an envelope next to my keys the next morning.
When I ignored them, she moved on to lecturing-with a list of what-ifs and potential risks, as if I hadn't considered nearly every one of them myself. Muslims killing Christians in the north of Nigeria; Christians retaliating in Eastern Nigeria; students lynching a Christian teacher; mass graves found in Okija; police corruption and brutality; daily kidnappings in Port Harcourt.
It's not that she was all wrong. These murder cases were already dangerous, and I hadn't even given up the homecourt advantage yet. The truth was, I didn't know what to to expect in Africa. All I knew was that if I had a chance to shut this butcher down, I was going to take it. The CIA contact there had signaled the murder suspect was in Lagos right now, or at least he had been a few days ago.
I'd pulled some strings to expedite my visa application.
Then I had cashed in seventy-five thousand miles for a last-minute ticket to Lagos.
Now the only obstacle was my eighty-eight-year-old grandmother. Big obstacle. She stayed in her room until I left for work that morning, refusing to even talk about the purloined passport.
Obviously, I couldn't get far without it.
Cross Country
Chapter 29
THAT NIGHT, I gave Nana Mama a little taste of her own medicine. I waited until late, after the kids had gone to bed. Then I found her in her favorite reading chair, huddled over a copy of Eats, Shoots & Leaves.
“What's this?” She squinted at the manila folder in my hand as if it might bite her.
“More news articles. I want you to take a look at them. They tell a horrible story, Nana. Murder, fraud, rape, genocide.”
The article I'd given Nana included coverage of the gang's DC murders. There were two long and well- written stories from the Post, one on each family, including pictures from happier times-like when they'd had their heads.
“Alex, I already told you. I know what's going on there. I don't want to discuss this anymore.”
“Neither do I.”
“You don't have to solve every single case. Let it go for once in your life.”
“I wish I could.”
I put the folder flat on her lap, kissed the warm top of her head, and went up to bed. “Stubborn,” I muttered.
“Yes, you are. Very.”
Cross Country
Chapter 30
IN THE MORNING, I went downstairs around five thirty. I was surprised to see that Jannie and Ali were already up. Nana stood fiddling around at the stove with her back to me. She was cooking something cinnamony and irresistible.
I sensed a trap.
Jannie ferried glasses of orange juice from the counter to the table, where there were already silverware and cloth napkins for five.
Ali was already sitting at his place, working on a big bowl of cereal and milk. He saluted me with a drippy spoon. “He's here!”
Et tu, Ali.
“Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” I said, loud enough for the whole room.
Nana didn't respond, but she had heard me, for sure.
Only then did I notice a yellow-bordered National Geographic map of Africa Scotch taped to the refrigerator door.
And also, set down with the napkins and silverware on the table, my passport.
“So,” said Nana. “It was nice knowing you.”
Cross Country
Chapter 31
A CIA OPERATIVE named Ian Flaherty was “babysitting” a hysterical family down in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. The parents' teenaged son and daughter had been kidnapped. They were gathered together in the living room, waiting to learn the ransom demands, and the atmosphere couldn't have been more desperate.
Oh no, Flaherty had thought.
