“Three days.”
Finally, I could see his face, which showed concern but also surprise. He had found me. I was alive. I'd been missing for three days.
“Can you get these binds off?” I asked.
“I'll call it in first. Then I'll get the ropes off you.”
“No press,” I told him.
“Of course not. Why would I call the press?” the patrolman asked.
“I don't know,” I said. “I guess I'm not thinking straight yet.”
Cross Country
Chapter 153
I WAS TAKEN home by Officer Maise. The house on Fifth Street was dark and obviously empty Bree had been staying with us off and on, but she had kept her place, so I figured she was at her apartment tonight. Why would she stay here by herself?
I would call Bree soon, but I needed to go inside the house right now. I entered through the sunporch, passing the silent piano on my way, imagining playing it for the kids or, sometimes, just for myself.
No, I guess I was remembering.
The kitchen had been cleaned up since the last time I'd been there. Probably Bree had done it.
Now it was neat, as if nobody lived here.
I continued walking from room to room, everything quiet, and I felt unbearably sad. I turned on lights as I went, feeling like a visitor in my own house. Nothing about my life felt right, or even real. The world had become such a cruel, unsafe place. How had it happened?
How much blame should America take, and did accepting blame really help anybody? Wasn't it time to stop offering criticism and start providing solutions? It was easy to be a critic; it took no imagination. Problem solving was the bitch.
I finally made it up to my office in the attic, and I sat at my desk, looking down on the street, wondering if there was anyone out there watching me.
Had the interrogators believed me? Did it matter? It struck me that I didn't really know that much about the world, the larger picture, anyway. But who did these days?
None of us, maybe. That's what made it so daunting and scary-and took away hope too. That's what gave us a feeling that everything was out of our control. So who was in control? Somebody had to be-but who? Somebody had to have some answers. Somebody had just imprisoned and tortured me.
I continued to wander around the house. I needed to call people - Damon, who I hoped was still safely stashed away, and Bree and Sampson. But I couldn't make the calls yet. I didn't know what to tell any of them, or how to face them.
No, that wasn't it exactly. The truth was, I didn't want to put them in danger. Somebody out there might still think that I knew something, something dangerous and important, or maybe just embarrassing to them.
And the really scary part?
They were right.
Cross Country
Chapter 154
I HAD TOLD my interrogators about the possible CIA and Tiger connection, but that wasn't important to them. They'd let me go, hadn't they? They could deny all that-and besides, the Tiger was dead. I had cleaned up that particular mess for them.
But the thing I hadn't told them was the real subject of Adanne's story: The Americans, the French, the Dutch, the English, and several very important corporations were working with the Chinese in the Delta. China needed oil even more than we did. China was cutting corners. They were ready to pay top dollar for oil and willing to make deals, whatever it took. And because of these business ventures, thousands of Africans had died-men, women, and children. That was the one thing that I knew for certain. It was what Adanne had been researching and writing about.
It was what she had contacted Ellie Cox about; she had talked to Ellie about her research. That was what got her family murdered in Georgetown.
Adanne had told me horror stories during our time together, especially about life and death in Sudan. Rape was the weapon of war there, and girls of age five and up were abused, sometimes by “peacekeepers.” Hundreds and hundreds of mass graves had been discovered but were rarely reported on. Police corruption and brutality, some of which I'd witnessed myself, were rampant-an epidemic, really, and kidnappers were working in the Delta area, especially around Port Harcourt.
On the couch that had been in Nana's living room since I was a boy, I slept, finally. But not like a baby. That kind of sleep would never come to me again. The truth was, I had accepted that my family was gone, just like so many other families that had been murdered before them. Nothing would ever be the same for me again.
