two adjoining seats, planning on using the extra space to spread the material, but best intentions are just that: intentions. He fell asleep even before the jetliner took off.
Mercer’s sleep was troubled, and every once in a while a flight attendant would check on him as he muttered aloud in his dark dreams. There was a sheen of clammy sweat on his forehead. When he woke, his eyes were red- rimmed and gummy, and his mouth tasted awful. He looked around the quietly humming cabin, momentarily dazed, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep from his brain. He was thankful to be released from his nightmares, but a thought had come to him in his sleep, something buried deep in his mind that vanished when he came awake. Once again he thought there was an inconsistency somewhere, something either Hyde or Selome or the kidnappers had said that didn’t make sense. Something, but he didn’t know what.
He caught the attention of a stewardess and ordered two black coffees and a glass of orange juice. They were waiting for him when he returned from the rest room, where he’d cleaned himself up. Selome Nagast was waiting for him as well, an enigmatic smile on her face.
“I hope you don’t mind?” She batted her eyes playfully. “I don’t have your expense account to enjoy myself with. I’m sitting in the back with the rest of the sardines, and I knew from Bill that you have two first-class seats.”
Mercer looked at her in shock. “Why didn’t you tell me you were taking this flight.” Apart from that one meeting at Tiny’s, he’d only spoken with her on the phone. “My expense account could have paid for another seat. After all, it’s your money I’m spending.”
Selome quickly grasped that Mercer was making a joke and not being boorish, and she smiled again. “I have to confess that it’s been a fantasy of mine to pay for a coach seat and sneak into the first-class area.”
“And I thought diplomats always enjoy the finer amenities.”
Selome seemed to take his comment to heart. “They do if they represent a wealthy country. I’m lucky when my government can afford to send me abroad. I pay for many of my missions myself.”
Mercer wondered which master she was serving now. Was she on a diplomatic mission for Eritrea, the land of her birth, or a covert assignment for her adopted state of Israel? It was easy to figure out Prescott Hyde’s interest in this affair. Under the guise of his undersecretary position and spouting humanitarian platitudes, he would certainly manage to reap personal financial gain as well as political cachet if Mercer found diamonds. But Selome Nagast?
Was her motivation the betterment of some of Africa’s poorest people, those who dwelled in what is referred to as the Fourth World? Or was she currently working for the Israeli Defense Force or the Mossad? Was there something darker behind her willingness to help his search?
They had another five hours together on the flight, and maybe, Mercer thought, he could find out.
“Never let it be said that Philip Mercer came between a woman and her secret fantasies,” he quipped. “But you must allow me a fantasy of my own. If they ask, tell the attendants that I picked you up on the plane and that you’re going to have a romantic tryst with me when we land.”
“Deal.” She shook his hand. He was surprised again by the strength of her grip and the warm feel of her skin.
“It’s nice to see you again.” Mercer slid back into his seat, making sure to bundle his papers into his two briefcases. “The last time we spoke face to face wasn’t one of my most productive meetings.”
“I don’t blame you for turning down Bill’s offer. It’s daunting, to say the least. I was more surprised that you changed your mind.” She looked into his eyes as if searching for an answer. “Why did you agree? What made you join us?”
Mercer deflected the question quickly. “Why did you pick me in the first place?”
“That’s easy. You’re reputed to be one of the best in the world at finding valuable minerals.”
“Keep talking like that and we’ll need another seat for my ego.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why did you change your mind?”
Mercer gave her his most honest look. “I guess you could say that going after the impossible has become one of my trademarks. God, does that sound pretentious. But it is sort of true. After I refused Hyde, I spent that afternoon and most of the night looking for any indication that what he was saying was true,” he said, mixing fact with fiction. “While I couldn’t find any proof, I walked away with a gut feeling. I’ve learned to trust them before, and I just couldn’t refuse this time.”
“Does that mean you believe that the diamonds exist?” There was a breathless quality in her question.
“No, it means I don’t mind spending six weeks and a lot of your money searching.” Mercer meant to sound harsh. He was not about to get trapped into giving her any false hopes.
The sun coming through the porthole caught the claret highlights in her hair. “You may convince yourself with talk like that, Dr. Mercer, but you don’t convince me.”
“Well, maybe I believe a little bit. But not much.” He grinned. “Tell me about yourself.”
Before responding, Selome ordered tea for herself and a croissant. Mercer downed the last of his coffee and ordered a third cup. “My mother is Eritrean and fell hopelessly in love with an American serviceman stationed at Kagnew Base, a U.S. military installation on the outskirts of Asmara that was used to monitor Soviet communications during the Cold War. When my family learned of the affair, my mother was forbidden from ever seeing him again. But they were one night too late, I’m glad to say, or I wouldn’t be here now.
“When he learned of her pregnancy, my grandfather sent my mother to Italy, where we have other family, but she snuck back soon after I was born. As I understand the story, when my grandfather saw me for the first time, he took me in his arms and laughed aloud when I peed on him. After that, I became his favorite grandchild. My mother was forgiven.”
Selome Nagast smiled again. For the first time Mercer felt she was showing her true self. “I went to school in Italy and spent two years in London studying economics. Afterward, I worked for the Eritrean People’s Liberation Front in Europe, raising awareness of what was happening in our country.”
“I did some research on your war for independence,” Mercer cut in, “and found the parties involved more than a little confusing.”
“While they may be fierce fighters, my people are not known for originality,” Selome agreed. “At various times during our war with Ethiopia, we were represented by the ELF, the PLF, and eventually the ELF-PLF, none of whom agreed with each other. We wasted years with factional fighting. Believe me, it’s confusing for an Eritrean too.” There was little pride in her voice. “The war would have ended much earlier if we had left the political squabbling until after victory.”
“And after the war ended, how did you get involved in the government?” asked Mercer. “Don’t be offended, but I know it’s… shall I say, difficult… for an African woman to be as highly placed as you.”
“Difficult isn’t the word,” Selome concurred, her tone bitter. “In most African nations, the only prerequisite for leadership is a penis. It really isn’t important if there’s a brain attached to it. Someday Africans will learn not to allow dictators and despots to rule their lives.”
“And until then?”
“We’ll blame European colonialism and Western bigotry and continue to slaughter each other wholesale.”
“Harsh,” Mercer replied.
“But true,” Selome rejoined quickly. “You’ve been to Africa. I know you’ve seen it.”
She went silent for a long time. He had seen her expression a hundred times. It was on the local news nearly every night in D.C. It was the look of a mother whose child lay dead in the streets from drug-related violence she was powerless to stop.
“It’s not hopeless,” he said softly, seeing tears at the corners of her eyes.
“That will be up to you,” Selome replied. “At least for us. We’ve known peace for only a short time, and already factionalism is starting to pull us apart. Religion will be the curse of Eritrea, not the tribalism that has torn apart a lot of other African nations. But the outcome will be the same. Devastation.
“Muslims and Christians are already rattling their sabers from church and mosque alike, calling for the elimination of the other. Sudan’s Muslim government isn’t helping, exporting their version of fanaticism. Bandits raid us constantly, killing those who don’t believe in Allah. Have you ever been to the Sudan?”
“No.”
“Pray you never go. I’ve been to the refugee camps a number of times. In fact, I was on the trip where those photographs Bill Hyde showed you were taken.”
