A flight to the Nuba mountains for her and her crew, she answered. When? Early next week preferably, but if he couldn’t make it then, later in the week would do. He glanced at Mary, who jerked her shoulders to say, Why not?
“This here is my first officer, Mary English. Also my fiancée.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Phyllis said. “So you can do it?”
“If y’all can go the fare. Passengers only, it’ll be six grand to cover fuel costs and pay for our time. No checks, money orders, or credit cards. Six thousand cash.”
“We can do that.”
“Any particular place in the Nuba? There’s only two airstrips operational right now.”
“New Tourom.”
“That one’s in shape. They fixed it since it got bombed. But if it’s raining and the runway’s mud, we can’t land. One other hitch—our airplane’s being overhauled right now. Should be ready by Monday, but we’ve got a customer wants to buy it comin’ then. He decides to take it, it’s gone and so are we, and y’all will have to find another pilot.”
“All right,” Phyllis said. “Any suggestions for an alternative? I’ve already checked with the people at Knight, and they can’t do it.”
“Only one I can think of . . .” He paused, cocking his head toward the flap. “Did you hear somebody outside?” he asked Mary. She shook her head. “Must be that,” he said, pointing at the wet spot on the ceiling, where the rain dripped. “I was sayin’, only one I can think of is Tara Whitcomb. Is there some hot story that you’re so anxious to get there, or is that none of my business?”
The reporter looked momentarily at nothing in particular—the pensive stare of someone who had misplaced a set of keys or a pair of glasses and was trying to remember where she’d put them. “You used to be Braithwaite’s partner in Knight—”
“Used-to-be in capital letters, in italics, in goddamned neon,” he interrupted.
“Right. I heard you had a falling-out.”
“Done your homework.”
“More like picking up local scuttlebutt. Everybody talks about that fight you had. I also heard you’re planning to leave this fabulous part of the world.”
“Like I said, as soon as the plane is gone, we’re gone.”
“I’d like to talk to you. Now, if you’ve got a minute. Or tomorrow morning. After that I’ll be back in Nairobi till next week.”
“I ain’t runnin’ for office. I don’t give interviews.”
Phyllis mimed pulling out empty pockets. “No camera crew, not even a notebook. Strictly off the record. What we call deep background, meaning I tell no one I talked to you. But it’s a two-way street. You don’t tell anyone you talked to me, and if you fuck me, I’ll turn around and fuck you”—she gave him an ironic smile—“metaphorically speaking.”
“Glad to hear that,” Mary said, returning the smile. “Let’s hear what you’re fishing for first.”
The reporter helped herself to a chair—like she owns the place, Dare thought. “I’ve heard that Knight has been running guns to the SPLA, weapons disguised as humanitarian aid. There’s the fish. I don’t like to waste time, so what do you think? Keep fishing or cut bait?”
“Cut bait,” Mary answered without hesitation. “It’s an urban legend.”
Phyllis said, “I’m all for female solidarity, sister, but he’s the captain. So what about it, Captain Dare? Urban legend or no?”
Dare lit a cigarette. He couldn’t remember if it exceeded his five-a-day ration. “Deep background, that’s what you said?”
She nodded.
Dug-lass Negarra! Wes-lee Negarra! The shouts of Michael’s troops on that day the gunship was downed reverberated in his brain. Negarra—blood brother. A man should be prepared to lay down his life for his negarra. It was another word for loyalty, for a solemn contract between two men, and Douglas had broken it. “Here’s the deal—y’all don’t use anything I tell you before we’re out of here.”
“Wes!”
He turned to Mary: “Lyndon Johnson had a sayin’—Don’t get mad, get even. I got mad, now I’m gonna get even.” And then to Phyllis: “Soon as the airplane gets sold and we’re out. Could be a week, could be two. You don’t use it till then.”
The reporter paused for a beat, then said, “Fair enough. I’ll need a couple of weeks to put it together anyway.”
“And if y’all fuck me on that, I won’t fuck you back—I’ll make you sorry you ever drew a breath. I know some folks who would be happy to run your skinny butt over on a Nairobi street just as a favor to me.”