching Odo lick his lips nervously, “once the baby and I are in Kampala safely, my friend at the airport will give you two more. That’s seven gold Krugerrands, Mr. Odo. Just for a short one-hour flight. What do you say?”

Heather’s heart was thundering so hard in her chest, she was afraid everyone at the table could hear it. The air hung like a curtain, moved only by sounds from the street—the bleat of a goat, the
ding
of a bicycle bell moving past. Sweat trickled between her shoulder blades.

Odo reached out, but Heather covered the row of coins with her palm. “I’ll give them to you tonight,” she said. “After the baby and I are aboard the plane.”

Time seemed to crawl as the man considered Heather’s offer. An eternity later, he said, “I will take you.” He turned to Ed, “Be at the field—you know which one I mean—at the hour of four in the morning. We must leave before the sun rises. If you are not there, I will not wait for you.”

Heather watched Odo walk away, and she slumped in her chair.

“Let’s go upstairs,” Ed said. “Too many ears around here.”

In the room, Alice still slept while Sister Louise watched over her. Ed studied Heather appreciatively, then shook his head. “That was beautiful, Heather. I was getting nowhere with all my pleas for humanitarian causes. He wasn’t about to budge, either. Then you pulled the golden rabbit out of the hat and changed everything.” A grin split his face. “Where’d you get the coins, anyway?”

Heather grinned ruefully. “An angel gave them to me.”

He laughed out loud. “When I first saw you, I thought, ‘What is Paul thinking, sending her? She’s just a kid!’ But you’re no kid, Heather. You handled yourself like a real professional.”

She felt as if he’d just held out a golden scepter to her. “I couldn’t let our only chance for getting Alice out of here walk away. I knew I had to persuade him somehow. And my father always says money talks. So I thought I’d let it say a few things in Alice’s favor.” Heather sat cautiously on the bed, being careful not to wake the baby.

“Well, we’re not out of the woods yet,” Ed told her. “You’d best stretch out and catch some sleep. We’ll have to leave around three A.M. in order to get to where Odo stashes his plane.”

“All right,” Heather said. She lay down obediently, positive that she could never fall asleep, but within minutes, her eyes shut and sleep claimed her.

Heather woke to the sound of the baby’s crying. Night had fallen, and a kerosene lamp lit the room. “What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.

“Alice is hungry,” Sister Louise said. “Come, watch how I prepare her food . . . in case you must do it.”

Heather scooted off the bed. “Where are Ed and Barry?” The room was empty except for the three of them.

“Downstairs getting dinner. You should eat too.”

“I’m not hungry. What time is it, anyway?”

“After nine,” Sister Louise said. “Now, bring my little Alice over here.”

Heather lifted the baby and walked to the dresser, where a small pan of water boiled atop a can of Sterno. “I’m saving the bottled water for you to take with you,” Sister Louise said.

Heather watched as the nun poured a fine powder into the pan and stirred it until it cooled. “You want to keep it soupy,” the nun said. “Like thin cream of wheat.”

Next the nun picked up a large-gauge syringe from which the needle had been removed. She dipped the opening of the syringe into the gruel-like fluid, drew it into the barrel, and held it up to the baby’s lips. Alice’s oddly shaped little mouth grabbed the end greedily and sucked as Sister Louise eased down the plunger. “Now you try it.” She handed the feeding syringe to Heather.

It took Heather a few tries, but she got the hang of it, and soon Alice had been fed. Heather held the baby on her shoulder and patted her back until she burped.

“Excellent,” Sister Louise said. “We’ll feed her again right before you leave.”

The nun packed the small bag of powder in Heather’s knapsack, along with a bottle of water.

Ed returned, bringing Heather a plate of
matoke
and rice. “It’s all the kitchen had,” he said apologetically.

“It’s all right,” Heather told him.

She ate. And then they waited.

Heather dozed, but at last Ed shook her shoulder and said, “Time to get going.”

She gathered up her belongings while Sister Louise fed Alice again. Once she was finished, the nun held Alice close and said, “You be good for Heather.” With tears in her eyes, she placed the baby in Heather’s arms.

Wrapped tightly in a blanket, Alice seemed small and light to Heather, and she smelled of the protein powder she’d been eating. “She’d never have made it without you,” Heather told the nun.

Sister Louise sniffed and stepped away.

“One more thing,” Ed said. He took a small vial and a syringe from his pocket. “I’m going to sedate her. We want her to sleep for the trip.”

Heather watched as he drew a few cc’s of fluid into the syringe. He unwound the swaddled baby and stuck the needle into the fleshy part of her thigh. Alice wailed, but minutes later, her eyelids drooped and she slept.

Ed pressed the medication into Heather’s hand. “In case she wakes.”

Heather nodded, praying she wouldn’t have to give Alice another shot, that they’d be back in Kampala before the sedative wore off—but also grateful for the weeks she’d worked at the Ugandan hospital, which had given her the skills to do it if she must.

“That’s it,” Ed said, glancing around the room. “Barry’s waiting in the Jeep.”

Holding Alice close against her chest, and without a backward glance, Heather followed Ed down the stairs and out into the darkness.

Without a moon, the night seemed impenetrable. The road was little more than a rutted trail, and Barry drove without headlights as much as possible. Although she’d wedged herself in the back of the Jeep, Heather bounced painfully. Her shoulders ached and her lower back screamed for relief. Sedating the baby had been a good idea. Alice slept peacefully, unmindful of the jarring.

“You okay back there?” Ed called to her from the passenger’s seat.

Heather gritted her teeth. “Sure . . . but I’ll probably need a kidney transplant when this ride’s over.”

“Not much farther,” Ed told her.

The trail went up, then down. The Jeep slowed, then sped up. Heather completely lost any sense of direction. Eventually, Barry pulled into a stand of scrub trees and turned off the engine. Quiet descended. Slowly Heather’s hearing adjusted to the hum of insects, then a faraway
pop, pop, pop.

“Gunfire,” Ed whispered. He stood up in the Jeep, peering off into the darkness. “Let’s hope Mr. Odo’s greed is greater than his fear.”

Barry flashed the Jeep’s headlights in three short bursts. Heather’s heart caught in her throat. What if the man didn’t come? What if the rebels found them before they could leave?

From across the field came an answering burst of light.

“We’re on,” Ed said. He helped Heather from the Jeep, and while Barry stayed with the vehicle, the two of them ran, hunched over, across the field under the cover of night.

Mr. Odo, dressed in fatigues, waited for them. “Hurry,” he said. He pulled branches off a large heap. Underneath was the smallest plane Heather had ever seen. He opened a door, helped her in with the baby, dropped a harness-style seat belt over her shoulders, and snapped it.

Ed reached in the window and took Heather’s hand. “We’ll pray for you and the little one.”

“What about you and Barry? Will you be all right?”

“Don’t worry about us. We’re going away from the gunfire. We’ll be in the camp reporting for duty at our regular time in the morning.”

“Thank you, Ed, and tell Barry thanks too.”

Ed moved back until Heather lost sight of him. Now she and Alice were together, but alone, with only a mercenary to shuttle them to freedom. She rotated her shoulders to ease her tension.

Odo settled in the pilot’s seat and flipped switches, and the engine sputtered to life. To Heather it sounded like a broken lawn mower. “It can get off the ground, right?” she asked.

“Flies like a bird, lady.”

She almost told him that penguins were birds too but couldn’t fly two feet. Instead, she snuggled the sleeping baby closer and prayed.

Odo pulled on the throttle and the plane moved forward, bumping across the grassy field. It gathered speed; then just when Heather thought they’d crash into a clump of trees, the plane magically lifted. The darkness seemed to swallow them. She caught glimpses of the ground falling away behind them. “Pretty low, aren’t we?”

“Have to fly beneath the radar,” Odo said. “If the military sees us, they will shoot us down.” He glanced over at her. “Don’t worry, lady . . . we’ll make it.”

In the distance, she saw a reddish aura rising into the sky from the land. “What’s that?”

“Another battle. A village burning.”

Heather’s stomach tightened, and she steeled herself against images of screaming, dying people.

“Sit back,” Odo said. “I’ll radio Kampala soon to let the tower know we’re coming in.”

She reached into her pocket and removed the pouch. “Your money, Mr. Odo. I make good on my promises.”

His fingers closed around the fabric, he jiggled it and, hearing the coins clink together, said, “You’ve paid much for so small a child, lady. And an ugly child, too. I do not know what makes her so valuable.”

“I don’t expect that you would, Mr. Odo. It’s just that when I look at her, I don’t see her body. I see her soul. And
that’s
more valuable than all the gold in the world.”