Elise wanted to leave, but somehow felt as though she owed it to the man to watch him die. He breathed in deep and then slowly exhaled. She watched as this continued for several breaths. Each one, she expected to be his last. On the ninth, he lifted his head. His ghoulish eyes opened again. And this time they looked at her with recognition.
He smiled, revealing a full set of white teeth that appeared at odds with his scarred face and warrior’s body. “I don’t need morphine.”
“What do you need?” She hurried by his side and offered him some water from her bottle.
“I’ve been waiting.” His voice was deep, calm, and almost hypnotic.
“For what?”
His entire body went rigid. Every muscle contracted individually as though a current of electricity had been discharged through his entire body. When it stopped he lifted his head up and stared at her. “I’ve been waiting for you, Elise.”
“You have?”
“Yes. The United Sovereign of Kongo has been waiting for your help.”
“You know about the USK?”
“My name is Adebowale, but you know may know me as Mtu Wa Watu Moja.”
Elise translated his name from its ancient Swahili origins. “Man of the One People.” They were the only words she knew in the language, and only because she had spent the past three months trying to find out as much as she could about the man. “You’re the leader of the USK?”
Chapter Fifty-Six
Elise cut the ropes from his wrists and throat. Free from the confines of the pike, the man staggered forward and fell to the ground. His muscles, wasted from days of dehydration and stagnation were no longer capable of holding his massive frame.
She reached out to help and he pushed her away. “No. Don’t. I’m three times your size, I’ll crush you. Let me fall.”
Elise eased him toward the ground.
He rolled on to his side. He tried to straighten himself up using his arms, but they merely pushed vainly into the sand. He smiled and looked at her. “More water, please.”
She handed her bottle to him. “You’re an American?”
He took a drink and shook his head. “No. My family came from Zaire, which is now known as the Democratic Republic of Congo. As you know, there is very little about the country that is democratically elected. My family was once a proud people — kings throughout the Congo. When I was just a boy, a rebel leader cut my father down with a machete like he was a dog and took over the country. Fortunately, he, along with several other rebels has died in the years since then — but still the pain festers in my wounds.”
“You want revenge?” Elise said.
“No. The man responsible for my father’s death was killed when I was just a boy, by a childish rebel who thought he could topple another king. The cycle has continued many times, and still my country suffers. I dream of uniting my country in such a way as to leave everlasting stability and growth in a once proud region, which has suffered greatly since Portugal colonized it in the 16th century.”
“Okay, so how did you end up living in America?”
He stared vacantly in silence. Either he didn’t hear her, or didn’t want to answer.
“Were you a refugee?”
“No.” Adebowale shook his head. “On the night of my father’s death, my mother sent me away. I ran, further than I could have ever believed. I stole a boat and rode the Zaire River north. When I could no longer travel the river I got out and traveled north by foot. I eventually found work laboring for a man in Egypt. He was an archeologist traveling the Sahara in search of an old relic. A book written by Nostradamus, which held visions of the future of humanity. At the time he didn’t speak to us much, instead he told us where to dig and we dug. When I was sixteen years old, and after four years of constant laboring and good eating had put another hundred pounds of muscles on my body, he stopped me and asked if I’d ever played American football. I shook my head, thinking he was mad. When would I have had time to play a game I’d never heard of? He then told me he could arrange for American schooling if I wanted to play some game.”
“So you went to America to play football?”
“No. I went to America to get an education, so that one day I might rise up and bring order and stability to my people who so desperately long for peace.”
She smiled kindly. “How long did you play football?”
He closed his eyes while he thought about it, and then opened them again. “Six years. I made it pretty far, I suppose. It was a means to an end. I got the education I needed and then returned to Africa to commence my process of change.”
“Why did you go to Libya, if your fight was in the DRC?”
“To help the daughter of the man to whom I owe so much — and to instigate the start of a great prophecy.”
“And what prophecy is that?” she asked.
He sat up, as though possessed by a demon. His grayish-blue eyes pierced her soul as he spoke with his deep voice — the voice of someone long since dead, a corpse performing a civic service. “The very same prophecy that brought you to Africa! I’m talking about the very same prophecy that has led the greatest interest and gathering of nations in history.”
“Go on,” she said.
He blinked. “The reason Sam Reilly came to Sahara. To place the USK into power before the greatest world war commences over a rare natural resource.”
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Elise heard heavy footsteps behind her. She looked up and saw Veyron carrying the Browning heavy machine gun. He must have unclipped the weapon from its helicopter mounting. Sweat poured off his face. He was breathing hard.
“Time to go,” Veyron said. “We’ve got company.”
“Who?”
“A group of nomads. About a mile south of here. They’re armed. Genevieve spotted them on the radar coming over one of the sand dunes.”
“All right,” Elise said. “We need to get this man to the helicopter.”
Veyron bent down to feel Adebowale’s pulse. The man’s eyes were closed and he was no longer able to be woken. It was as though he’d used the last of his energy staying alive to this point. “He won’t live long.”
“Yes he will.”
“Where are we going to take him? There are no hospitals nearby and he won’t live long without surgery.”
Elise looked at Veyron. Her jaw fixed with determination and her purple eyes imploring him to help. “We’ll get him to the Maria Helena and I’ll take the bullets out myself.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
Genevieve ran over. “What the hell’s taking so long? We’ve got to go!”
Veyron looked at her. “Elise is adamant we need to take him with us.”
Elise met Genevieve’s harsh gaze. “I’ll explain when we’re in the air. Right now we need to get him on board. He’s important.”
“To what?”
“Everything.”
Genevieve swore. “Ah, Christ! You’re serious, aren’t you?”
Elise nodded without saying a word.
Veyron handed the heavy machine gun to Elise and then bent down to lift Adebowale using an old fireman’s lift. Displaying remarkable strength he was able to lift the enormous man. Elise followed them back to the Sikorsky.
Veyron laid Adebowale on his back in the middle section of the helicopter. Elise closed the side door and Genevieve got them back in the air. Elise quickly inserted an intravenous cannula into the large vein at the bend of his arm, known as the cubital fossa. Genevieve increased their altitude and banked to the right to avoid the incoming group of armed nomads. Elise primed an IV line with saline, attached it to the cannula and opened it up to full. The liquid would help counteract the man’s severe dehydration and might just save his kidneys from irreparable damage, but he would need blood products to survive — and someone was going to have to remove the bullets from his head and torso.