"The whole is greater than the sum of the parts," Hood said.
"Exactly," Liz replied. "I think we're looking at something that is being positioned very much like that."
"Let's back up a second," Hood said to her. "I assume this is based on a profile you worked up on Dhamballa?"
"Yes," Liz said. "He is definitely not a stereotypical cult leader. That's why I'm looking at this as a social phenomenon instead of an aberration."
"You're that sure?" Hood said.
"Absolutely," Liz told him. "J2 and Mae were able to get into the computers at Morningside Mines Ltd. and access his personal records."
"Morningside Mines?" Hood said. "Where are they based?"
"Antwerp," J2 said. "So are about a million other diamond companies that I found."
That information might or might not tie Burton to Henry Genet.
"Our man Thomas Burton is thirty-three," Liz said. "He has no history of mental illness. To the contrary. He is remarkably focused. Over the course of nine years as a mine worker, he was promoted quickly and regularly. He went from working the hoses that wash the mine walls for drillmen to drilling to running the line itself." "The line?" Hood asked.
"That's where the diamonds are sorted and cleaned," Mae said.
"So he was competent and hardworking," Hood said. "Where's the jump to religious leader?"
"We don't have that link yet," Liz went on. "It could be from someone he knows, something he read, or even a holy revelation."
"Like God talking to Moses," Hood said. "It almost doesn't matter what it was," Liz replied. "Burton is committed to this."
"Could it be a sham of some sort?" Hood asked. "Unlikely," Liz replied. "Someone could be using him, for sure, but Burton himself is honest. His employee file contains quarterly performance reviews. They decribe him as intelligent, conscientious, and absolutely trustworthy. The mine owners routinely send out private investigators to watch people who work on the line. They want to make sure the workers are not pocketing diamonds and selling them privately. The investigators actually do things like paying clerks in shops or restaurants to give the subject too much change." "Just to see what they do," Hood speculated. "Right," Liz said. "Our man gave it back. Every time. There is a philosophical consistency about an honest man who eventually turns to preaching. One is a statement to a single individual. The other is a statement to a group." She shrugged. "But both are about truth. That doesn't mean he wasn't pushed into this or encouraged by someone else," Liz added. "But he, himself, believes in what he is doing. I am sure of that."
"What about family?" Hood asked. "Any crises oj^vendettas that might have motivated him?"
"Burton's father is dead, and his mother lives in a nursing home in Gaborone," Liz said.
"Paid for by her son?" Hood asked.
"Yes sir," J2 said. "I checked his bank records."
"Do we know how the father died?" Hood asked.
"Malaria," Liz replied. She added, "The elder Burton died in a state-run hospital, not in a missionary hospital. Thomas Burton is not acting out against the Church."
"Are there any siblings?"
"No brothers or sisters," Liz said. "And no wife."
"Is that unusual in Botswana?" Hood asked.
"Being unwed? Very," J2 said. "I looked it up." He leaned forward in his seat and looked at the monitor. "Only four percent of males over eighteen are single. Those stats are pretty much spread one percent each over the military, the clergy, widowers, and miscellaneous."
"But Vodun clergy are permitted to marry," Mae added. "I put together the file on the religion."
"There are other reasons Burton might not have married," Hood said. "Having his mother to support could be one of them. Mae, what are the qualifications for Vodun priesthood?" Hood asked.
"A male priest is called a houngan," Mae said, "and in order to become one, a man must communicate with spirits in the presence of another houngan. Sort of a religious conference call. Women priests or mambos have to do the same thing with a senior mambo."
"I suspect that's a way of proving both men are hearing the same things," Liz suggested. "Either that, or it's a way of ensuring that the ranks or priests are joined only by those whom the priests approve."
"Everything is political," Hood observed.
"That's true, but we don't know whether Burton ever became a houngan," Liz went on.
"How could he not?" Hood asked.
"Burton is claiming to be the embodiment of the powerful snake deity Dhamballa," Liz said. "We don't know if the usual rules of ascension to the priesthood apply."
Hood stared at her. "Are you saying that Thomas Burton thinks he's a snake god?" he said flatly.
"That's right," Liz replied.
Hood shook his head. "Liz, I just don't know about this. Do you think that Burton could be playing the part of Dhamballa? Faking it? He was a poor mine worker. Perhaps he's being paid to serve the political needs of Albert Beaudin and his partners."
"He didn't take money from people in the market," Liz said. "Why would he take it from Beaudin?"
"Mothers in nursing homes can become expensive," Hood said.
"I did the math," J2 said. "His salary was enough to cover that."
"Beaudin and his people may be using Burton," Liz agreed. "But I don't think he's acting."
"Why?" Hood asked.
"Two things," Liz told him. "First, Thomas Burton's epiphany would not have taken place in a vacuum. Even if he had no religious training, he would have gone to someone who did. Someone who could explain what he was thinking, feeling. The experience was obviously so powerful that any houngan or mambo Burton might have visited was convinced that he had been blessed. At least, no one questioned him or stood in his way."
"Do we know that for sure?" Hood asked.
"We're surmising it," Liz said. "Only a few weeks passed between Burton quitting his job at the mines and Dhamballa holding his first small rally. If there had been any serious resistance from Vodun priests, it would have taken months or even years to sort out. And it probably would have resulted in the use of black magic against him."
"Black magic," Hood said. "Are you talking zombies now?"
"Mae?" Liz said.
The young woman nodded. "We are. Only the word is really nzumbie, which means 'ghost.' "
Once again, Hood had to fight a sense of condescension. The fact that this was not his world or set of beliefs should not make it invalid. He had a flashback to when he was mayor of Los Angeles. He was hosting a movie industry dinner and was seated between two powerful studio heads. They were earnestly debating which of their studios was on top of the next big trend: talking animal movies or films about the postapocalyptic era. Hood had brought the executives together to discuss internship programs for underprivileged city youths. He could not get worked up over the subject of Babe vs. Waterworld. But to the producers, with hundreds of millions of dollars at risk, it mattered.
To the Vodunists, this mattered.
"The zombies we're talking about are not the stiff, vacanteyed killers we've seen in the movies," Mae went on. "From everything I've read, they are conversant, very active beings. No blood drinking, no flesh eating, no mindless mayhem."
"But are they still, like, slaves to masters?" J2 asked.
"No one is sure whether they're slaves or just willing subjects," Mae replied. "Either way, they are extremely devoted to the houngan or mambo who created them."
"These zombies may also be victims of sleeping potions and mind control drugs," Liz said. "Over the last fifteen or twenty years, there has been a fair amount of scientific debate about the subject in the psychiatric and medical journals. The consensus is that they do not die but are artificially placed in a deep narcosis and then revived."