'I do not like,' Dhamballa replied.
'Dhamballa, I don't care what your plans are for me,' the priest said. 'But I am worried about your followers. They are my countrymen, too, and I care very much about them.'
'If you care about Botswana, then make no trouble for me,' Dhamballa replied.
'I've tried to be cooperative, have I not?' the priest asked.
'As the termite who looks out from your wall and says, 'But I did not eat your table,' ' the Vodun leader replied. 'Sabot, Alfred!'
'Don't you understand?' Father Bradbury said. 'More can be accomplished through talk than through fighting. Don't force a confrontation you cannot win.'
The soldiers came back into the room. They awaited instructions. Dhamballa looked at Father Bradbury.
'We are the ones being forced,' Dhamballa told the priest. 'We've been forced from our roots and now we've been forced from a measured, peaceful plan. At the moment, Father, we have nothing to lose.'
Dhamballa told the soldiers to take the priest back to his shack. Then he left the hut.
Father Bradbury sighed as the men took hold of his arms. He did not struggle as they led him out. The sun had gone down. The men moved the priest quickly across through the thickly shadowed twilight. Activity around the island, seemed more intense than it had a few minutes before. Perhaps that
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was because everything was now being done by lantern light. Battery-powered lanterns were suspended from tree limbs and hooks on the hut walls. Each soldier had a brilliant glow around his station. Their open jackets fluttered lightly in the gentle air that rolled in from the swamp.
The angels of Vodun at work, Father Bradbury thought.
The priest was returned to the shack. Once again, his left ankle was chained to the cot. Father Bradbury remained standing as the men left. They locked the door behind them. The priest listened. When he was sure they had gone, he reached into his pocket.
Father Bradbury had counted the footsteps from Dhamballa's hut to his own. By his measure, it was about two hundred steps. That was about fifty yards. It might be too far.
The priest reached into his deep pocket. He would know in just a few seconds. He had to act quickly if he was going to prevent a disaster from befalling these people. The darkness in the hut had shielded his actions. But it would not be very long before Dhamballa noticed what Father Bradbury had done.
Leaning close to the light of his own lantern, Father Bradbury looked down at the telephone receiver. The priest had placed his hand on the cordless unit when he turned his back to Dhamballa. It had been easy to step close then and conceal the fact that he was slipping it into his pocket.
Now he put it to his ear. He was not too far from the receiver. There was a dial tone.
His heart pumped blood to his brain and made his senses hyperalert. Even his fingers seemed more alive than before as he hit Redial and pressed the phone to his ear.
The irony of what he was doing did not escape him. The soldiers had seemed like angels to him. Now he was a tactician, a de facto warrior. Father Bradbury did not even recognize his own somber voice as he spoke to the archdiocese secretary and asked to be put through to Archbishop Patrick.
A moment later, the priest's feet were set on a path from which there was no turning back. He prayed it was the right one.
FORTY-ONE
Gaborone, Botswana Friday, 4:40 P.M.
As the South African Airways 747 was making its final descent into Gaborone, the chief flight attendant went to the front of the cabin. He announced gates for connecting flights. If passengers were bound for Cape Town in South Africa or Antananarivo in Madagascar, their flights would be departing on time. If they were headed to Maun, there was an indefinite delay.
As the flight attendant made his way back to the galley, Aideen stopped him.
She asked what the problem was in Maun.
'The airfield has been closed,' the middle-aged attendant informed her.
'What's the problem?' Aideen asked.
'They did not tell us,' the attendant replied.
'We've got family waiting for us,' Aideen lied.
'I'm sure an announcement will be made at the terminal,' the attendant said. Smiling politely, he excused himself.
Aideen glanced over at Battat. His mouth twisted unhappily.
'Maybe they've got some kind of animal infestation up there,' Battat suggested. 'Migrating storks or gazelles or an insect swarm. Something that will pass quickly.'
'I'm pretty good at interpreting airport-speak,' she said. 'This was the kind of announcement they make when there's an ongoing situation like a fire or a bomb threat. I was also watching the flight attendant. I really don't think he knows why there is a delay.'
'But he would know if it were weather- or animal-related,' Battat said.
