On The Riverside Of Promise

  * * *

  The moon was waxing low on the night sky. Its white sheen sometimes came through muddied behind the wispy clouds that toiled lazily past it. And when the cool wind blew the murky clouds away, the shapeless shadows that covered everything below vanished within a swath of summer moonlight that could easily lure a man into thinking all was well in the world.

  Such trappings of the mind were not new to Ethan; he’d seen first hand what such a serene, beguiling night could do to a man. Guards stabbed from behind inside their trenches, patrolmen lying dead on the ground, their throats slit open, their still warm blood misting in the chilly night air. The sudden feeling of a hand on his shoulder electrified him at first and then sent a numbing sensation that grew all along his right side down to his hip.

  He looked around as if in a dream, half-waiting for the thrust of a bayonet through his jugular. It was Nicole; the thought of how the hell she’d slipped behind him unnoticed sprang inside his mind. It was unnerving, more so for a soldier and doubly so for a Scout of the Royal Marines. Damn her!, he thought while he saw her grinning as if she’d had intended to catch him off-guard. Her voice sounded rather casual, but there was the barest glint of mischievous success about it:

  “Did I startle you?”

  There was a small moment of uncomfortable silence, before Ethan managed to answer:

  “Well, yes. Yes, you did. Have you packed? We should set out now, if we want to reach Onitsha in the morning. Are you sure about these people you mentioned?”

  She looked at him with a frown. The light of the oil lamp inside the room flickered around her face as if it danced to a rhythm of its own. She replied with a hurt tone, as if taken aback:

  “Are you suggesting that they can’t be trusted?”

  He got up from his chair and moved aside, his back resting against the dimly lit wall. He crossed his arms as if feeling threatened and said flatly:

  “I’m suggesting something’s off. I’m suggesting this is all too much.”

  Her face grew distant suddenly. She tilted her head and bit her lip before saying with a clear, hearty voice:

  “You were the one who insisted on going back there for Andy. And I should thank you for that. It’s just that… I’m doing all I can!”

  Her face became contorted and it looked as if she was about to break down into sobs and cries for barely a moment. But she held on and said sharply:

  “I risked my life back there. I could’ve left, I could’ve run away. I did it for the sisters, I tried. But I did it for Andy; and you as well.”

  “Now that’s what’s bugging me,” replied Ethan, stabbing a pointing finger her way. He went on with an even, accusing tone of voice:

  “You’re not just good with a rifle: you’re an excellent shot. You didn’t hesitate, you actually went inside and picked up that M1903. And by the way, that’s not exactly a Derringer. Neither is that Beretta. I mean, I’m not ungrateful or anything, but just how the fuck did you get hold of those? And since when does one become such a pro with a couple of weeks of fighting? Who the hell are you, really now?”

  Nicole looked at him sternly at first for an itchy moment that faintly smelled of danger, but then her face dissolved in a small, tight smile abruptly. As if she could relax now, she sat down on the cot across the small table and the oil lamp and said to Ethan with a weird, all too American accent:

  “I guess you’re not the only one playing in the shadows here, Ethan. My real name is Nicole Heurgot; but I’m Agency.”

  Ethan eyes fluttered violently of their own volition. His hand went instinctively to the Browning laying reassuringly behind his back, but Nicole urged him:

  “No, no. I mean I’m CIA. Please, that’s not necessary. Really, we’re in this together. I really am Andy’s wife. It’s just too darn complicated. He doesn’t really know who I work for. Never did. In a way, I am to blame for what’s happened to him.”

  She looked downcast, glancing at Ethan, waiting for some kind of explosive reaction, some kind of reproach or exclamation that never came. Instead, he sat back down on the chair and looked at Nicole as if she was barely there.

  “CIA?”

  She nodded slowly. Ethan took a small liquor bottle out of a chest pocket, opened it and had a swig. He barely grimaced while the scotch ran down his throat and asked tersely:

  “Some kind of mission, then?”

  She nodded with some reluctance this time. Her face was withdrawn, almost expressionless but for the small, wordless movements of her mouth. Ethan gulped down another mouthful and almost yelled incredulously:

  “A yank? A bloody yank? You’re telling me my brother’s married to a bloody yank spy?”

  Nicole was staring at him without really knowing what to say. She half-smiled as if out of politeness and pressed the question somehow lamely:

  “Maybe it’s a lot, but why not?”

  Then Ethan broke into a fit of laughter that completely surprised Nicole, adding:

  “He’s going to ask for a divorce when he finds out, you know. I’m not one for breaking up a marriage, but when I do tell him - and I will, mind you - the poor fellow will be demolished. Does he at least know you’re a yank?”

  “He does. We were married in Louisiana, actually.”

  “That’s were you’re from then?”

  She nodded briskly and added: “Close by. Trois Rivieres.”

  “Kind of makes sense. What about Algiers? Horseshit?” he asked avidly. She replied with a nod and added:

  “Mostly. I was simply posted there when it went down.”

  “So where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “You know, it does feel kind of liberating to talk about all this like we’re having a dinner party around Langley, but I’d have to say I’m not at liberty to discuss it.”

  “So now what, you’re trying to be professional for a change? You could’ve killed me back there and I’d be still thinking the night’s just the thing. Your mission involved Andy?”

  She raised an eyebrow at that and hesitated. She got up from the cot and told Ethan, her hands in her pockets:

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss that either.”

  Ethan’s grin was replaced by a taut line over his pursed lips. He sat straight on his chair and said with a hint of vehemence:

  “Horseshit. This isn’t about the job; any job. It’s about Andy. You said it might’ve been your fault he’s missing now. Was he part of the mission?”

  She gripped her elbows as if a sudden chill had emptied her body of any warmth. She couldn’t hide the fact she felt uncomfortable. He told him then with some reticence:

  “He… He was my cover. The caravan, was my cover. I know, the irony?” she said raising a hand dismissively and went on: “But half the world knows the Red Cross is just another part of the deal. Andy thought he’d convinced me we were doing the right thing. In a way, I didn’t need much convincing.”

  Ethan let out a long breath and stared at Nicole for an uncomfortable, long moment. She didn’t seem eager to challenge his mood. At length, he asked her:

  “What happened? I mean, what really happened?”

  “It really was bandits. More like, the FPLB.”

  “The what?”

  “The Frontiere Populaire pour la Liberation de Biafra.”

  “Secessionists?”

  “Formerly. They’d been convinced to turn their interests in more lucrative affairs. Running guns. Information. A little mercenary work.”

  Ethan’s eyes trailed Nicole’s face. There was a strange glitter about them, an icy glow that rendered his gaze keen like a knife. He seemed to scrutinise her features one by one, when he finally said:

  “You were their handler. The middleman.”

  She stared blankly at the wall for a moment before bowing her head and sighing. She clasped her hands together and said softly, almost indelibly:

  “Yes.”

  “And Andy knew shit.”

  She nodded with eyes closed. Et
han went for his pack of cigarettes, shaking his head furtively. She then cleared her throat and added in a very business-like manner:

  “There’s more to it. The guns.”

  “You mean the rifle and the Beretta?”

  She nodded shallowly. Her face suddenly grew darker than the ill lamplight could account for:

  “There’s more where that came from.”

  “Sure. You’ve got connections, right? You must have had some form of backup.”

  “There’s a small network. But that’s not where I got the guns.”

  Ethan’s eyes became narrow at first. When the fear of realisation began to hit home, his eyes bulged even as he lit his cigarette. The tip of the cigarette grew glowing red-hot and he asked through a small fog of smoke:

  “Not here.”

  She nodded hesitantly before adding:

  “That’s what Yuembe came for.”

  Ethan’s face flushed suddenly. His voice resonated with barely contained anger and just the slightest hint of worry:

  “They’re still here then? The guns are still here. Fuckall!”

  With a rather glum attempt at sounding sheepish, Nicole added flatly:

  “We should get going. There might be more groups interested in the cache.”

  Ethan grabbed his knapsack and cocked his Browning, before darting outside the door towards the Rover and saying rather furiously mostly to himself:

  “What a fucking catch, Andy! What a brilliant fucking catch!”