Seronga reached the nearest of the boulders. Pavant and Finn arrived a few moments later.
"There are three others coming behind us," he said as he moved past the guards. "Let them pass."
The men said they would.
A dozen yards beyond them, he saw the flickering of a shielded cigarette lighter. The face of Nicholas Arrons was behind it. He was the driver of the van in which Dhamballa was traveling. Seronga ran toward him. When he was a few feet away, the light flicked off. Breathing heavily from the short run, Seronga stopped by the front of the van.
"Do you hear that?" Seronga asked.
"Of course," Arrons replied. "A scout?"
"Very likely," Seronga said. "Where is the decoy group?"
"They left the swamp double-time and caught up to us about a mile back," Arrons replied. "They're resting by the lake. At least, they were. I'm sure they heard the helicopter."
"We'll have to deploy them in case we're strafed," Seronga said.
"I ordered the rocket launchers deployed," Arrons told him.
"No one fires unless we're fired upon," Seronga said.
"Those were my orders," Arrons replied.
"Where is the priest?"
"He is in the other van," Arrons said.
"Have Terrence bring him over," Seronga said.
"The ordeal in the swamp was difficult for him," Arrons said. "So was the drive here. He has not slept or eaten very much."
"There will be time enough for that soon," Seronga said. "Bring him to me now."
"Yes sir," Arrons said.
The soldier left, and Seronga stepped to the side of the van. Though they had been speaking by radio since Dhamballa broke camp, there was something different in Arrons's voice now. It was as though he were hiding something.
Seronga knocked on the door, then pulled it open. Dhamballa was sitting cross-legged on a mat. The interior lights had been covered with duct tape. Only a faint, muddy light illuminated the inside.
Seronga bowed his head slightly. There was no formal way to greet a houngan, but Seronga felt he needed something to show his respect. He had settled upon this.
"I'm glad you are safe, Dhamballa," Seronga said.
"What happened at the airport?" Dhamballa asked.
The beating of the rotor was getting louder. Seronga glanced back at the sky. The light was three times more brilliant than any of the stars.
"Sir, we can discuss this later," Seronga said.
"I must know," Dhamballa said.
The helicopter was now a steady drone. It seemed increasingly likely that the chopper had spotted them.
"I don't know," Seronga said. "Pavant and I were waiting for the bishop, when someone shot him. We don't know who that was."
Dhamballa stepped closer. He looked into Seronga's face, at his forehead, at the edges of his mouth.
"The bones told me that someone close will betray me, so I must ask again," Dhamballa said. "Either by action or by design, were you responsible for the death of the American bishop?"
"Neither I nor my soldiers had anything to do with the assassination," Seronga said. "We have not always agreed on policy, houngan. I would tell you if it were otherwise."
The Vodun leader regarded him for several seconds longer. "I believe you," he said.
"Thank you," Seronga said. He was glad, since he had no intention of adding to his answer. "Perhaps the betrayal came from the outside. From the men who were helping you to power."
"If so, I will find that out," Dhamballa said.
Maria, Aideen, and Battat walked up behind Seronga. Pavant and Njo Finn joined them.
"Mr. Seronga, we need to make some decisions," Aideen said.
"Yes," he agreed. He gestured behind him. "Houngan, during the past few hours, these people have helped us with information and planning. Maria was at the airport with me. She saw the killing and has evidence that will help authorities find the assassin."
"Arrons told me about these people and what they've done," Dhamballa said. "Thank you all."
"Sir, you can thank us by breaking up this party and moving out as soon as possible," Battat said.
"And what would we do?" Dhamballa asked.
They heard footsteps in the dark. Arrons was approaching from behind the car. He was bringing Father Bradbury.
"We believe there is a way to save the movement," Seronga said. "But to do so, we must have time. There are two ways to get that time. First, we must turn the priest over to these people. We must let the government know that we have released him. Second, you must go."
"Go where?" Dhamballa asked. He seemed genuinely surprised by the suggestion.
"Away from this area," Seronga said. "And quickly, sir. We are soon to have company."
"We have a rally scheduled," Dhamballa replied. "We cannot disappoint our people, show them cowardice. Now that we are together, I think we should turn around and trust in the gods to protect us."
"You will never get to the rally," Maria insisted. "The gods may protect your spirit, but I wouldn't bet on them against a 2.75-inch rocket."
"Seronga and his men will be with me," Dhamballa remarked. "They have arms. And I believe the government will not want a massacre. If those are not deterrent enough, we still have the priest."
"Holding Father Bradbury may not help you," Maria warned. "Not any longer. The outside world will perceive the incident at the airport as the onset of chaos. And your movement will be blamed."
"We are not responsible," Dhamballa said.
"Unfortunately, you won't have the opportunity to make that case," Battat told him. "Gaborone needs this situation to go away."
"Situation?" Dhamballa said. "Is that how the oldest religion on earth is perceived?"
"Not the faith," Battat told him. "The actions of the practitioners. Whether or not you killed the bishop doesn't really matter now. You kidnapped Father Bradbury. You precipitated this crisis. I know something about how blame works, and trust me. You will be blamed."
"We're wasting time," Maria cut in. "If that helicopter has seen you, it will signal the others. They will be here within an hour. You will all be arrested or cut down. There will be no rally."
Dhamballa turned to Seronga. "What do you say?"
"I believe these risks are very real, houngan," he replied.
"If we are all dead, no one will be in a position to dispute what the government says. We must not give them the opportunity to take us down."
Arrons and the priest arrived.
"You're asking me to run," Dhamballa said to Seronga.
"Not run. Walk with dignity. Leave with these people," the Brush Viper said. "You and Father Bradbury. Maria knows we did not kill the bishop. Just by emerging from the salt pan, Father Bradbury will attest to the fact that while his stay may not have been pleasant, he is alive and well."
Father Bradbury had been looking at the others. His eyes stopped on Seronga.
"Those clothes," the priest said suddenly. "Where did you get them?"
Seronga did not answer.
"Where did you get them?" the priest demanded. "No, you don't have to tell me. I know. You got them from my deacons. You had to. If they had left Botswana, they would have taken their clothes with them. What did you do to them? Are they all right?"
Maria looked at the Brush Viper. "Seronga, were the deacons still at the church when you arrived?"
"Yes," Seronga replied.
"Where are they now?" she asked him.
Seronga wished there were time to explain what he had done. How this was a war and that lives are lost in war. How he needed information about Bishop Max and there was only one way to get it. How compassion would have cost them everything they had struggled to achieve.
He wished, most of all, that Dhamballa did not have to hear this.
"The missionaries are with their god," Seronga replied.