The Freedom Broker (Thea Paris #1)(46)

I wanted to know who had taken me. Papa would find me, make them pay. He might even kill them. That would be good.

The diesel engine rattled and stopped. We were there. Not sure where. Someone opened the door. I felt the hot sun on my back as someone threw me over his skinny shoulder. I bounced around a lot, heard the creak of a door opening. Goose bumps on my arms. Cold. Air-conditioning.

The skinny guy dropped me onto something soft, maybe a couch. I sniffed in a weird smell, like dirt and moss, same as when we buried Grandpa in that deep, dark hole. Big footsteps. Someone yanked off my hood. Light hurt my eyes. I looked around. The room had scary African masks on the wall. A giant stared down at me. He smelled like Grandpa’s grave too—death. I tried to be brave, but my teeth banged together.

The giant wore an army outfit and a camo beret. He was called “the General,” and he bossed the skinny guy, Kofi, around. He had tribal scars burned into his cheeks. When we first came to Africa, Papa said tribal scars were from slave times, and free men scarred their faces so no one would think they were slaves. Was this guy going to make me his slave?

Kofi had a sneaky look in his eyes, as if he hated taking orders. They talked about some mix-up, the boy being in the girl’s room. Maybe they’d wanted to take Thea instead. Better it was me. Little sis is younger, smaller. She couldn’t fight back. She couldn’t survive. I could.


THE VILLAGERS

They kept me in a shed out back, so hot and dirty. That oil stink made me sick. The lumpy mattress was ripped, so I pulled out a loose coil I could use to draw in the dirt floor. I was good at taking stuff apart and putting it back together. Papa said I had good spatial intelligence, whatever that is.

Days went by slowly, and I used the coil to mark a line on the cement wall every time the sun came up. Eleven marks now. I smelled real bad, but when I asked for a bath, Kofi sprayed me with freezing water, so I used leaves to wipe the dirt off me instead. I had two buckets, one for water, the other for piss and shit. The water tasted funny. I think Kofi mixed up the buckets when he changed them. My stomach hurt down low.

So boring, being alone all the time. Kofi brought beans and rice every afternoon. He poked me with a sharp stick and laughed when I asked to come outside. I missed home. Was someone coming to get me? Piers would have to explain why he’d let this happen. He was head of Papa’s security team. He might get fired after this.

On day twelve, the General showed up, still smelling weird, like dirt. He had a serious look on his face, like Papa did when he’d had a bad day. “Come.”

I stood, but my knees wobbled. The bright sunlight hurt my eyes. I didn’t move, ’cause I was scared. His big hand landed on my neck and pushed me toward a green Land Cruiser. Inside, I saw three rifles. Were they going to shoot me? Didn’t Papa want me back?

Kofi drove, the diesel engine puffing out huge clouds of blue smoke. My hands shook. I straightened my shoulders, wanting to be brave. Papa had taught me that strong men put up a tough front. But I didn’t want to die.

The Land Cruiser bumped along the dirt road. We passed acacia trees, cornfields, and lots of desert. Finally we turned down a path to a village with grass huts. Little kids with big bellies chased each other. Women crowded around a fire pit. They looked starved and sad. Old men stood nearby, letting flies buzz around their faces. These people had no hope. I got it. I didn’t have much hope left either.

Kofi and the General opened the back of the truck and gave the villagers grain bags. People danced, smiled, and treated the General like some sort of hero. Two women dumped grain into a pot of water and started stirring. Everyone was suddenly happy. The General hugged the children, played games with them. When he called me over, I wasn’t as scared. With all these people watching, he wouldn’t kill me, would he?

It was weird. The villagers stared at me like I was an alien. They’d probably never seen anyone with white skin before. I still remember the question the General asked me.

“Have you ever been truly hungry—so hungry you would do anything for a scrap of food?”

I hated that horrible feeling of an empty stomach. If I didn’t answer Papa’s daily quizzes correctly, I’d be sent to bed without dinner. But I’d never gone days without eating, and I could tell what the General wanted to hear.

“No, sir.” That was always my answer when I was in trouble. It usually worked.

The giant waved his hands in a big circle and told me that these people wanted to eat, but Papa kept buying up all their crops for something called biofuel, leaving them nothing to eat. I stared at him, confused. How could Papa be hurting these people when he didn’t even know them?

At least I knew the answer to the next question about what Papa did for a living. That was easy. “Oil” was the one word I heard every night at dinner. Papa told me that my future rested in energy. But the General made it sound like a bad thing. That was why he was keeping me, to make my father stop taking away all the crops. I wasn’t sure what to think, but I was kind of mad at Papa for making the General angry.

I asked when I could go home. For a second, the General’s black eyes looked nicer, but then they got all mean again. He said Papa wouldn’t agree to do what he said, that his work was more important than me.

I felt sick. The General must be lying. I was the only son, my father’s favorite child. I was born in New York City, but Papa came from Greece, and the oldest son was the most important kid. One day, I’d take over his business.