some sexist cultural attitude, Habte Makkonen greeted her coolly. Mercer noticed the slight, but if Selome had too, she didn’t show it. She gave Mercer a dry kiss on his cheek and sat.
“I see you’re heeding my warning about the coffee here.” She nodded to the half-empty cups of cappuccino on the table.
“I tried their regular stuff,” Mercer grinned. “Crude oil.”
She gave him an I-told-you-so smile. “The meals here are safe enough, if a little uninspired. Like most hotels in town, they only serve Italian food, a holdover from the occupation. If we have time, I’ll take you to a traditional Eritrean restaurant. If you think our coffee curls your toes, wait until you try our stew called
“Thank you for your offer but it’ll have to wait until after we return here,” Mercer said gravely. “Habte’s cousin is getting our Land Cruiser right now. This morning I want to load it up, get some fresh provisions here in Asmara, and be on the road north by this afternoon. We’ll sleep in Keren tonight and continue on to Nacfa and the open country at sunup tomorrow.”
“Why the rush?”
“Because we’re not safe here.” Mercer wondered how much to tell her about what had happened since seeing her off in Rome. Discretion was still his best ally, he thought. Harry’s kidnapper said she was the only person he could trust, but what kind of assurance was that? He wanted to trust her, but until he knew more, he would keep her at arm’s length. Sad, he mused, the first woman to attract him in a long time turned out to be a secretive liar with an agenda of her own.
Like his optimism about the pipe having been discovered before, he kept what happened in Rome to himself. He did tell her about the incident at Asmara’s airport when Habte was awaiting his arrival. “It was my good luck that I missed the afternoon flight,” he lied, “and had to take one the next morning. Otherwise, I would’ve been captured by the Sudanese.”
He watched her reaction carefully. Her surprise and concern were genuine. “Nothing’s happened to you since? My God, I can’t believe it. It’s only a matter of time before Sudan’s war destroys us as well.”
“Selome, you’re missing the point. They were waiting for me, specifically. That means someone else knows about our mission.” Her eyes went wide with the realization. Mercer continued. “We’re vulnerable in the city. That’s why I want to be as far from Asmara as soon as possible. That means all of us. You included.”
“I wanted to come with you anyway,” Selome admitted. “But this is certainly a good motivation. Our police forces and military leave a lot to be desired. After the war, it seemed few of our people wanted to remain under arms. We’d seen enough fighting. The authorities will be powerless against guerrillas.”
“She’s right,” Habte added. “Our best chance is to get into the northern lowlands quickly.”
“Then it’s settled.” Mercer finished the last of his cappuccino. “Habte, when your cousin gets back with the Land Cruiser, load up the gear I’ve got in storage and pack anything you’ll need. Selome, how much time do you need to get ready?”
“I can be back here in an hour with my luggage. My apartment’s close by.”
“I don’t need to warn you to pack light,” Mercer reminded gently. “This won’t be a luxury tour.”
Less than an hour later, Selome met Mercer back at the hotel, and they walked to the market square to buy water and fresh food for their trek. Habte’s cousin, whose name Mercer learned was Gebre but who preferred to be called Gibby, would come with the Toyota to carry their purchases to the hotel when he finished loading the four- wheel drive.
Mercer had Selome lead them first to the post office, where he spent twenty frustrating minutes trying to contact Dick Henna so he could tell the FBI director what had happened in Rome and at Asmara’s airport. However, Eritrea’s notorious communications problems made any overseas call impossible. He didn’t want to use a sat-phone, having discovered last night that both of them had been left on receive mode and had only a finite amount of battery time remaining. His spares were all uncharged. And the charger, he recalled, was sitting on his kitchen counter next to the anti-malaria pills Terry Knight had given him.
There was no discernible pattern to Asmara’s paved streets. They followed the terrain haphazardly, once being footpaths when the city was four separate villages. The city’s name comes from the word
The city’s principal market was a long, open-sided warehouse roofed with sheets of corrugated steel. The aroma of the spices was palpable more than a block away. Old American and Russian trucks sat quietly on the streets nearby as their owners hawked their goods. The roads were mined with the dung of countless donkeys. From behind the market came the strong smell of an open-air cattle stockade. The lowing of the herds punctuated the sounds of the busy shopping district. Despite Eritrea’s poverty, there was a vitality that surprised Mercer.
Selome had changed into more traditional clothing, a flowing cotton wrap over a gaily colored dress. Unlike the sandaled feet of the other women in the market, hers sported Western-style boots, and beneath the dress he could see a pair of jeans. Her hair was pulled back, accentuating her broad forehead and her dark liquid eyes. She blended well with the crowd, and while Mercer’s clothes weren’t incongruent, his white skin certainly was. In the minutes it took to walk to the market, he didn’t see one other Caucasian. Yet he knew Africa well enough to be comfortable with the racial differences.
“How often do you get back here?” Mercer asked as Selome finished the negotiations for a five-kilo bag of tomatoes.
“To Eritrea?”
“Yes.”
“Not very often, I’m sorry to say.” Selome linked her arm into his as they continued shopping. “During the war, I was in Europe. When I came back, I felt some animosity from the people who put their lives in danger for our independence. Perhaps you noticed it from your friend Habte.” She gestured to a man guiding a camel. He had only one arm, and part of his face had been shot away. “These people suffered cruelly while I was abroad, and they can tell I didn’t fight. Only a few know that we in Europe were doing an important job making our plight known to the rest of the world.”
Mercer scanned the street as Selome continued. He was stunned by the number of cripples.
“More than half the people you see are freedom fighters, men and women alike. They are bonded by that shared experience. It is the cult of the warrior, and no matter what I did for them, I will never really be part of them.”
“Is that why finding the diamonds is so important to you? Are you trying to make up to them?”
“Yes,” Selome replied without hesitation. She stopped and turned to him. Their faces were only inches apart. “Your country has been independent for so long you’ve forgotten the sacrifice. You take your freedom for granted while we are just discovering ours. I don’t feel I did enough, Mercer. I don’t feel that I’ve given anything near what the rest of my people have. I want to give something back so badly. I want to be accepted by them again. Can you understand that?”
As on the first night he’d met her, Mercer was mesmerized by her mouth, the way it moved, its sensuality. She was an accomplished woman, and he cursed himself for the weakness of noticing her physical charms more than her intellectual strengths. It was chauvinistic, he admitted, but he couldn’t help it. He knew, too, she was the type of woman who attracted him, someone who was willing to risk herself for what she believed. It was a trait more rare than it should be.
“I think I can understand,” he said finally. “I just hope I don’t disappoint you.”
“You haven’t yet.” Selome gave his arm a squeeze.
Behind the fresh-food market was a ramshackle collection of shacks with feeble metal walls that leaned against their neighbors so they all wouldn’t topple. They were stalls erected to sell merchandise in an African version of a permanent flea market. In the meandering warren, everything conceivable was on sale, from antique furniture left over from the Italian occupation, to brass piping made from reconditioned artillery shell casings. As in much of the third world, items in Eritrea were used and reused until they were all used up. Mercer and Selome quickly became lost in the maze. Selome chatted with the stall owners and answered questions about Mercer’s presence. A flock of children followed in their wake, shouting out words in English when Selome told them Mercer
