she got it wrong, coulda’ mixed us up, you know?”
“You would do this for me?”
“You’re my little brother, man. You and me-aw, shit, don’t make me say it. We’re all we got, you know?”
Theo felt a knot in his stomach, wishing he could break through the glass between them. “Thanks, bro’,” he said as he pressed his fist to the window. Tatum did the same from the other side, the prison handshake.
“What do you say?” asked Tatum.
“You’re awesome, totally. But even if I was gonna let you try, it’s just too late.”
“Damn you, stop sayin’ it’s too late.”
“It would never work anyway.”
“I’ll make it work,” he said, his anger rising. “I can make those bastards believe.”
Behind Theo a door opened, and the dull rumble of club noises rolled into the alley. He turned and saw a man step into the weak glow of a security light by the Dumpster.
“Jack?”
“I thought I saw you walk out this way. Your band’s gearing up for the next set.”
Theo started toward him and said, “Guess I lost track of time.”
“What are you doing out here?”
He put his arm around Jack’s shoulder and walked him to the door. “Just strollin’ down memory lane, buddy. And you really had to be there to know what a shitty place that is.”
“I was there, remember?”
“Absolutely. I remember everybody who was there. And I do mean everybody.”
They went back inside the club, the security bars clanging as the door closed behind them.
Part Three
Thirty-one
Cote d’Ivoire is about the size of Germany or New Mexico. Jack’s problem was that getting from Germany to New Mexico is a heck of a lot easier than getting from the airport in Abidjan to the grasslands of the north.
“I don’t do puddle jumpers,” said Jack.
“You what?” said Theo.
“I just don’t. I’ve had some bad experiences, and I just don’t do them anymore.”
“You represent a badass like my brother, and you’re afraid of flying on a little plane?”
“No, I’m afraid of crashing on a little plane. Got no problem with flying.”
And so began the ground segment of their journey, a half-day bus ride on the heels of a seventeen-hour international flight. The road system of Cote d’Ivoire is among the best in West Africa, so it might have been bearable had the nine-hour trip to Korhogo been the end of the line. Unfortunately, Sally’s sister wasn’t in Korhogo, which surprised Jack. Before leaving Miami, he’d managed to contact her by e-mail, and from an Internet cafe in town she’d confirmed the meeting. A nice retired couple who ran the Children First headquarters gave Jack the bad news.
“She’s gone to Odienne,” said Mr. Roberts.
“Oh, damn.”
“No, Odienne,” said Mrs. Roberts.
“I know, I meant…When is she coming back?”
“Don’t know. There was a little medical emergency she volunteered for.”
“How do we get to Odienne?”
It was an indisputable fact that any trip, no matter how well planned, no matter how experienced the travelers, had the potential for disaster. It was also indisputable that the trouble usually began with a question like, “How do we get to…”
They rented an old Land Rover in Korhogo and took turns driving, headed due west. Roads between most major towns in Cote d’Ivoire were paved, with one major exception. The road from Korhogo to Odienne was paved only as far as Boundiali, a town whose name means “drum dried in the sun,” but which might have been more aptly named “dust so thick you can’t even see the goat standing next to you.” If all roads were like the last hundred miles from Boundiali to Odienne, the wheel might never have been invented.
They reached the outskirts of Odienne just before sunset. In two hours they’d seen only one other traveler, a skinny, naked boy riding a brown-and-white cow. On one level it seemed as though they were in the middle of nowhere, yet Jack could appreciate why leaders of another era had chosen this site as the capital of the entire Kabadougou Empire. To the west, the Dienguele range rippled over to the Guinean border. To the east rose Mont Tougoukoli, an eight-hundred-meter peak that was quite impressive, if only because it rose from the midst of seemingly endless grasslands. Jack pulled off to the side of the road, giving them a moment to shake off the dust and savor the view before driving into the city.
“My back is killing me.”
“Don’t blame me,” said Theo.
“Nobody’s blaming anybody for anything.”
“Which only proves what a great guy I am.”
“What?”
“Next time we’re hoppin’ a plane from Abidjan. I don’t care if I have to pistol-whip you and tie you to the fucking wing.”
Jack cooled his face with a splash of water from his canteen. Theo was working on his second giant liter of Bock beer, which had been ice cold when they left Korhogo, but an afternoon temperature of thirty-four degrees Celsius had taken off the chill in short order.
“You think we’ll find her?” asked Jack.
“Yup.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Cuz if we don’t, you’ll bitch all the way home like a teenage girl, sayin’ this trip was all for nothin’. So get it through your head right now, Jacko. We ain’t leavin’ till we find her.”
“That was truly powerful,” said Jack. “Have you considered a career in motivational speaking?”
Theo sucked down the last of his beer and pretended to scratch the side of his head with just one finger, the middle one, fully extended.
They entered the city around six-thirty, minutes after the largely Muslim population of forty-seven thousand had finished the sunset prayer. It was a historic agricultural town, but the grand mosquee was all that remained of its architectural treasures. The rest of the old quarters had been hastily razed as part of a radical urbanization plan that replaced shady streets and traditional old homes with utterly unremarkable modern buildings, one more facet of the development crazy mentality that cost Cote d’Ivoire more of its rain forest than any other country on earth.
“What’s that smell?” asked Jack.
“Like charcoal,” said Theo.
They drove to Hotel les Frontieres, one of the best hotels in town, which was not where Rene Fenning was staying. Her colleagues back at Children First headquarters in Korhogo had drawn a blank on where she was staying, and they could only tell Jack that she was at some joint right next to Hotel les Frontieres. It turned out to be Hotel Touristel, which catered mostly to budget travelers on their way to or from Mali. The clerk behind the desk was not exactly fluent in English, but he was conversant enough.
“Was fire in market three day ago,” he said.
“That explains the smell,” said Theo.
