Page 25 of Soul on Fire
Ikolo nodded. The man spoke Swahili with an accent, something very foreign. Whoever he was, he wasn’t African. “I am Doctor Ikolo Ngondu,” he said in English. “Who are you?”
The man released Ikolo, spinning him around and holding him at arm’s length. He looked Ikolo over, from head to toe.
Ikolo did the same. Black uniforms and blacked-out tactical gear. Thigh holsters with pistols, carbine rifles in sling holsters around their necks. Body armor under vests stuffed with magazines of ammunition. Soldiers. These were military men, but not from the Congo or even Rwanda. Not with that gear. “You’re American.”
“You’re younger than I thought Doctor Ngondu would be.”
He had nothing to prove to this man. “Who are you?”
“We need to speak to a patient of yours. It’s urgent.”
“All of my patients are urgent, Mister…” He stared into the man’s dark face. Beneath the smeared face paint, he was a black man, the same as Ikolo, yet also different. His gaze traced the man’s features, sharper than he was used to seeing. A strong nose, chiseled cheekbones and a jaw that could cut diamonds. A dagger-like chin. No, this man wasn’t African.
But he was beautiful.
Ikolo pushed that aside. He waited for the man’s response, holding his stare like they were predator and prey, stalking each other, waiting for the other’s first move. But who was who? Ikolo’s heart pounded, his blood pumping faster, harder—
“I’m Lieutenant Elliot Davis,” the man finally said. “Yes, we’re American. These are my men.” He nodded to the shapes in the darkness, smudges that had disappeared into the hospital’s shadows.
“Are you here with the UN? What do you want with one of my patients?”
“We’re not associated with the UN. We believe one of your patients has information vital to preventing a catastrophic terrorist operation. One that won’t just endanger American lives, but African ones as well. Congolese and others.” Burgundy coals bathed Elliot’s face in a maroon glow, accentuating his strong features. The rest of him faded into the night.
“There is no one like that here.” Ikolo frowned. “This is a place for refugees. For people who have lost everything. This is not a place for fighters.”
“Your patient escaped from the rebels in the forest, and while she was in their captivity, she heard their plans.”
“How do you know all this?”
“She told an associate of ours two day ago.”
The damn photographer. “You’re talking about Peter? The idiot who took off his gloves in the Ebola tent?”
He saw Elliot’s lips thin, his eyes narrow. The coals shifted, and a flicker of flame rose. The reflection crawled across Elliot’s pupils. “Yeah,” he said simply. “That guy.”
“I’m sorry, Lieutenant, but you are too late. Antoinette died this afternoon. She was very sick. And I have transferred all of my Ebola patients to the MSF hospital, and most of my other patients to the UN.”
“Why?”
“With the evacuation, I do not have enough staff to properly care for them. We can no longer help everyone who needs it.”
Elliot cursed. He looked away, toward the camp and the thousands of bodies huddled over their dying fires. Dark faces seemed woven inside smoke and shadow.
There wasn’t enough wood to go around anymore, not to keep the fires lit all night, and there wasn’t enough kerosene for the lanterns. The camp would be dark soon. Nothing good came from the night. Not in the Congo.
Ikolo had watched men collect feces from the sewage that afternoon and lay it out to dry. It burned as well as firewood. The smell was enough to bring a man to his knees, but it kept the night away.
“Is there anyone else who came out of the forest with Antoinette?”
“There was not. She crawled through the bush to save her life. There were no others who escaped with her.”
Elliot’s shoulders drooped and his eyes slid closed. Ikolo frowned. “What is it you needed from her?”
“We needed to question her for any additional information she might have had. If she remembered anything more from when she was held captive.”
“You don’t want to know what these women endure when they are captive, Lieutenant.” Ikolo found his eyes, held them.
Elliot blinked. His voice was thicker, but he pushed through. “We hoped she could have told us where the rebels made their camp.”
