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'Exactly,' Aideen replied.
Ten minutes after the jet touched down, Aideen was standing outside the gate in the big, open terminal. She accessed her cell phone voice mail. There was a message from Mike Rodgers. He had left Aideen the access code to the generalpurpose voice mail box at Op-Center. Obviously, General Rodgers had not wanted to leave information on the automated answering system of her cell phone. If someone else accidentally entered her code, they would be able to get the information. That could compromise security.
The message told Aideen why the Maun airport had been shut down. It also instructed her to get to the village as soon as possible. Maria Corneja was chasing a pair of Brush Vipers with no backup. Rodgers's message included Maria's cell phone number.
Aideen put the cell phone away. She quickly briefed Battat. There were security officers by the gate and along the corridors. Aideen did not want to act suspiciously. Since one airport was attacked, she assumed that others would be on heightened alert. She pointed at overhead signs while she and Battat spoke, acting as if they were discussing which way to go.
Battat did not seem surprised by the killing. Aideen asked him why.
'There seems to be a lot more to this situation than what we've been told,' Battat said.
'In what way?' Aideen asked.
'The Belgians, the Chinese, the Japanese, the Vatican, us,' Battat said. 'There are too many people interested in a very small battleground. It's like Vietnam.'
'A stage for superpowers,' she said.
'That would be my guess,' he remarked.
'Why?' she asked.
'I'm not sure,' he replied, 'but I'll bet Dhamballa or people close to him have some of those answers.'
Aideen told Battat to go ahead and rent them a car. They only had carry-on luggage. She said that she would take the wheeled bags through customs and meet Battat in front of the airport.
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The young woman pulled the two bags through the modern, air-conditioned terminal. She was edgy, unsettled, but she did not know why. It was more than just the dangerous business at hand. There was something about the environment that bothered her.
She looked around.
For one thing, she had noticed a sharpness about the security personnel that she had not seen in her travels through the United States or Europe. Their posture was perfect, and their uniforms were crisp and immaculate. They were alert, yet their expressions were calm, almost spiritual. She had read in the Op-Center files that Botswana was like the Middle East. Church and state were not separate. Religion was an integral part of the national, political, and individual character.
That was an alien concept to the young woman. And it created a subtle, unpleasant disconnect. Aideen did not even believe in her own Protestant faith. Not because she did not want to. She had never trusted anything that could not be sensed or measured. She realized that she did not know how to deal with these people. That scared her.
The gates fed into a narrower corridor that took passengers to customs. As Aideen entered the hallway, a flash of light caused her to turn to her right, to the west. As she walked, she looked out the large, double-pane picture windows. The view was epic. The bottom half of the sun rippled as it neared the absolutely straight horizon. Aideen had never seen the sun so large or so crimson. Ahead, to the north, were sharp-edged mountains. They were blue gray and featureless except where the setting sun struck snow-topped peaks. For just a moment, the amber rays sparked and danced off one cliff, then another. It was like a distant cascade of flame.
A bloodred sun and a mountain of fire, Aideen thought. If she were spiritual, if she were superstitious, those would be troublesome omens.
Aideen rounded another corner and found herself in the luggage claim area. Beyond the three crowded carousals was the customs area. It was already jammed with people who had
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brought only carry-on luggage. Aideen looked for Battat and did not see him.
Good, she thought. He was able to get through before the crowd hit. They would be on their way to Maun shortly.
Aideen crossed the baggage area and entered the customs hall. She selected one of the four lines and stood in it. It was a dramatic change from the quiet of the plane and the open terminal.
Strange languages assaulted her. The sights were both familiar and new. There was American-style clothing from suits to T-shirts as well as bright, traditional African attire. There was movement everywhere. People fanned themselves with ticket folders and open hands. Children ran tight circles around their mothers as if they were maypoles. On the other side of the customs counters, vendors sold newspaper, candy, and beverages from small pushcarts.
As she waited, Aideen was surprised to find her confidence returning. Then she realized why. Despite the new sights and sounds, she was back in a world she understood, a world like the one she left behind.
