Chief Jefferson had a faint smile at the corners of his lips. But for the rest his face was grave. He nodded to Nick and bowed to Liz.
“Mr. Carter, sir. Miss Ashton.”
“Come in, Chief,” said Nick. “Formal call, or something special?”
Jefferson shook his head regretfully. “I have to ask you to accompany me, Mr. Carter. No, I will not come in. I should like very much to talk to you, another time. But a most shocking thing has happened, and I have an urgent request for your immediate presence.”
Liz turned pale and got up from her straight-backed chair.
“Whose request?” said Nick, his eyes flickering around the room to be sure that he could leave it unattended on a moment’s notice.
“President Makombe’s,” Jefferson said quietly. “He has been shot. They will have to operate immediately. But he demanded to speak to you first. You will come at once?”
Nick heard Liz’ swift intake of breath.
“Of course I will,” he said quickly. “You have a car?” The Chief nodded. “Please go ahead. I must be sure I have secured all my papers before leaving. You will understand, I’m sure.”
They seemed to understand, because they backed tactfully out of the room and headed down the corridor. Nick could hear Liz say:
“Shot! Surely it was an accident.”
Jefferson must have shaken his head, because the next thing Nick heard was Liz asking: “Does the Ambassador know? May I come along?”
Jefferson’s answer was inaudible. Nick secured the hidden inside pocket containing all the documents relating to him and his work and dropped Pierre into his usual resting place. He could hear Liz’ high heels going down the one flight of stairs to the lobby floor, but the conversation seemed to have come to an end. Possibly Jefferson had told her to button her lip while walking in a public place. Hugo slid neatly into his sheath and Wilhelmina snuggled comfortably into her special bed at the waistband of his trousers. His luggage was completely innocent, for once, as an honest diplomat’s should be. Of course, there was that flat secret compartment to hold whatever documents he might want to hide, but he might as well give the lurking enemy a chance to find — or overlook — it before he used it as a hiding place. The lock on the desk drawer wasn’t at all bad. They’d have to use some force to get it open.
He picked up his cane and left his room, locking the door behind him.
The long, closed car was waiting. Liz and Jefferson sat together in the back. The chauffeur stared unblinkingly ahead like a carved ebony statue, and Corporal Temba waited with his hamlike right hand on the back door handle.
It could be some kind of trap, of course, even though Liz had recognized these men. Nick chewed briskly on the thought and then dismissed it. Being spied upon was one thing; being abducted was another. And he’d done nothing to deserve it. Yet.
He got stiffly into the back seat. Temba slammed the door.
“In, Stonewall. Let us be on our way.”
The massive corporal saluted and took his place in the front seat. Nick’s eyebrows rose. Stonewall, yet.
“Hospital Dos Estrangeiros, Uru,” Jefferson instructed. “Keep the foot firmly upon the accelerator and the eye upon the traffic.”
The ebony chauffeur nodded silently and shot breathtakingly into the swiftly moving stream of cars and military vehicles. Nick took note of them, as well as of the signs and names that characterized this fantastically polyglot young city. Portuguese, French, English, Nyangese and several tribal tongues were equally in evidence. Even American, it seemed, still had some sort of place. And no doubt he’d be encountering resentment in Russian before his stay was over.
“How is he?” asked Nick. “What happened?”
“The President is in extremely serious condition,” Jefferson said quietly. “He is at present receiving treatment preparatory to the operation. A single bullet from what appears to have been a high-powered American rifle is lodged in his chest. It seems to have at least creased the heart, and has considerably damaged the lungs. I would say the situation is critical. He was shot when he stepped out of his office into the courtyard for a breath of air. You know the Presidential quarters used to be an old Portuguese fort?” Nick nodded. “One would naturally think of it as well-guarded by walls, if not by people.” Jefferson’s voice was bitter. “He was too confident, though. Too sure that he was not the target for all these attacks. Political target, perhaps, but not a murder victim. So he refused to have an adequate bodyguard. The gunman wounded a sentry at the gate and got away. The Army and the Police are both looking for him.”
“Have you made any arrests in connection with previous events?” asked Nick.
Jefferson nodded. Their car swooped across an intersection and threw itself toward a traffic circle. The tires screeched angrily but took them safely onto a broad, tree-lined highway leading out of the city. “Yes. Six arrests. One accidental death due to frenzy caused by overuse of hemp. One suicide. Two who produced a dozen witnesses to say they were fifty miles away from the scene of the crime...” Jefferson’s lips curled. “And two who were so drug-ridden that they did not appear to know where they were — they were in jail — or what they’d done. And of course the Army has rounded up a number of prisoners in connection with the attacks on white settlements. They will say nothing. Nothing at all.”
“So nobody talks,” said Nick. “Not even to pass the buck — or cast the blame.”
“That is correct. Not one of them will speak. But memory talks,” Chief Jefferson said obscurely. “We are here.”
The car swerved into a wide driveway and stopped in front of a pleasant, low-slung white building.
Liz and Chief Jefferson waited in the sunny reception room while Dr. Ngoma took Nick Carter up to the secluded suite on the second floor.
“For one moment only,” he warned emphatically. “I would not have allowed this at all if the President had not insisted. I must urge you to receive his message, talk as little as possible, and leave at once. He is in the gravest danger.”
Nick inclined his head. “I understand. I am only here to listen. Is there anything I can do to help?”
The young doctor shook his head. “Just be quick; that is all I ask,”
President Makombe lay like a graven image amongst the white sheets, tubes clutching at his limbs like suckers at a rosebush. A strikingly handsome young man with a troubled face stood at his bedside. Nick looked down at the prone man and his agony. Rage and sympathy surged within him.
“President Makombe,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Carter. My deepest regrets that we should have to meet this way.”
Makombe’s eyes fluttered open.
“Carter... And mine. I had to see you. And I had to tell you this.” He coughed painfully, and the young man at his bedside drew in a sharp breath and touched his shoulder gently. “This... ultimatum comes too soon. You must... you must work quickly.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then forced them open with a visible effort. Nick stared down at the pained face on the pillow. The dull eyes looked back at him. “Whether I live or die,” the voice said, “my country’s future is in your hands. And all of Africa could be at stake. You must prove... you must prove...” The voice trailed off, and then began again. “It is up to you to find out who is doing these things. When I am better I will work with you. But now I cannot. My brother Rufus...” the dark head turned and faced the troubled young man. “My brother will help you. He knows all my affairs. He is not much interested in matters of state... but he is... aware...” The agonized eyes looked directly into Nick’s. “I had... much more to say. But somehow... I think you know. I found out... today... it is... not so obvious as I thought. Or perhaps too obvious.” The head lolled. “Rufus... be of help.”