“This is most painful to talk about, sir.” He placed his hands on the wheel.
At this point Stone wondered if Jonathan was alive, a prisoner, or worse. “Please tell me. You know Jonathan and I were friends.”
“Three years ago, Jonathan and his family suffered greatly when the rebels, the RUF, entered the city.” His eyes watered. “Everyone suffered, but he especially.”
Stone rubbed his eyes and looked out at the people in the street. On Christmas Eve 1998, the American ambassador had ordered a post evacuation. The RUF, or Revolutionary United Front, used civilians as shields to launch their attack against the Nigerian troops supporting the Sierra Leone government. The undisciplined Nigerians fell back. The citizenry was brutalized.
“Is he alive?”
After a pause, Mitchell said, “He is at a camp for the rehabilitation of peoples.” He tapped the wheel. “I don’t believe he would want to see you. Best I give him a message from you.”
Stone took a moment to consider whether to respect Mitchell’s judgment or push on and insist on seeing his old friend. “I need to see Jonathan. Please take me there today?”
Chapter Seven
Next to the sea, Doctors Without Borders had established a small rehabilitation camp for war victims. Before departing the embassy, Mitchell had traded the van for a four-wheel vehicle. Over an hour they inched their way on roads that hadn’t been repaired since Stone last visited Sierra Leone. As they approached the encampment, Stone became apprehensive. What would he find? Mitchell wouldn’t say any more about Jonathan than he had back in Freetown.
“Best I find Jonathan and bring him to you, Mr. Hayden.” Mitchell parked the SUV next to a large open-sided tent where people lay on cots. He slipped out and disappeared into the campground.
Hayden Stone got out, stretched his legs, and approached the edge of the campsite. Smoke from cooking fires filled the air, and in the distance a rooster crowed. A hush lay across the camp. Men, women, and children limped by on crutches. A boy, speaking kindly, pushed a legless old woman in a wheelbarrow. An occasional doctor appeared among the amputees.
“My friend Mitchell said you insisted on coming to see me.” A voice came from behind Stone. With a sense of foreboding, Stone slowly turned.
“Hello, my good friend,” Stone’s voice broke. Jonathan Worthington, a black man of immense pride and talent, stood before him, both arms missing above the elbow.
They sat on the beach in armchairs that somehow after the war had found their way from a looted home to the seaside. The man who helped Jonathan to light his cigarettes and attended his private needs sat close. Jonathan faced Stone. The two talked about easy things.
“Perhaps you would care to speak privately, Hayden?” Jonathan finally said, and without a word Mitchell and the other man rose and moved a short distance away. “What brings you back to my country?”
“I am to meet and talk with a man in Freetown.”
“You are in the same business as you were before?”
“Yes.” Stone hesitated. “May I ask what happened?”
Jonathan shook his head and gazed at the sea, which crashed one line of high waves at a time. Typical when the ocean bottom drops off dramatically past the waterline.
“I am no longer in any business.” Jonathan’s face dropped. “As you can see, I cannot carry my load.”
“Where is your family?”
“The embassy can no longer employ me. You know that my father worked for the British embassy during the Second World War. I hoped someday my dear son would work for the Americans, like me. Or perhaps become a doctor like these kind people.” He tilted his head in the direction of a woman wearing a doctor’s smock.
In a soft voice, Stone asked, “Where is your son?”
Jonathan’s eyes went blank, as if he hadn’t heard the question. “Do I know the man whom you are meeting?”
“Perhaps. His name is Dirk Lange. A South African.”
A smile came to Jonathan’s face, something unexpected. Yet Stone knew it wasn’t a smile of happiness. “I hope your people are not still angry with Mr. Lange. He is a nice chap. You know.”
Stone held a water bottle up for his friend to take a drink. The station in Freetown had issues with Lange. Interesting.
“From your face, it seems you are not fully aware of the circumstances. You will find out.”
“May I ask again about your family?”
“A long story.” Jonathan now shut his eyes. “They are not here with me.”
Sensing Jonathan’s reluctance to explain, he decided to return to the matter of Dirk Lange. “What about Lange? What should I know?”
“Another long story.” Jonathan’s voice had changed. It lacked the authority Stone remembered.
“I see.” Stone might just as well sit there and let this tired old man say what he wanted. He studied Jonathan’s face. It hung weary, ravaged. Before him sat a victim of those hophead rebels who had savaged the villagers and townspeople for so many years. All for diamonds.
“Dirk Lange arrived shortly after you departed. He had connections with Executive Outcomes, although he himself was no mercenary.” Jonathan looked hard at him. “Already you disapprove of Mr. Lange.” He frowned. “Ah, the West’s disapproval of the South Africans. During their presence we enjoyed the only peace we had for years. The enlightened Europeans forced them to leave. We had elections, and the RUF went on to …”
“Executive Outcomes was here as I left. I recall their helicopters flying overhead. I didn’t altogether disapprove of them.”
“The RUF captured my son and made him into a soldier.” Jonathan spoke the words in a whisper. His lifeless eyes met Stone’s.
Stone looked away, trying to figure how old Jonathan’s son had been at the time. Twelve years old at the most.
“Mr. Lange did administrative work for the mercenaries. When the group regained control of the diamond mines, he went there to work. After a while, when he returned to Freetown, he’d bring back some of the kidnapped.” Jonathan touched the pack of cigarettes with the stub of his right arm, asking for a smoke. Stone complied, and after allowing him to take a long drag, Jonathan continued, “I have asked him to look for my son … and my daughter when he is out there in the bush.”
“Why did the station have problems with Lange? Was he working for the bad guys?”
“No. No, a young lady named Marsha worked at the embassy. Those two were very, very close. Your people did not approve. She was sent away.”
Holy shit! Lange was poking an agency case officer. “I see why they wouldn’t approve.” Possible penetration of the station. The COS under the gun from Langley for management laxness. Secrets revealed inadvertently during pillow talk.
“You did not know about all this?” Jonathan asked in the way years ago he would warn Stone that he was about to fall into a trap. “I suppose you can’t tell me the details of your being here.”
Stone held the lighted cigarette to Jonathan’s lips and let him draw until the tip burned bright. The realization that a cloud hung over this interview with Lange came not so much from his brain than from his gut. In the past, when that happened things got melancholy.
“No, Jonathan. I shouldn’t talk about it.” He paused. “People in Washington are concerned about something they wouldn’t reveal to me. They sent me to Liberia to speak with an acquaintance from years past, a diamond merchant named Jacob. I believe he’s in my line of business, but for another country.” Stone held the cigarette for him again. “Jacob sent me here to talk with Lange, saying he had something very important to tell me.”