he might not be all that popular back in Kongoville.
Noel had slept the entire day. Unable to sit still he had headed out for a walk before dinner. Gravel crunched beneath his soles as he resumed his stroll. He heard voices and recognized Niobe’s soft alto and a boy’s piping tenor. Noel stepped through flowering hibiscus bushes and found Niobe and Drake seated on a marble bench. A tray with glasses and a pitcher of fruit juice rested on the ground at their feet.
If there was no change in the voice, the year had certainly wrought changes in the boy’s body. Drake had shot up and slimmed down. His hair was longer, brushing at the tops of his shoulders. They both looked up at Noel’s approach, and he saw the more manifest changes-the lump in Drake’s forehead that marked the place where Sekhmet rested, and the age and sorrow that lingered in the back of his eyes. Drake might only be fourteen, but Sekhmet had lived through decades of grief and loss.
But maybe some of that grief is Drake’s, Noel thought. The boy had killed (inadvertent though it might have been) his entire family and town, and wiped out thousands of PPA soldiers. He too possessed a lifetime of grief and guilt.
But suddenly he was just a teenage boy. He bounced up, nearly upsetting the tray, and called to Noel, “Hey, Noel, sit next to your sweetie.”
Niobe offered him a glass of juice. As their fingers met they had that momentary silent communication that flows between married couples.
Are you all right?
Yes, love.
I’m glad you’re here.
So am I.
She came into the circle of his arm, and Noel kissed the top of her head.
“Has there been any sign of Weathers?” Noel asked.
Drake nodded. “He scouted once, but I don’t think he wanted to tangle with the firepower here. We may be mostly jokers, but there are some aces in the mix and… and…” He hesitated and suddenly seemed like a child again.
“It’s okay, you can say it,” Niobe said with a smile. “There’s you with the powers of Ra.”
Noel took a sip of his drink. It was a mix of peach and pomegranate, sweet and sharp all at the same time.
“Dinner’s in an hour. I’ll leave you two to snuggle.” Drake gave them a teenager’s leer, then slumped as he reacted to something only he could hear. “And I’ve got a ton of algebra homework to do.” He walked away.
Noel cocked an eyebrow at Niobe. “Homework?”
“He is only fourteen and he needs to be a wise ruler, not just a powerful one.” She smiled. “It was actually Sekhmet who told him he had to find tutors. She puts a lot of emphasis on education.” She fiddled with the fringe of the sunset-colored shawl she wore, then walked back to the bench and picked up a folded paper off the tray. She offered it to him mutely.
Noel opened it and looked down at a picture of Weathers raining down death and destruction onto another city.
“This has to stop. He’s tearing up cities and killing people because of you.”
Noel ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I know that? I can’t fight Tom Weathers. Or do you just want me to surrender and let him kill me?”
“Of course I’m not suggesting that.” Her tone was sharp. “You could work with the Committee.”
“They’re idiots.”
“Then help them not be idiots. You’re clever and you know how to do this… this sort of thing.”
“Kill Weathers. Just say it.” She looked distressed and he realized how harsh he must have sounded. “I thought you didn’t want me to kill anymore.”
“I didn’t, but Weathers has to be stopped, and what is happening in the Congo has got to be stopped.”
“I got rid of Nshombo.”
“They are still torturing and killing children.”
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to kill these child aces.”
“I would never forgive you if you did, but you can help destroy the labs where they’re making them.”
That pulled a bitter laugh from him. “I thank you for your belief in my abilities, but I’m not that powerful.”
“And you’re a leader and a planner. The Committee has powerful aces, but no leadership.”
“Lohengrin would disagree with that.”
Niobe shrugged. “He means well, but he’s a dreamer. You’re a pragmatist. You’ll think of a way to deal with Weathers, but in the meantime at least shut down the labs.”
Noel studied her features washed pale by the moonlight. He saw no softening, only determination. He realized this was the woman who had risked everything, faced down the armed might of the American government to save one little boy.
Could he really do less?
But he wanted it to be over.
She seemed to read the thought. She laid a hand on his cheek. “Do this. I think it might be the only way for you to find peace.”
On the Road to Bunia, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
The incident with the train brought about another change in Ghost. She started to talk.
Wally couldn’t understand what she was saying, any better than she understood him. But she chattered at him in her little-girl voice, and that made him happy. She sounded like a normal little girl. Less like a ghost every day.
And, as they passed through villages on the way to Bunia, she talked to other people, too. About Wally. Based on her gestures and the boom! boom! boom! sounds she made, he guessed she was telling them about his fight with the Leopard Men, and the barge he’d sunk, and the train he’d derailed. Especially the train. They loved the part about the train. They clapped him on the back, burbling, offering the strangers food and places to sleep.
Bunia must have been a pretty big city, because Wally started noticing cell phones. Each time Ghost finished her tale, a dozen folks whipped out their phones and began texting. And that’s when the story really spread.
Tuesday,
December 29
Bunia, Congo
People’s Paradise of Africa
The sun rose on columns of oily smoke dotting the horizon, on every point of the compass. But mostly in the direction of Bunia.
Wally and Ghost had acquired an entourage. A small but growing convoy of cars, trucks, motorcycles, and even bicycles trailed their stolen personnel carrier. The people riding them waved shovels, machetes, picks, wooden boards, and anything else they could scrounge.
Wally hated it. These folks would get themselves killed. But he couldn’t make them understand.
Ghost refused to leave his side.
More smoke on the horizon.
The radio in the APC came alive with chatter. Wally couldn’t understand the actual words, but he didn’t need to. He recognized the urgency; the jumble of traffic as people spoke over one another; the plaintive sound of soldiers requesting orders; the barking of harried commanders trying to gather information.
He’d listened to the same kind of chaos on a few Committee ops. It was the sound of things going wrong.
United Nations
Manhattan, New York
Noel teleported directly into Lohengrin’s office. The eye patch ought to have made him look rakish and dangerous. Instead the German looked oddly young and vulnerable.
“ Scheisse! Oh. What do you want?”
“How can I help?”
