We left the body and trudged back to the farmhouse. Police cars from the neighboring towns were arriving, and the trees were lit with a crimson-and-blue glare from their domes.
Sampson came out of the farmhouse as we approached. “I’ve gone through every room. There’s no one here. I don’t see any sign of them either, Alex. No blood anywhere, nothing obvious anyway. I don’t think they were ever here.”
I nodded, trying to register crime scene facts and to comprehend their meaning. “I want to look again anyway. I need to look for myself. What about Flaherty?” I suddenly thought to ask.
“The state police have him for now. He showed them he was CIA. I don’t know what happens next. I don’t think they can hold him.”
Chapter 146
WE SEARCHED THE house and a nearby work shed, and a barn – until first light of day.
Then we began to comb the surrounding grounds. At this point there were more than thirty police officers and FBI agents searching at the scene, but it still didn’t seem like enough manpower to me.
Everything was feeling even more unreal now. I was here, but I wasn’t. I had no idea about the passage of time either; it seemed as if I could have been at the farm for a couple of days or for just a few minutes.
Proof of life, I thought. That’s what I want, isn’t it? And if not that, then proof of death.
We found a Nissan minivan that had to be the vehicle the Tiger and his killer thugs had come to the farm in. The van held small arms, clothing, and video games in cardboard boxes.
But there was no sign of blood inside, no rope to tie anyone up with. Nothing to make us believe Nana or the kids had been inside the vehicle.
There were more tire tracks up near the house, but nothing seemed unusual. Judging from the look of the place, I figured it hadn’t been a working farm for at least a couple of years. Town records showed that it belonged to a Leopoldo Gout, but we hadn’t been able to contact the owner yet. Who was Leopoldo Gout? What did he know about what had happened here?
Finally, at around four that afternoon, Bree walked me to my car. Then she drove me home to Fifth Street. I was in no shape to continue looking, she said, and she was right.
I hoped against hope for a good ending, but there was no one there at the house. The mess in the kitchen remained as I had found it, and I left it just that way.
For memories’ sake.
Nana’s kitchen. Her favorite place to be.
Chapter 147
IT WAS ALL so baffling, so incomprehensible, wrong in so many ways.
Bree and I brainstormed for a while, but I couldn’t concentrate. My thinking was too chaotic; I was too crazy in the head, too disturbed and lost. I didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to eat, and I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t even keep my eyes shut the one time I lay down on the living room couch. I thought about taking a drive, then decided no, not right now.
“I’m going to go for a run,” I finally told Bree. “Clear my head. There has to be something I’m missing.”
“Okay, Alex. I’ll be here. Have a good run.”
She didn’t offer to come, understanding that I wanted to be alone now. I did need to be by myself, to plan, to do something that would make some sense of what had happened.
I ran, at first along familiar streets close to my house, but then on the streets winding off Fifth, where I didn’t remember ever coming on foot before.
Finally I was able to concentrate a little better, and I began to think about what Adanne had told me in Lagos. Had her secrets caused any of this – the death of her family, her own murder, whatever had happened to Nana, Ali, and Jannie?
“Alex, I know terrible things,” she’d told me. “I’m writing a story about it. I have to tell somebody what I found out.” She was afraid that something would happen to her.
Well, something had happened to Adanne.
I continued to run and I found that I was getting stronger physically, or moving faster, anyway. What a cruel world this could be sometimes. Jesus. That wasn’t how I looked at things usually. That wasn’t me. Only now it was.
I didn’t notice anything, until a gray van stopped suddenly at the curb and the sliding door flew open. Three men jumped out. Suddenly they were all over me, knocking me down, pushing my face into the grass and dirt on somebody’s lawn.
Then I felt a sting in my thigh.
A needle?
Three men, not boys. Not the Tiger’s team.
Who then?
Who was holding me now?
What did they want?
Chapter 148
THERE WAS A damp cloth over my face, some kind of a hood that reeked of rubbing alcohol. Then I was being pulled to my feet. I’d been unconscious, but I didn’t know for how long.
I had no idea where I was now, but it wasn’t a five-star hotel. I could smell, almost taste, body odor, feces, and urine. The ground under my feet was rough stone, maybe concrete. Did that tell me anything?
“Put your hands flat against the wall and spread your legs. Stay just like that. Don’t move, or you’ll be shot.”
“Where’s my family? Where the hell are they? Who are you?”
Instead of an answer to the question, I heard an amplified whirring sound in the room.
“Stay just like that or you die right here and now. Then you’ll never know about your family. Never is a long time, Dr. Cross. Think about it.”
I thought about other things first. Who had grabbed me off the street in Southeast and was holding me now?
Could it be another Tiger? Somebody else from Nigeria?
The voice didn’t sound like it. No accent. American. Could it be the CIA?
“Where’s my family?” I asked again.
No one answered, and I stayed there with my hands tied and held flat against the wall over my head. I knew this particular kind of torture had a name, wall-standing. I was also made to wear a hood and was subjected to loud noise and sleep deprivation. I’d heard about these torture techniques before. Now I was the victim.
No one answered any of my questions, and I wondered if I was alone. Was I delirious? Was I dreaming all this?
My hands went numb first.
Then I could feel pins and needles stinging my ankles and feet. Then shooting pains moving up and down my legs.
My head began to swim and I thought I was going to pass out.
“I have to pee,” I said. “I have to go.”
No answer.
I held it as long as I could, then let go down my legs, over my bare feet. No one reacted. Was anyone there? Was I alone now?
Wall-standing. Some American government officials had said that it was okay to use techniques like this on suspected terrorists.
Was I a terror suspect? What had I done to deserve this? Who was torturing me?
My hands were completely numb and I badly wanted to sleep. I could think of little else and would have given anything just to lie down on the floor. I couldn’t give in, though.
Wall-standing. I can do this.
I thought about stepping away from the wall and what the consequences might be. I held internal debates with myself. They wouldn’t kill me, would they? What would be the point of it?
Finally, I turned my body so that only one hand was on the wall. Did that count? Was it a violation of the rules?
Immediately I was kicked hard behind the knees! I went down hard on the floor. Cold to the touch. A bed finally!
But I was yanked right back up and thrown hard against the wall. Still, no one spoke. But I assumed the position. Not just my legs were trembling now. Everything was – my entire body was shaking terribly.