Chapter 6

"I'm deeply sorry for your loss," said Father Likembe and nodded solemnly. He struck Ethan as a man of integrity and good will. His words sounded true enough, so Ethan obliged a sincere reply:

"Thank you, father," he said and nodded pensively, suddenly lost in thought, his eyes fixed beyond the mass of people waiting for a meal. There was a peaceful murmur in the air, rarely broken by the sound of crying children. The people that had gathered weren't restless at all. He had been expecting something of a riot, and this orderly manner fascinated him. Nicole must've thought he was still trying to come to grips when she took him gently by the arm and said to the priest with a tiny shake of her head:

"If you need anything father, please ... Anything at all..."

Father Likembe's mouth formed into a gracious smile before he replied, "I need this war to end, nothing more."

Nicole nodded skeptically before the lank Igbo priest continued:

"We could always use an extra hand or two. Another couple of mouths to feed are, as you can see, just a drop in the ocean."

He gestured at the small throng of people, mostly mothers with their children, as well as old men and quite a few disabled or injured men. Some of those had the stare of a wounded tiger, but for most the truth was that mines, shells, and bullets are quite oblivious to a man's allegiance and unable to discriminate. They had simply been unlucky, and with a bitter smile to himself, Ethan thought that whole sordid affair reeked of bad luck.

"I can only hope you will consider it. I'd hate to force anything upon you, but do not forget, your brother died trying to keep others from such a fate," said Father Likembe, trying to sound comforting and encouraging but with little success this time; his words sounded more like a standard, ready-made speech.

Nicole sipped her coffee from a tin and said with a slight dose of uncertainty, careful to meet Ethan's gaze casually:

"I think I'll stay on, father. I don't know for how long, but I feel I should. I can't speak for Ethan, but I'll help."

Ethan caught that gaze and remained expressionless for a moment or two. He was still trying to discern the from truth in her eyes, her voice, her face, but he had proven quiet inept at it so far. It helped him though being constantly unsure of her; it enhanced his feelings of being distraught, disoriented, confused and wary at the same time - because Nicole probably thought he was acting weird because of Andy's death. And that should help him find out why she wanted him to think Andy was dead.

The priest smiled thinly and crossed his palms as if in prayer:

"That's always good to hear," he said with evident joy in his voice before adding in a more sombre, well-practiced, even tone:

"I can understand your grief would only be compounded in such a place."

He then looked at Nicole knowingly and added, while Ethan furrowed his brow just barely:

"Nicole has been doing this for a long time, it's part of who she is. It's not an easy life, especially for someone like you, I would imagine," Father Likembe said, clearing his throat and straightening his back at the same time. He leaned closer to Ethan who was sitting to his left and said with a clean, hearty voice as if preaching:

"Do not feel unwanted or unwelcome, my son. It would be for the best if you coped with this in your own terms, in your own manner. I know your heart is in the right place, but your soul needs to heal away from all this misery."

Nicole looked at Ethan with a warm gaze, her lips pursed together in a show of sympathy. Ethan glanced at the mass of refugees sitting in large rough benches made out of trees. He nodded then and said:

"You mean I'm responsible for these poor bastards, right? That's what a soldier does, is it not?"

Father Likembe shook his head with a deep frown, his voice calm and quiet:

"I never said that, Ethan. I mean well, I simply think this isn't the right place or way for you to mourn."

Nicole searched for Ethan's face with her own, a set of begging, weary eyes fluttering frantically:

"Andy would have stayed. Isn't that right?"

The gall of that woman, Ethan thought to himself.

"Yes he would have. But that's not the issue, is it? You think I'm trouble, the both of you."

"I think you are troubled my son, and nothing more."

"Well, if it's all the same to you then, I'm staying too."

Nicole's eyes flashed and went wide for the tiniest moment, before a thin smile formed on her face. She glanced at the priest and said then:

"If it's alright with Father Likembe, then. Still, you shouldn't stay just because you think Andy would have wanted you to take his place. You are different people, there's nothing wrong to that. You can still help in other ways, Ethan. There's no shame in going home."

"'Were' different people. We were different people, Nicole. Get used to it," Ethan said hoarsely, got up from his chair and walked away into the crowd, looking hurt and irritated. Nicole shouted his name but he did not turn. When it seemed as if she'd go after him, Father Likembe took her by one hand and shook his head, his face turned suddenly worried, fearful.

"Don't push him," he said unevenly, while Nicole answered with a purposeful voice, "I'm not sure he is convinced. This isn't like him at all." Father Likembe's eyes narrowed, his voice instictively lowered to a whisper:

"I thought you were married to his brother. You've hardly met the man. Have you... ?" He raised an eyebrow and fixed his glasses with one hand in a very bad attempt at conspiracy, only to have Nicole look at him sideways with a mock look of hurt and a sly grin.

"I don't work like that. And it wouldn't have worked on him, either."

"How so?" said the priest looking at Ethan from afar with a penetrating, curious gaze.

"Because he loves his brother, if nothing else," said Nicole, her face twisted with unwanted approval. Father Likembe closed his eyes and shook his head feverishly. He licked a drop of sweat on his upper lip, and said in hushed, angst-ridden tones"

"I am a bad liar. I can't keep lying to this man. Why is he so important?"

"He isn't. But he's prodding where he shouldn't be. I've already lost valuable time, not to mention men, simply to get him off our backs, father. So have some respect for the people in your care, play along, and we'll keep the food and the medicines coming."

"Alongside the guns, the bullets, and the shells?" asked the father, his hands nervously tracing the emptied tin cup of coffee in front of him, his eyes lost somewhere on the surface of the table.

"It's hard to win a war empty-handed," replied Nicole, her eyes discreetly following Ethan around the crowd, as he had taken it upon himself to hand out biscuits to all the children. He seemed relaxed, smiling out of sympathy, but he didn't look aloof.

"I fear I've already lost my war," said the priest taking off his glasses and placing them in his shirt's pocket. Nicole truned to face him with a sudden twist, as if her interest had been piqued out of nowhere in particular.

"What war was that again?"

"Against the devil. Against evil," he said and breathed deeply before he continued, "against the lesser, dark side of our souls," said the priest with eyes closed, hands lightly massaging his bald head.

"It's getting to you, isn't it? All this," said Nicole and made a small circle with one hand. She drank a sip of coffee and said, eyes level with the priest's, "I hope you're not having second thoughts about our working relation."

"It would be too late, wouldn't it?" the father replied with consternation. She then got up before she told him earnestly, without a hint of malice or threat in her voice:

"I wouldn't like you to force my hand, but the way things are turning out, how could you let these people starve to death? You're only doing what you have to, father."

"But at what cost?" he replied with weariness.

"What's a life worth to you, father?" she asked him, her face intensely sweet and welcoming. Father Likembe looked her in the eye with a pained look and said in a trembling voice:

"How I wish it were that simple."

She smiled then mischievously and told him in a casual tone of voice:

"Don't fret about it. I'll know what to do with Ethan in the morning. And father?"

"Something more?" he asked resignedly.

"Don't do anything stupid. Think of the children," she said flatly and walked away casually.

It was the heat and the sweat that made sleep that night a particularly uncomfortable, bothersome affair. But it was knowing that Nicole had been lying to him probably from the start and perhaps about everything, made it impossible for Ethan.

He opened his eyes and checked his watch under the dim moonlight; quarter past three. It was a wet, warm, and unusually clear night without a cloud nearby; even the weather likes to play tricks sometimes, he thought to himself.

He raised his head and blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to what little light shone through the shadows of the mangroves surrounding the catholic mission. He got up and leaned to the window, resting both his elbows on the sill. Most of the refugees had remained; a few pregnant mothers shared tents with other families, while the rest simply slept on the ground, sharing blankets, mats, rugs and pillows.

A faint lamp light shone from a hut next to the church across from the small barn-turned-warehouse where Ethan had been sleeping. It was the priest's hut, the same man who tried to convince him to leave, just like Nicole did.

Ethan scowled for a moment before he put on his trousers carefully, without so much as a sound. He kept his eyes fixed on the priest's hut, noticing the movement of a shadow now and then, the flicker of the flame. Someone was working late, and he needed to know who and on what.

He strapped his combat knife in its sheath around his leg, and jumped outside through another window on the far right, covered in the shadows of a thick, tall mangrove. He almost landed on top of a family, all hunched together like siblings. He then carefully made his way through the tents and makeshift beddings, always careful to keep hiding in the shadows. He moved quietly, crouched low, his eyes fixed on the ground so as to keep the white in his eyes from giving him away. And that was because he was certain Nicole, and probably the priest as well, kept a wary eye out for him.

When he was close enough to the hut, he crossed a patch of dirt road quickly, careful to tread lightly and without sound. He flicked his gaze around him, his back on the wall; he couldn't see anyone up and about. But amidst all the light snoring and laboured breathing of the refugees, he thought he could hear the familiar voice of Nicole. She spoke french, in curt, small bursts of words.

He took a few steps closer to the small opening that served as a window, and tried to focus, remember what little french he'd picked up at school, but it was no use. The thought occurred to him that perhaps it wasn't just his bad knowledge of french.

He sat and listened some more, and saw some kind of pattern; Nicole was uttering many words repeatedly, in a staccato fashion. She wasn't talking, he realised; she was reading something from a piece of paper, a series of words, possibly numbers as well.

She was reading some sort of code, in French nonetheless. When she would stop transmitting, he decided he'd go in and have a more or less civilized chat that should explain a few things. And then he heard a thin, almost wailing voice shout something in Igbo and instantly knew someone had seen him.

"Mma! Kushi! Onye oshi! Kushi!" shouted the small child and instantly half the camp practically sprang upright on their feet. He raised his arms then and stood there stock still, trying to smile for no real reason while he could hear Nicole had stopped transmitting the moment the shout was heard.

He pulled out his knife then and reached for the hut's door. The blade flashed steel-white in the moonlight, causing quite a few gasps and the instinctive shuffling of feet away from him. He could hear more shouts as he kicked the flimsy door open expecting it to be locked, but as that was not the case he overstepped and trying to compensate he swung blindly with his knife hand.

When he looked up again he saw Father Likembe's with a strange look of mixed horror and puzzlement, blood pumping out coarsely from a vein in his neck. Nicole jumped out of her bamboo chair in front of the radio set towards a small cot. As she did so, still wearing the headphones, she unplugged them from the set, while Ethan found his footing once more and dived after her. A slightly distorted, static-ridden voice could be heard repeating with an awful accent: "Licorne! Licorne! Quarante-six! Quarante-six!"

Ethan grabbed her from the waist, while outside fearful women's shouts and children's cries could be heard. Father Likembe was vainly trying to plug his gushing wound with bare hands. His body was sagged and a small pool of blood had already formed around his buttocks. His vestments was a blood-soaked ruin.

"I need the towel, you moron!" screamed Nicole while Ethan tried to tie her hands behind her back, but without letting go off the knife he fumbled and swerved this way and that without really grappling her. They both fell awkwardly on the cot, and Nicole found the opportunity and drove a hell of kick with her bare-footed heel on Ethan's foot. Flinching from pain, he loosened his grip involuntarily and allowed her to spin around and punch him hard across the face.

Ethan staggered for a couple of moments and saw her indeed grab a towel from the cot and frantically ignore him. She hurried close to Father Likembe who was trying to breathe through sputters of blood. He kept opening and closing his mouth aimlessly as if trying to speak but no sound came out of him other than a shallow, hollow roar, like a deathly snore.

"Hang on father, don't try to talk, just breath. Let's stop the blood, first," said Nicole in an impossibly calm voice, even as she tied the towel around Father Likembe's neck as tight as possible without choking him. Ethan had remained stunned at how she had completely ignored him. Then the realisation sank home that he'd almost killed the priest outright by mistake, the knife in his hand still bloodied.

A few of the more brave men shouted something in Igbo, while the first drops of rain could be heard, steadily rising in tempo and volume. Nicole shouted back in what sounded surprisingly good Igbo, and didn't even spare a moment away from Father Likembe.

And then she felt Ethan's knife against her throat, the coldness of the steel a stark contrast to the warm sweat covering her from head to toe.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she said even as she calmly tried to apply more pressure to the father's wound, the white in Likembe's eyes rolling about as if he was about to have some sort of seizure.

"What does it look like?" said Ethan, his kneecap forcing Nicole to bend forward in a very uncomfortable position down on the ground. He forced her arm behind her back and kept it there forcibly, her free hand flailing wildly with the towel.

"Whatever this is, just let me try and save this man, for God's sake!"

"You're just wanking me around again, aren't you? He's got another minute or two to live, and that's all. Main artery's ripped open, he's bleeding like a pig."

"That's your handiwork right there!"

"He got in the way, I didn't mean to cut him down like that!"

"You were going for me then? For fuck's sake, why?"

"After all this, you're still taking me for a pillock then? Why, the nerve!"

"This man's dying, could you at least have the decency-"

"Enough!"

The dripping rain had grown into a rainstorm in mere moments. From the corner of his eye Ethan could see the women and the children had sought refuge in the small church, but curiously enough some of the men still stood outside, getting soaking wet in the blistering rain. They seemed to be looking at Ethan and Nicole intently.

"What the bloody hell are they looking at?" said Ethan through clenched teeth. Nicole's voice was calm, quiet; controlled.

"Father Likembe."

"What about him?" asked Ethan with eyes fixed on the men outside.

"He's dead," replied Nicole unassumingly. Ethan flustered before shouting:

"I said, that was an accident!"

"I don't think they care."

"Neither do I. He was working with you after all," said Ethan with an almost slithering voice, pushing Nicole even more firmly to the ground.

"You're going mad, aren't you?" she replied, breathing with evident difficulty. Ethan kept staring at the men gathered outside. He counted no more than seven men in all. His voice was vexed, weary and coarse:

"For the last time, I know about the fake body. I know you're not CIA, because I checked. What I don't know is why you're so hell bent on making me think Andy's dead. And I need answers, love. Not more of your bullshit, answers."

A heavy silence ensued, while three of the more brave, younger looking men made a few steps towards the hut. Nicole motioned them to stop with her only free hand. She breathed deeply and sighed before asking Ethan:

"Could we do this in a more civilized fashion?"

"I like it just the way it is, crass and sharp. Who do you really work for?" he asked her, every word out of his mouth seeping with controlled anger.

"Who do you think?"

"The french, right?"

She nodded silently. Ethan noticed the men were taking slow steps towards the hut. He eyed them vehemently and they stopped moving. He went on:

"Why do you want me to think Andy's dead so badly? Is he your hostage? Is that how you got hold of his things?"

Ethan was practically shouting while Nicole remained calm. She told him then, "Andy is my husband. He's not anybody's hostage." Ethan scoffed, cringing his face and looking disgusted.

"I said no more bullshit," he told her and twisted her arm to the point of breaking.

"That much was true!" she cried in anguish. The men outside stirred but Ethan jerked the blade no more than an inch before the men stood still once more. He asked her with urgency in his voice:

"What else was true then?"

"Not much," she replied, shaking her head imperceptibly.

"Where is he then?" said Ethan through gritted teeth.

"I can't tell you that."

"What's going to stop me from cutting your throat then?"

Nicole grinned and said: "I didn't think you had a penchant for being so bloodthirsty. They might though."

"Will they now?" he said, ran his tongue over his lips and eyed them warily, pressing the knife's sharp edge against her throat to the point it cut her skin. She flinched and a few drops of blood smudged the knife. She said with cool determination:

"They're Likembe's sons."

"Oh, bugger me. I guess I'll have to take my chances with the bastards then."

"Christ! Adopted sons," she cried out as she felt the knife tear another small cut.

"I'm way past caring right now. Where is Andy?"

"Listen, we can work this out, if you're willing to let me go!" said Nicole, her cool manners giving way to an attitude of mounting panic. Ethan looked at the three young men still standing outside, ready to have a go at him at the flick of an eye.

"I thought the only reason they haven't jumped on me now is the sharp instrument at your throat," he said and grinned at them nodding at the knife.

"I can reason with them," said Nicole trying to sound convincing to little effect. Ethan shook his head and let out a little laugh before saying:

"You're trying to swing this around, aren't you? No joy. For the last bloody time, where's Andy?"

"I can't tell you, because I don't really know where exactly!"

"More lies, at a very inopportune time. If this is how it's going to be, I think I'll have to take my chances anyway," he said and traced the knife around her throat in the mockery of a slow, ominous ritual. The man more closely to the door made as if he'd plunge forward but hesitated and stopped at the last minute when he heard Nicole shout:

"I can tell you were they hit the caravan!" she cried in fear, the words coming out of her mouth of their own volition.

"Some random point in the map? I may be half scottish, but I'm not a complete idiot."

"You've got a knife against my throat and you still can't believe a thing I'm saying!"

"No reason to act surprised, love," Ethan told her and lightly tapped the knife against her throat. She breathed in deeply before she spoke again:

"What if I walk you over there? It's not very far from here, it's some ways over to the west, near the river."

Ethan frowned. He remained silent for a moment.

"The Niger?" he asked then, and Nicole replied by simply nodding. He puckered his lips and said then:

"Hands tied behind your back. Legs tied with a foot-long rope. That means no running. And these boys better leave first."

"Alright," she said, feeling the knife around her throat relax only to the point it did not cut directly into her skin. She asked him then with a weary sigh: "And then, will you release me?"

"I'll think about that when I find Andy. Good enough?"

She nodded lightly and turned her head sharply, making eye contact after quite some time.