The Shadow Patrol (32 page)
Owen’s confidence was reassuring. Aside from his doomed love for her, he was a levelheaded guy. If he said it was okay, it probably was.
“When do you want to go?”
“Next week,” Scott said. “Before the rainy season starts.”
“What about the reporter? Aren’t we supposed to be here to talk to her?”
“She’s going to be around for a few days.”
“I’ll talk to Hailey about it.” Gwen was just trying to buy time now.
Scott smiled. “She’s in. Said it sounded great.”
Then Gwen knew that she was going, whether she felt like it or not.
* * *
THE LAND CRUISER
had the usual supplies that African roads demanded. A full-size spare tire and a spare for the spare. A plastic jerrican of gasoline, two of water. Twenty yards of tow rope and two two-by-fours to provide traction if the truck got caught in mud. A jack and a repair kit with every tool a mechanic might want.
“Looks like we’re going across the continent, not on a two-night holiday,” Owen said. The four stood by the Toyota, waiting for Suggs. It was just past dawn. The air for once felt crisp, the stink of diesel almost gone. Gwen saw why Hailey liked this hour.
“When did you start saying
holiday
?” Scott said. “It’s a vacation. Or maybe research.”
“Research for what?” Hailey said.
“The book I’m writing. Still trying to pick a title. Which do you like,
I Heart Refugees
or
Kenya On Three Handouts a Day
?”
“Shouldn’t you read a book before you try writing one?”
“I don’t see why.”
“You know what I love about you, Scott?”
“Nothing?”
Hailey laughed. “You think you know how ridiculous you are, but you have no idea.”
Suggs walked across the compound’s central courtyard toward them. He had a big man’s rolling gait, short wide steps. He held a thermos and wore a bright orange Polo shirt and lime green pants. A pistol on his right hip completed the outfit.
“He planning to play eighteen at the Dadaab country club?” Scott said.
“I can never tell whether he’s riffing ironically off the African-fixer look or embracing it,” Owen said.
“That is a very good question.”
“Ready?” Suggs said.
“As we’ll ever be,” Scott said.
“We’ll be in Mokowe in four, maybe five hours.”
“Then the boats?”
“They will be happy to see you, I promise. Real Americans with real American money. Every Kenyan’s favorite.”
“I feel so loved,” Owen said.
No one argued when Scott took the front passenger seat. The other three sat in back, Owen in the middle, splaying his legs for maximum thigh-to-thigh contact with Gwen. Suggs shoved his gun under the driver’s seat, and out the front gate they went. Gwen had a knot in her stomach, a mix of excitement and nervousness. She remembered feeling this way at junior prom, knowing she’d be losing her virginity before the night was through. More than six years had passed since then. Amazing.
“What are you thinking about?” Hailey said.
“How glad I am to be on this trip with all of you. Even Scott.”
“The Wisdom of the Barbie,” Scott said.
Suggs stopped at the guardhouse to register their departure. But he seemed to hear something he didn’t like from Harry. They had a short conversation in Swahili. Then they left the compound behind and made their way along the dirt track that led around the camp to the main Dadaab road. At this hour the cooking fires hadn’t been lit and the camp was mostly quiet. A little boy, maybe four years old, stood naked by the side of the road, peeing, his face creased in concentration on his task. Suggs stopped and yelled something. The boy looked up and grinned and waggled his penis, sending a stream of urine side to side. Suggs honked his horn and rolled on.
“We are the worst aid workers ever,” Owen said.
At the intersection of the dirt camp track and the main road that led to Dadaab, Suggs turned right. Gwen was surprised. She had always thought Dadaab was left.
“Aren’t we going north?” Owen said. “Back to Dadaab and then west to Garissa and then make a big left and head southeast.”
Suggs pulled over. “The guard, he says the Kenyan police have a big roadblock on the road. This way goes south past Bakafi and then west and then picks up the same road to Mokowe. No tarmac”—the Kenyans called pavement tarmac—“between here and Bura, but I think it’s safe. The bandits like to stay closer to the camps, to the north. We might even save time. Be on Lamu by noon.”
“We were going to stay on the main roads,” Scott said. “That was the plan.”
Suggs turned in his seat. “You think I want to be kidnapped? They kidnap you, they ransom you. You’re Americans, right? They kidnap me, they—” He put a finger to his head and pulled the trigger. “Nobody going to spend so much money feeding me.” He laughed a big man’s laugh,
ho, ho, ho
. “Suggs is telling you, this way is safe. But you decide for yourself.”
“It’s fine by me, if it’s okay with everyone else,” Scott said. “What do you think?”
“You trust this guy?” Hailey said.
“I trusted him with my life last week when we went to Witu. He’s talked convoys out of roadblocks, all kinds of stuff. Yeah, I trust him.”
“Well, I believe what he says about not wanting to get kidnapped. Nobody likes a fat hostage,” Hailey said. “I’m in.”
“Owen?”
“Okay.” Though Owen didn’t sound sure to Gwen.
“Gwen?”
She wanted to say,
no, take me home.
But she knew what would happen. They’d come back in three days and tell her what a great time they’d all had and how lame she was for missing out. Scott would be merciless. “Let’s go.”
“All right.” Suggs put the Land Cruiser in gear and they rolled away from Dadaab down the soft, red dirt road.
And the real nightmare began.
• • •
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