333
For the first time in his life, Seronga felt a sense that things were out of balance. He felt like an outsider in his own land, in his own battle. There were Spanish soldiers in Maun. Priests from a diocese in South Africa. Observers in Rome. Allies in Belgium, France, and even China. More and more tourists on the roads and in the fields. Africa was no longer that pure physical entity he had once known. It was a park for the rich. A battleground for the ambitious. A source of souls and revenue for Rome. And he thought it had been minimized by the United States, when it became a cause for environmentalists and a laboratory for ethnologists. As if it needed aid and study to stay Africa.
But if Dhamballa was right, maybe Seronga had been finding Africa in the wrong place. Maybe the land and the people were just the manifestation of a greater identity.
Or maybe a veteran Brush Viper is just getting old and scared, Seronga had to admit.
That thought came with a little smile. He did not like to think of himself that way, but maybe it was time. Seronga had seen old lions stand in the brush and watch young members of the pride lead the hunts. He often wondered what those elder warriors were thinking. Did they not want to show how slow they had become? Were they too tired to get into the fray?
Or maybe it was something else, Seronga thought.
Maybe a voice inside the old lion was telling him to pick the time and place for a final hunt. There would be a better time for the warrior to become legend. Seronga wondered whether animals, like people, were powered by legends. And maybe those legends were the real essence of a people.
That was what led Seronga to wonder if Dhamballa might be right.
The gods of which Dhamballa spoke might be nothing more-or less-than ancient warriors who fell in combat and were immortalized in stories. After all, Seronga asked himself, what were gods but idealized beings? They were entities who could not be challenged or assailed, whose purpose was clear and perfect. Whether they were fancy or spirit did not matter.
By keeping these memories alive, the nature of a people could be sustained. Even if the land was conquered and the inhabitants enslaved and shipped to other continents, the stories could not be erased. The gods could not be destroyed.
'We're almost there,' Finn said.
Seronga had constructed giants and eternities in his mind. The driver's very real voice startled him.
'Thank you,' Seronga replied. He took a swallow of Coke. The tingle brought him back to the moment. He looked at the map.
The point they were approaching was within the reach of Dhamballa's radio. Even if he had left the base camp, the route he would take would keep him within the circle. As the truck entered that circle, they would finally be able to contact Dhamballa.
Seronga was not sure what he would find when that happened. He did not know how Dhamballa had reacted to the assassination. He did not know how that would affect their next rally.
They passed a small, kidney-shaped lake. The stars shone back at themselves from its surface. A few minutes later, Seronga spotted the dark silhouette of Haddam Peak. The 2,000foot mountain stood alone in the northeast. Seronga recognized the distinctive hooked tor blocking the stars. It was the last landmark on the map. The truck was entering the call radius. The Brush Viper opened the rusted glove compartment. He replaced the map and removed a slender, oblong, black radio. It was a Belgian Algemene-7 unit. Used by the federal intelligence and security agency Veiligheid van de Stoat, it was a secure point-to-point radio with a range of seventy-five miles. Dhamballa had the only receiver.
Seronga pressed the green Activate button on the bottom right of the unit. A red Speak button was to the right. A blue Terminate button was located to the left.
Seronga placed his thumb on the red button. He raised the hooded mouthpiece to his lips.
And stopped. He looked around.
'What's that?' Seronga asked. -• **
334
OP-CENTER
Finn peered ahead. So did Maria.
'Where are you looking?' the driver asked.
'At one o'clock,' Seronga said. He used the radio to point to his right.
'I don't see anything,' Finn said.
'I do,' Maria replied. 'It's a car. A Jeep.'
The woman was right. A small vehicle glinted faintly in the headlights of the truck. It was about one hundred yards away.
Finn slowed.
'Are you expecting anyone?' Seronga asked.
'Yes,' Maria said.
Seronga glared at her. 'Stop the truck,' he said.
Finn crushed the brake. The truck stopped with effort, skidding slightly toward the passenger's side. That left Seronga staring out his open window, directly at the Jeep.
Seronga put the radio in his lap. He slid his hand beside the seat and withdrew the gun. He did not let Maria see it. Not yet.
