The day had been tiring. Now the vision had left him drained.
My allies are my enemies, Dhamballa thought.
Someone close to him was going to betray him. What he did not know was who, exactly. Or how. Or when. It could be someone he already knew. It could be someone he would meet during his next sermon or holy ceremony. All he knew was that it would happen very soon.
Dhamballa put the candle in a clay bowl on a small ledge beside the window. The white canvas shade was down. He used the hemp drawstring to raise it. The flame kicked up for a moment, dancing as the hot, muggy night air rolled in. Then it died to its customary glow. With the breeze came the sounds of the swamp animals. The bullfrogs sounded like unhappy dogs. The night birds seemed to be laughing or sighing. The occasional hiss of a snake. It was deceptively loud because the sharp sibilation cut through every other sound. Almost at once, the wings of small white moths began to flash around the candlelight. Beyond the dark treetops the stars shone clear and large.
Dhamballa had always known that one day there would be conflict. He knew he would have to fight for the^Miamond
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mines. He did not mind selling the gems to outsiders to build his nation. But the earth was the home of the dead. Only the faithful should be permitted inside.
Still, Dhamballa did not expect to have to face the matter so soon. The first thing he would have to do was make certain that Leon Seronga and the Brush Vipers were among those he could trust. Without them, the holy man would have to look elsewhere for strength of arms. Perhaps the spirits would guide him. Perhaps they would not.
He suddenly felt very alone.
Dhamballa lifted a ceramic pitcher and cup from the floor beside the mat. He poured himself water flavored with mint leaves. He drank slowly and chewed on the leaves as he stared at the sky.
The stars in Dhamballa's vision had told him of an impending future. The stars suspended in front of him told a different tale. They reminded Dhamballa of his forebears. Of the men and women who had looked up at the sky when the world was young. The stars spoke of a time when the spirits of men were few, and wisdom had to come directly from the gods themselves.
The stars gave him the courage to do what those men had done. To trust in the visions. To believe in the prophecies. And to find ways of making them come true.
Dhamballa had been given a remarkable gift. He had been given both the blessing and the curse of Vodun enlightenment. It was a blessing because he had the ideas and the voice to inspire a nation, to lead a people who had become fragmented. Who had lost their way. It was a curse because he would not be able to lead those people by spirituality alone.
He was a man of peace, yet he was going to have to fight
a war.
A war in which, he feared, not all of the magic would be white.
TWENTY-SIX
Washington, D.C. Thursday, 4:47 P.M.
As they headed toward Matt StolFs office, Paul Hood and Mike Rodgers bumped into Liz Gordon. The psychologist was chomping hard on her nicotine chewing gum. She had recently given up smoking and was having a tough time of it. She asked to talk to Paul.
'Is it personal?' he asked.
'Yes,' she replied. Her broad shoulders swayed, and her medium-length brown hair bobbed hard as she walked and chewed.
'Can we talk while we walk?' Hood asked.
'We can do that,' the woman told him. 'I've always been good at multitasking.'
Hood smiled. 'What can I do for you?'
'My half brother, Clark, is a poli-sci major at Georgetown,' Liz said. 'They're dealing with contemporary urban issues. He was wondering if you could talk to his class about your term as mayor.'
'When?' Hood asked. It was jarring to shift gears from the global to the local. Liz was obviously better at multitasking than he was.
'Sometime within the next two weeks?' she asked.
'Sure, I'll do it,' Hood said with a wink. 'Too bad everything is not that easy.'
'Thanks. Is it the Vatican problem?' Liz asked.
Hood nodded. 'As a matter of fact, you might want to tag along if you have the time.'
'Be happy to,' she said.
Matt Stall's space was different from the othSr offices.
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When he first came to Op-Center, Stoll had commandeered a small conference room. He proceeded to fill it with a haphazard arrangement of desks, stands, and computers. As OpCenter's computing needs grew, the original disarray remained where it was. They were like old oak trees a village had grown around.
