Crossing the plain was not like driving in New York City. Or Moscow. Or even Baku, Azerbaijan. Driving here reminded Battat of sailing. For one thing, darkness came very quickly
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in the flat pan. Or maybe it only seemed that way because so much flat terrain became black all at once. For another, there was a sense of freedom. He could continue north on the path marked with signs. Or he could venture to the east or west. The grass was low enough to go off-road. But there was also a clear and ever-present danger.
The blackness.
Outside the cone of the Wrangler's headlights, the sky was actually brighter than the ground. It also seemed closer, in a way. That was because the Milky Way was clearly visible as it arced across the sky. Battat did not even have to avert his eyes to see it clearly. The other stars were even brighter as were the occasional shooting stars. Whenever Aideen saw a shooting star, she wished for more light. They did not get it. As a result, Battat did not dare to proceed at more than thirty to forty miles an hour. There was no telling when they would run into a ditch, a flat boulder, or a yellow ANIMAL CROSSING sign. These were scattered throughout the region, bearing the silhoutte of a trumpeting elephant, a rhinoceros, or a lion. Wild animals were something they had to watch out for. Most of the larger predators were on game preserves. But there were still rogues, strays, and packs of wild dogs, hyenas, and other nocturnal hunters.
On the other hand, because it was so dark and because the plain was so utterly flat and featureless, Battat did not imagine they would have much trouble spotting another vehicle.
There was still one thing that troubled David Battat. He worried about it more than the ditches and the boulders, more than getting lost in the darkness. The former CIA agent worried whether the Brush Viper truck would be in a position to spot them first.
And what Seronga would do if he did.
FIFTY-ONE
Washington, D.C. Friday, 1:08 P.M.
Darrell McCaskey stepped into Mike Rodgers's office unannounced and unexpected. McCaskey wanted information. In retrospect, he realized he wanted something else. A fight.
He got it.
The FBI liaison was angrier than he had been the day before. He had not slept very much that night. The more he had thought about what happened, the more his rage had built. The people close to him had done what was expedient. They did not do what was right. He was furious at Rodgers for asking Maria to go abroad. He was mad at Maria for having accepted. And he was disgusted with Paul Hood for having allowed her to go. McCaskey and Maria had just gotten married. She had given up intelligence work. What the hell were they all thinking? At what point did the human factor enter into decision making? Where was loyalty to old friends, concern for their well- being?
McCaskey had come to Rodgers's office unannounced because he wanted to see the general's face. Rodgers was not a man who admitted concern. Not to his coworkers, not even to his friends. McCaskey had heard that the only one Rodgers confided in was his childhood friend and fellow officer Colonel Brett August. But Rodgers was also not a man who could disguise what he was feeling. It was always there in his eyes, in the turn of his mouth. McCaskey did not want to see any of that hidden for his benefit.
Rodgers was sitting at his computer. He glanced over as the FBI liaison walked in. Years with the FBI had taught meCaskey to size up a person in an instant. To read expressions,
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posture, perspiration levels. The concern in Rodgers's face was considerable.
'What's the latest?' McCaskey asked.
'I was just reading the confirmation from Matt Stoll,' Rodgers replied. His expression became neutral. Mike Rodgers was back in control. 'The download for the OLB has been received in Botswana. Aideen and Battat are en route to meet your wife.'
'When do they expect to link up?' McCaskey asked.
'I estimate that should happen in about two hours,' Rodgers told him. 'What have you been up to?'
'Paul showed me the photo Maria took at the airport. He also gave me the AFISS phone data,' McCaskey told him. 'I'm looking into the possible involvement of Shigeo Fujima. Paul wants me to find out what the IAB could possibly gain by killing the American bishop. Or at least by implicating Dhamballa in the assassination.'
'And?'
'Nothing yet,' McCaskey told him. 'The Japanese have zero interest in Africa in general and Botswana in particular. They certainly don't gain anything by moving in on the diamond industry. The income would be a blip on Japan's gross national product. My people are looking into other possibilities involving Beaudin and Genet. We'll see what turns up.'
'Could the Japanese have made the hit for some other party?' Rodgers asked. 'Someone we haven't considered?'
'That's one of the possibilities I've been checking,' meCaskey said. 'It would help if we knew whether the assassination was aimed at the Vatican, at this bishop in particular, or at Botswana.'
'It's easier when you've got nations fighting over borders or commerce or thousands of years of enmity,' Rodgers said. 'We don't know what the core issue is here. But I don't think it's religion.'
'So what happens next?' McCaskey asked.
'In Botswana?' Rodgers asked.
