“Stay down!” Joseph yelled, giving the Land Rover gas.
They surged toward a cluster of buses parked in front of a warehouse. Suddenly, Joseph yanked the wheel to the left and sent them down an alley flanking a dense network of shanty stalls. Zoe lost sight of Sisilu and felt a rush of relief. Then a boy wandered into the alley pushing a cart loaded with textiles. Joseph slammed on the brakes and laid on the horn, scattering people in every direction. The boy, however, struggled to move the cart out of the way.
Zoe looked back and saw Sisilu sprinting up the alley. For a man so large, he was surprisingly agile on his feet.
“Go!” she cried.
At last the lane cleared, and Joseph punched the accelerator. The alley closed in on them, and time seemed to liquefy in Zoe’s mind, reducing the world to a jumble of impressions: the shouts of shoppers; the hard line of Joseph’s jaw; the glint of sunlight on Sisilu’s gun; Anna, hunched over, head in her lap.
Seconds later, they reached the end of the alley and Joseph made a hard right turn, sending them careening across an empty lot toward Lumumba Road. They shot through a gap in traffic and headed east toward the commercial center. Out the back window, Zoe saw Sisilu pull up short and watch them go. Then a tractor-trailer lumbered by and he was gone.
Zoe gripped Anna’s hand as they sped away from the market. “We made it,” she said softly, beginning to breathe again.
Joseph took a series of random turns, keeping his eyes on the rear-view mirror. After a while, he turned onto Great East Road and drove toward the suburbs. Zoe looked at Anna, a thousand questions rattling around in her mind. The housekeeper was staring at her hands, and she decided to ask only one of them.
“How long has he worked for Frederick?”
“Many years,” Anna said. “He is in charge of security.”
After passing the Chainama Hills Golf Club, Joseph turned south toward Kabulonga. In time, Zoe sighted the monolithic fortress of the American Embassy towering over Ibex Hill. Their destination was an upscale bungalow situated in a forested grove well back from the main road. They were greeted at the gate by an armed guard.
“Are you certain you were not followed?” he asked in careful English, checking Joseph’s identification.
“As certain as I can be,” Joseph replied.
The guard spoke tersely into a handheld radio and admitted them to the property. They parked beneath the boughs of a jacaranda tree.
“The Thompsons have excellent security,” Zoe told Anna, “and Bernie is as tough as they come. He was in the Special Forces back home. As long as you stay behind these walls, you’ll be protected. Out there,” she said, waving at the gate, “is another story.”
She climbed out and greeted a blonde woman wearing a blouse and scarf and a muscular man in a golf shirt and chinos. “Carter, Bernie!” Zoe said, embracing them and introducing Anna. Like Carol Prentice, Carter Thompson knew how to make a person feel welcome. She took Anna’s hand and led her toward the house, chatting happily as if they were old friends.
“Eventful morning?” Bernie said, looking at Zoe and then at Joseph.
“You could say that,” Zoe replied and told him the story.
They waited for Anna on the Thompsons’ covered porch surrounded by flowering plants. Zoe sat in a wicker chair overlooking a grassy lawn, and Joseph took a seat beside her. Bernie served them mango juice in tumblers and then left them alone. Zoe saw the tension in Joseph’s face. He was scratching the stubble on his chin—a habit he took up when he was preoccupied.
“He’s not going to leave us alone, is he?” she asked quietly.
Joseph shook his head.
“Is there any way you can arrest him, put him in jail until the trial is over?”
He gave her a sideways glance. “What would I charge him with?”
“He assaulted me.”
Joseph shrugged. “He’d be out on bail in two days. You could press, but I doubt he’d ever be prosecuted. Not with the Nyambos behind him.”
They lapsed into silence. Zoe watched the Thompsons’ seven-year-old daughter, Emma, scamper across the lawn with a Labrador puppy. The innocence of the scene did little to ease her disquiet. She heard Sisilu’s voice like an echo in her brain: “If you continue to meddle in matters that don’t concern you, someone will die.”
When Carter and Anna returned from their tour, Zoe took the housekeeper aside. “I have so many questions. The trial starts in five days.”
Anna nodded and sat down across from them. “How is Kuyeya?” she asked. “She was only a baby when I saw her last.”
Zoe stared her in amazement. “Do you know when she was born?”
“It was January, 1997,” Anna said. “An nganga was there and I was there. It was a hard birth, but Charity was strong. When Kuyeya came, I knew something was different. The nganga saw it, too. She said the child was cursed.”