James PATTERSON - Cross Country

“Fair enough. How about this, then? Why aren’t you on the Tiger’s case yourself? Why pass me information instead of running with it? Abidemi Sowande is a murderer. You know that.”

Something about the debate, just getting it out in the open, I guess, was diffusing the tension in the car. Plus, I was on a roll.

“For that matter, why in God’s name am I wearing this stupid tie?”

For the first time, Flaherty smiled.

“Ah,” he said. “That’s one I can answer.”

AN HOUR LATER, I was in the waiting room at an executive suite on the thirtieth floor of Unilight International’s administrative offices in Ikeja. I knew that Unilight was one of the most successful packaged goods company in the world, but that was about it.

Glossy pictures of Lubra Soap and Oral Toothpaste hung on the walls, and I was trying to figure out exactly what I was doing here. Flaherty had dropped me out front with a business card and a floor number. “Willem de Bues wants to meet you, and you want to meet him.”

“Dr. Cross?” A receptionist called over to where I was sitting. “The director will see you now.”

I was shown down a hallway to a double door, which she opened for me, into a huge corner office with floor-to-ceiling windows.

Stranger and stranger. What did a successful multinational corporation have to do with a murder case?

A massive desk sat at an angle to the door with two comfortable chairs opposite it. A pair of tufted leather couches took up another corner, where two men in dark suits, white shirts, and clubby ties were just standing up.

“Dr. Cross,” the taller of them said. A white man with close-cropped blond hair and heavy-framed rectangular glasses came over and shook my hand.

“I’m Willem de Bues.” His accent was Dutch I think. He motioned to the other man. “This is Thomas Lassiter, an attorney with our legal department.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, not quite sure yet if that was true or not. How could I know? I half expected to be beaten up and to have my nose broken next.

“It’s our understanding you’ve been following a local man known as the Tiger,” de Bues said, throwing me for a loop. What could this businessman possibly have to do with a killer for hire?

“That’s right,” I said. “I came here from Washington, where he had committed a couple of savage murders. Savage by our standards anyway.”

“Then, we might have something to talk about. Sit down,” Mr. de Bues said. It was clear he was used to giving orders.

“Your reputation as a policeman precedes you, of course. Your record for solving difficult cases.”

“How about you tell me what this is about first? And why your attorney is here.”

De Bues’s demeanor didn’t crack. In fact, he smiled.

“We’d like to help you find the Tiger. And, given that this is a rather… irregular situation, I want to make certain that I don’t say, or offer, anything illegal in this meeting. Is that honest enough for you? Please, sit down, Detective. Sit.”

“WHY WOULD YOU want to help a murder investigation?” I asked. I was genuinely curious.

“Unilight International has a considerable interest in Nigeria. Our cosmetics and skin-care business alone has grown enough to justify the expansion we have planned in the southeast. This is true of many multinationals, not just the oil companies.”

“In the Delta?” I asked.

“Port Harcourt, yes. And, of course, Lagos. Whatever relationship we now have with local factions seems to be irrelevant to some of the Islamic extremist organizations that are now moving into the region.”

“Are you saying the Tiger is Islamic? Because that’s news to me.”

“No, I have no idea about that. I doubt that he’s a religious man. But it’s no secret he deals in goods that bankroll these groups – conflict diamonds, lifted crude, that sort of thing. Essentially, he creates inroads for them and makes life more difficult for all foreign corporations. And, as I’m sure you know, Tiger is the local term for ‘killer for hire.’”

“And you want somebody to help you get the killer, or killers, out of your way?”

De Bues looked over at his lawyer, who nodded, and then answered. “We want to help with your criminal investigation, that’s all. We’re the good guys here, Dr. Cross. Just like you. This is not a ‘conspiracy,’ like in one of the Bourne movies.”

“Why not go through the local authorities?”

He smiled again, that non-smile of his. “You condescend to me, Dr. Cross. The political situation, as we both know, is complex here. It is fair to say that civil war is almost inevitable for Nigeria, but war is like fire, yes? Even as it burns something away, it leaves fertile ground.”

It seemed like every day in Africa, I was falling a little farther through the looking glass. This conversation was turning out to be no exception. The CIA had directed me to a multinational corporation or maybe a clique of them for help in a brutal murder case?

I stood up. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. de Bues. I need to think about it.”

De Bues followed me to the door. “Please, Dr. Cross.” He held out a business card. “At least take my number. We do want to help you.”

“Thanks,” I said and left it at that.

De Bues shook his head as I walked to his door. “You don’t understand, do you? This part of the world is about to explode. And if it does, Africa could go the way of the Middle East. That is the key to your murder case, sir.”

FRUSTRATED AND CONFUSED more than ever, I took a car service to Adanne’s office. Then we drove to her parents’ house, brainstorming about the case, Unilight’s involvement, and the Tiger’s whereabouts.

My next stop would be to check local records – schools, hospitals, crime reports – any instance of an Abidemi Sowande from 1981 to the present.

Adanne had good suggestions for getting access to state-level information. She wasn’t surprised that the multinationals were frightened and looking for help anywhere they could find it.

“Maybe your murder investigation is heating up,” she said. “It feels like it to me.”

“Yes, to me too.”

Adanne took my hand and that was a distraction I needed.

“If you’re good,” she said, “I might even sleep with you again tonight.”

I leaned in and kissed her cheek and wondered how much longer I could be good around Adanne.

“Remember Alex, I know what you’re thinking. I’m probably thinking the same thing.”

It wasn’t until we came around the corner onto her parents’ street that we realized something was wrong.

“Oh, no” she groaned. “Oh, no, oh, no.”

Adanne stopped her car at the top of the block. At least half a dozen police and fire units were parked at urgent angles to one another in front of her parents’ home. Hose lines snaked from the street through the open gate, and black smoke billowed up from behind the wall.

Adanne clawed at the seat-belt release until the strap flew away. “My God, my God! Oh, my God!”

“Adanne, wait a minute,” I said and tried to grab and hold her back.

But she was already out of the car and running toward her parents’ house. She was screaming in a full voice.

And then I was running too.

I CAUGHT UP to Adanne just shy of the gate to the house. I grabbed her and picked her up. Her legs kicked off the ground and she struggled against me, reaching toward the gate even as I pulled her away from it.

“Adanne,” I said. “You don’t want to go in there and see. Trust me, please.”