Chapter 5

The old man drained the last of the beer off the keg, and brought the bottle to Ethan's small table. There was some beer foam right at the mouth of the bottle, which the old man blew away with a whizzy puff, before settling it down on the table. He then looked at Ethan with wide, almost hazy, glassy eyes and said:

"He can smell you are trouble."

Ethan shook his head and his stilted smile had the look of tasting salt about it. He drank another gulp of beer and asked the old man, "I didn't know trouble has a smell of its own," trying to sound non-chalant, unconvincingly enough.

"It doesn't. It's the smell of shit!" blared the owner with an almost accusing stare and suddenly broke down in laughter. The other two men followed suit, showing off hollowed out mouths and wrinkled, leathery faces worn through a life-time of being used to hardships of all kinds.

"And you're full of it, Englishman. Who dem asking for trouble, days like these, but dem trouble, no?" said one of the two, while the owner chimed in himself again, "You can't hide a pile of shit if you paint it gold, mister. It still smells, so do you. Your man, whoever he is, won't be coming. Hope he didn't take your money first."

Ethan couldn't manage a reply. Taken by surprise by their straightforward manner, he barely managed a grin while acceding to having being played like a fool:

"He did. I'm that transparent, am I?" he said, while all three men smiled and nodded. The one who hadn't even spoken a word said then, "You dem English" smiled, shrugged and sipped his beer. The owner was sitting behind his counter, and tapping his hand with each word he said to Ethan, "What's a white man doing in the middle of a war?" and added with a rather grim face, "It can't be fishing now."

Ethan took the hint, nodded almost reverentially, drank another gulp of beer, left another five pounder on the table and got up. As he stepped outside the door, he began to realise there was a lot more to what the old man had just said.

The rest of the leads proved to be dead ends as well; they all talked about a red cross caravan, and they had all heard about the attack. But nothing solid, nothing first hand. Those few shady people that made a living trading all sorts of information had either been laying too low to be found or had simply refused to deal; one of them had just left saying the whole thing was too hot. In any case, all the useful info about Andy boiled down to that he was indeed missing.

Soldiers on jeeps and foot patrols made their presence felt around the town while Ethan moved about; they asked him for his papers on more than one occasion. They had lists with names and photos, actively looking for people that the Nigerian government had one way or the other decided had been acting against their best interest: Soldiers of fortune, spies, people who made it their business to know all kinds of dangerous, possibly profitable things.

An English journalist casually roaming about Onitsha and asking people questions then could be all three things if his name or photo was on that list. It was a crude thing to do, using soldiers for field intelligence work, but then again he himself was running on pure luck and whatever ropes James was pulling. His cover was extremely thin, but he had no other option; it was only a matter of time before someone would notice he was nowhere to be found, and still he had nothing solid on Andy. At least, he thought to himself, they hadn't found a body yet.

The evening breeze brought the smell of river life to Ethan as he walked past a checkpoint under an old, anglican church. He stood there for a moment or so with real, keen interest as its small congregation poured outside, shuffling their feet with purpose: it would be curfew time soon. True enough, the chruch bell started to ring, forcing Ethan to look at his watch: half past seven. He would run a bit late for his meeting with Nicole.

He nodded with an uncertain smile at the soldiers motioning him to get off the street and hastily took off towards the river bank, quickly disappearing in the flimsy shade of a small shop alley. He could hear movement and shouts behind him; the military police was hurrying people out of the streets and into their houses.

At the end of the alley he ventured a quick look behind him. Nothing. As he crossed an empty street, he noticed it was the same in every direction he gazed at: The natural denizens of city streets, dogs and cats alike, could barely be seen hiding away under alcoves, small balconies and porches. Pigeons and swallows were trudging along stained rooftops lazily, and even rats seemed attuned to the curfew, fleeing purposefully back into their shadowy nests wherever there were people left to harrow.

Then he noticed more movement near the river bank, jeeps and trucks moving along the length, while all the while tugboats putted away upstream. With a fleeting look he noticed a patrol coming his way. Across the street, he finally saw a sign that read "Madimba". He crossed the empty road with a casual walking pace, and pushed the door open. A flight of steps lead downward into a dimly lit cellar, hushed conversations and the faint but unmistakable sound of brass; jazz.

He closed the door behind him and carefully tread down the narrow steps. He then looked around, taking in the whole setting of the underground bar. It was elegantly decorated but crudely furnished; crammed but somehow everyone seemed comfortably seated. The smell of sweat and smoke weighed heavy.

It was a small wonder that a place like that could be found hidden away amidst the forefront of a war, but there was an explanation for that as well; it was packed with foreigners. Europeans from the look and sound of them, almost down to the last one.

He then saw Nicole silently waving him over to a table near one corner of the establishment; a tall, lank black man was sitting beside her. After wading through tightly packed tables and customers, he pulled up the single empty chair and sat, addressing Nicole:

"Who is this?"

"This is Adu, Adu Nebdele. He's going to help us get to Owerri."

"First of all, I don't like the fact we didn't talk this over first. Why Owerri?"

Adu then spoke out of turn, just when Nicole was about to talk and bluntly said with a cultivated accent:

"I think your brother's dead."

"Who is this again?" said Ethan without even turning to acknowledge the man's existence. Nicole replied with a calming voice, "I've known this man far longer than you, Ethan. You can trust him, he's been more than useful in the past."

Ethan shook his head and sagged back on his chair. He flicked his gaze between Nicole and Adu, and said with a sickly grin:

"Can I now? What makes him such an expert on dead people?"

Nicole's face flashed red with slow-boiled anger and her piercing eyes met Ethan's with a decisive clash. Neither of them seemed willing to look away. Adu then drew himself closer to Ethan and said in a low-keyed voice, trying to sound condescending:

"I have a brother-in-law, works in the morgue. There's been lot of work lately."

Ethan spared a vehement look in Adu's direction that only seemed to stick for a moment or two. He then lowered his gaze and said after sighing:

"I need a drink."

Adu nodded and asked him casually:

"Scotch?"

"I thought there was a war going on," replied Ethan, a mocking expression on his face.

"Not if you're a white Englishman with pounds to spare. Anything particular?" asked Adu to which Ethan answered along with a wave of his hand, "I wouldn't go that far. Anything other than rye would be good."

Adu smiled thinly, nodded and got up. As he slowly made his way through the crowded tables towards the bar at the other end, Ethan told Nicole with ire in his voice:

"I don't appreciate this. Who the hell is that?"

"He's an associate. A valuable associate. Has been for the past three years. If you can't trust him, you can't trust me, and that would be a damn shame because I want us to find Andy. Alive. Maybe you're having second thoughts about this," said Nicole, nursing a barely touched glass of wine. Ethan almost erupted into a drowned out shout:

"Now hold on a minute! The last thing I need right now is some sort of lecture from the wife and all sorts of Agency bullshit!"

Nicole's face had a serious, business-like look when she said, "Adu is a very well connected man. He keeps an uneasy balance between the two sides. I've been going in and out thanks to him ever since I've been operating here."

"Which brings us to the question, what exactly are you working on here? And why did you drag Andy into this mess?"

"Listen, I really wish I hadn't but that was his choice. It really was. I thought it would be relatively safe. That was my mistake. Now, about the job..."

She let her voice trail off while the jazz filled the next few silent moments. Ethan shook his head and said through a tight, forced smile:

"Bloody right. A mistake. But not the last one."

Their gazes remained locked like lovers in a quarrel; neither one seemed willing to let go, as if in a staring contest. Instead of passion though, there was breweing anger. When Adu returned with Ethan's drink though, they looked away as if somehow slightly embarassed.

"Thanks," said Ethan with barely audible mutter, while Nicole silently sipped at her own glass of wine. Adu then told Ethan matter-of-factly:

"I can imagine you might be upset about this, but it's good, solid information. Caucasian, English passport."

"I'll wait and see with my own two eyes," Ethan replied and then said to Nicole accusingly, striking his finger at the table, "I've been running in circles all day, and you simply ask your man and it's a done deal? Andy's dead?"

The jazz song playing in the background reached a crescento, sax and trumpets blaring with a virtuoso's tenacity, easily drowning out the mingled, hushed voices all around the 'Madimba'. Nicole looked at Ethan with watery eyes and said, "Andy's not dead. I believe he is not dead. But we have to know, don't we? To keep looking, we have to know."

Ethan drank a mouthful of the scotch. It made him flinch, his face sour. He nodded and said flatly:

"True enough. Besides, Owerri was down the road anyway. When do we leave?"

Nicole shrugged and said, "We can't leave tonight, not with the curfew in place. Tomorrow at dawn, at the earliest."

"So what does that mean, we're stuck here for the night as well?" said Ethan indignantly.

Adu's mouth widened into a knowing smile, showing an impressively bright set of teeth before he said:

"There's a small room with a cot on the top floor were you can spend the night. A guesthouse, if you like. Besides, the curfew isn't all that it's cracked up to be if you're white and willing to spend money."

"We could just bribe the MPs then? That simple?"

"If you find anyone sober. Things have been quiet for too long around here. They feel settled, at ease. There's no fighting right now. Regrouping, they call it."

"But still..."

"Everyone needs to unwind. War is a tiresome affair, no? I'd thought you would know."

Ethan laughed despite himself and downed the rest of his scotch.

"Is this why this place is full of foreigners? Noone really bothers with the curfew? Because the scotch it serves is barely three years old. All it's good for is a pissing."

Adu nodded with a thin smile on his lips, and added:

"That's about right. Only it really is rye."

"Rye?"

"Old family recipe. There's a war going on, remember?"

Ethan didn't laugh at that last remark, despite Adu's brilliant smile. He looked at his emptied glass and asked Adu then with some puzzlement:

"Family recipe, you said? This place yours, then? This is what you do, sell drinks and work with the CIA?"

Adu knit his hands together and smiled, while Nicole sipped at her drink languidly, staring at Ethan. Adu answered with a careful, concise tone:

"Among other things. Whatever the reason, we're here, and there are opportunities all around. It's a terrible thing, to waste an opportunity."

"I don't really like you. Or your kind."

"You mean businessmen?"

"No. Warmongers."

Nicole closed her eyes and said calmly:

"Ethan, please. No need for namecalling."

Adu smiled thinly before calmly retorting:

"This isn't about money, or profit. This is about survival. I could just as well imply that the British government is doing the same, trying to hold on to the oil contracts."

"We didn't start this war, you know."

"But there's only one outcome that suits you."

"That's politics."

"So they are politicians, but I'm a warmonger? It doesn't seem fair."

"I think as much, only from a different point of view."

"But do you really understand why I have to do all this? Stand in the middle, play all sides, balance things?"

"You're trying to tell me, you have no other option?"

"Precisely. Someone has to be the voice of reason in a very unreasonable affair," he said and grinned before adding with a shrug, " ... war."

"I thought you were just selling info this way and that according to what suits the CIA."

"Or maybe what suits me. Even I can't tell sometimes," Adu said with a grin and looked at Nicole sideways for a moment. When she stared back he went on and added:

"You know where to look. My job is done."

Nicole shot him a fiery look and told him with icy deliberation:

"That's not what we agreed upon."

"It's not too late to reach another agreement. Perhaps it would be much more fair if Mr. Whittmore had a say in this."

"How much?" blurted Nicole with a flustered face, while Ethan frowned and asked rather dully:

"How much about what, exactly?"

"Triple the usual," said Adu casually, casting a fleeting gaze at Ethan who repeated his question, this time a lot more convincingly:

"The fuck what for?"

"Keeping his mouth shut," Nicole said briskly. Adu replied with a annoying grin on his mouth:

"Indeed. That would be very bad for both of you, wouldn't it? In more than one way. Isn't that right, Ms. Heurgot?"

"I thought you said you could trust this man."

"Trust is a rare commodity these days. The price, and the client, are ... Flexible," said Adu with a sharp, shiny grin.

Ethan locked eyes with Adu. He had a look of calm determination about him, eyes glinting in the dim light of the oil lamp. The black man's grin turned into a thin line and a deep frown appeared on his face when without warning Ethan reached for his ankle and pulled his combat knife with one superbly fluid motion.

Nicole's eyes widened with shock while Adu's hands were already upending the table. She only had time enough to cry "Wait!" but Ethan was already off his chair, trying to sidestep the table. He went for Adu's arm with a quick jab with the knife, but he missed for an inch or so. The upturned table hadn't slowed him down, and he was right behind Adu who was already thrusting people aside, edging his way towards the bar.

The sudden commotion made people turn their heads in a snap. Nicole jumped off her chair and tried to grab Ethan by the waist. Her initial surprise had made her slow to act and she missed him by a few inches, grasping nothing but air.

Within moments, Adu had cleared his way through the tables, smashing glasses and brushing aside stunned customers. Ethan was only a few steps behind, his knife in hand. A quick nod and a moment later, the bartender was leaning behind the counter. When saw the movement he instinctively rushed towards the ground in an audacious tackle. Their feet connected; Adu tripped and suddenly fell sideways at the exact moment when a small cloud of wooden splinters, smashed tiles and pieces of cloth flew right above Ethan's head. The booming sound of a shotgun echoed like thunderclap around the small bar; mayhem ensued.

Shouts and cries mingled with the sudden rush of screeching tables and chairs as the panicked customers fled the 'Madimba'. Clicking metallic sounds alerted Ethan that the shotgun was being reloaded, even as Adu had rolled on his back and turned around to jump on Ethan.

With his sudden rush he had managed to pin Ethan's knife hand, but his grip was lax, his body badly placed, vulnerable. Ethan managed to swing a punch right in Adu's face with his free hand; it barely shook him. A couple more quick jabs had little effect other than Adu replying with a fist right in Ethan's stomach, grunting instinctively as he flexed his muscles.

Ethan tried to get a hold on Adu with his legs, catch him in a vice. He couldn't get a good grip, as Adu was piled up more pressure on his knife hand, trying to wrestle the knife away. His other hand went for Ethan's neck and met with opposition. While they grappled on the floor, Ethan heard a loud shot without warning, then another and one more, all in quick succession.

The crowd rushing outside reacted to the shots with a louder burst of bewildered, panicked shouts. They were still shouting when he heard the thud of a body falling limp against the floor, the sound of smashed glass following its way down.

They were both surprised and for an instant Adu's attention waned as he shot a reflexive look behind him, where the bartender should have been holding the shotgun. In that single moment his grip became just a tad more lax and allowed Ethan to slip his knife hand away with a sudden, violent shove.

Losing the grip on the knife hand, Adu tried to roll over on the floor, put some space between them. He tried to put his back against the bar, while he reached for someplace out of Ethan's sight. While he swung his body around, trying to catch Adu from an ankle or a leg, he saw Adu's face suddenly go slack, all the tension vanishing in an instant. His hand stayed for the merest moment still in the air, and then another shot was heard.

This time he saw Adu's whole body flex, quiver and shudder all in the blink of an eye before it fell limp against the bottom of the bar. Blood trailed down from the hole in his shaven head, now grossly disfigured, the cracked skull penetrating the skin. Nicole's shouts reawakened Ethan who stood there transfixed for the merest second, mesmerized from the puzzled look in Adu's eyes:

"Go! We have to run, now!"

Ethan stood up, sheathed his knife and ran towards the stairs right behind Nicole. He told her then, out of breath:

"Why, did you shoot him dead? I had him."

"What an idiot! He was reaching for a gun."

"I didn't see any gun," Ethan said when he stepped outside. He could see a few of the customers shouting for any patrol to come to their help. From the corner of his eye he could see some pointing at him. Nicole dragged him along behind one of the walls of 'Madimba' and told him in a very strong manner, evidently quite upset:

"You can thank me later, you dolt! What kind of an asshole jumps on an informant like that? Without provocation as well!"

"Without ... He was bloody going to tell on us! Who knows whom to! I was protecting us! You!"

"Jesus! Just ... Fuck!"

"Listen, I think we need to make ourselves scarce. We've got to leave now, tonight."

"Oh, you think?"

Shouts and the sound of boots and clattering helmets came from the street behind them. Some of the customers were talking wildly in accented English and French, while an authoritative voice wanted them to shut up.

"They're trying to explain the shots and all. We can't go back to the hotel right now," said Ethan, licking his lips from his sweat.

"Any brighter ideas, then?"

"The river. Let's try the river."

"The river's crawling with soldiers!"

"It's full of water as well! We'll get on a boat, or lay low someplace until things die down."

"Die down? Are you- never mind, no time to argue. Go!" she said as the patrol leader shouted orders to his men, still trying to gleam an understanding from the terrified white folk.

They both ran towards the river bank, trying to use alleys and shadowy paths through the irregular maze of Onitsha's neighborhoods. Behind them, they could hear echoes of bellowing officers and the muffled sound of boots running. At each corner they would stop for a breath, then silently nod and keep going with the same pace. Anxious glances revealed wary eyes from the city folk peeking behind smudged windows and decrepit walls. They kept running and before long the empty streets gave way to a wild, lush vegetation.

Dusk had already fallen, and with the riverside in plain view, they laid low near a thick bush. Nicole was out of breath, her muscles burning from the effort. She bent over and weighed herself on her knees with sagged shoulders. Ethan knelt beside her and surveyed the river bank for a moment. She said then with pain written on her face:

"That's it. I'm beat," and a short breath later added, "Can't go on like this."

Ethan replied with a nod, quite unaffected by the physical strain:

"Right. I wasn't thinking about running all the way to Owerri anyway."

Nicole laid down on her back and found in her just a breath of laughter before she replied, still grimacing from the exhaustion: