She smiled at him and said, “If I would throw it away, it would not be for you. It would be for someone more handsome and more sophisticated, which means I would have many, many men to choose from.”
“Yes, you would.”
“There is something more serious than your infatuation with me to discuss. I have a note in my pocket from a man who has asked me to help him. He wants to bring back a niece who has been kidnapped and taken to a city north of here. Wad Madani. She is enslaved, working in the home and the factory of an Arab business owner. The Baggara killed her family or drove them off and abducted her. They probably raped her also, that is what they do. Women and children, including boys, are taken by truck and train to the cities of the North and sold into slavery. Muslims try to convert them. Some resist, many don’t. Many die. He wants his niece returned.”
“I assume he came to you because of the network. Am I right?” Hanley asked.
“Yes, he knows of the network. People who have loved ones that have been abducted search for information; are they alive, if so, where have they been taken. When word reaches the members of the network that someone is making inquiries, we watch that person, see who they meet, who they talk to. When we think it is safe, that they are safe, we approach them, offer our help. We stress to them the importance of discretion, of keeping secrets,” the nun explained.
“You know that’s crazy. People can’t keep secrets. They’re desperate. Some are stupid. It’s dangerous. Or is that it? Is it the danger you like?” Hanley smiled the odd smile that sometimes unnerved Father Robineau.
“No, don’t be a fool. I hate danger. There is such riskiness…”
“It’s very risky.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Thank you. It’s very risky. However, it is necessary. The church knows nothing of this, or at least they have said nothing to me about it. Someone must stand for the women and children here. Going through customary channels works if the channels work themselves, but they don’t. How do you say it, the rules don’t apply? I must do what I can do,” she said.
“What exactly do you want to discuss with me?” he asked her.
“I want you to fly with me to an area southwest of Wad Madani–”
“Stop right there. You want me to fly you for what reason? If it’s what I think it is, the answer is absolutely not. Sorry, but neither one of us is prepared to do what I think you’re proposing.”
When she spoke again, her voice was flat and unemotional, her eyes fixed on his. “I want you to fly to an airstrip outside the city of Kosti to meet the people I have been working with. There, we will pick up a group of children and young women and return them to the mission. Once here, we will reunite them with their families if we can; if not, at least they will be safe with us,” she said.
“This man, this friend, his niece will be in this group?”
“Yes.”
“No. I won’t do it. Sorry, this is crazy. There are so many reasons not to, it’s hard to know where to start. I know something about this airport, but not a lot. I know where it is because it’s my job to know where I can put down if I need to, I know it’s unpaved and does not have IFR. I know the runway is long enough. I know nothing about its security. God knows who or what will be there to greet us when we land. It’s probably close to seven hundred hundred kilometers…”
“Eight hundred.”
“…alright, eight hundred kilometers away. That’s over five hundred miles to me and, to land, taxi, load, takeoff and return will take over two hours, probably closer to three. Do you know just how much Hell can be stirred up in three hours? What happens if your friends screw up? I suppose I can trot over to the terminal and say I stopped to use the can. That might work. No, sorry, Sister, I think I’ll decline.”
While he talked, she looked at her feet and began pacing back and forth in front of him. When he finished, she was facing him again, arms crossed over her chest, her gaze level and fixed on his eyes. “You must reconsider. Please. So much planning has gone into this. I have been in touch with those in Was Madani for the past few weeks. In another month, they are prepared to gather at least ten, but not more than a dozen children over several days and hide them until they can arrange transportation. They will move them by cars and a van to Sennar and then to Kosti. Changing the routes they travel will allow them to slip by.” As she explained the plan, he sensed something familiar about what she was saying; he had heard it before or knew it was coming, what she said, this moment. He expected it. It scared him. There was an urgency in her voice. Where her hand touched her blouse, clutching the fabric, the blued cotton appeared between her fingers as scalloped edges, her knuckles stressed white and her slender, freckled arms shook slightly from the effort.
“No,” he said.
Her mouth turned down just a bit and her eyes hardened. “We’ll talk later. Please do not say anything about this to anyone. If you don’t help, we will still bring them south another way. Please don’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t,” he snapped. “I wouldn’t do that and you know it.” He was sorry he could not control his anger.
As he turned away, the nun grabbed his wrist, saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it; I’m upset, that is all. Please talk to me. No, don’t
