Wherever It Leads(95)

Seeing him across from me feels surreal and I keep blinking just to see if he goes away—poof!—like an apparition. But every time, he’s still there. Still smiling. Still on the verge of cutting a joke. Still Brady.

His features darken and he composes himself before he starts talking. “The night before I was taken, I was looking for a magazine you guys sent me. I’d loaned it to Grant a couple of days before and figured he hadn’t given it back. So I go to his bunk and start looking through his shit and find ivory.”

“Ivory?” my father asks, leaning against the table.

“Yeah. Ivory. I was stunned. He comes in the room and realizes I’d found it and wants to take a walk, away from prying ears. So we do. Come to find out he was buying ivory from the locals and then trafficking it to foreign dealers.”

“I’m shocked,” Dad says, shaking his head. “Why on Earth would he get into something like that?”

“Because there’s money to be made. Lots of it,” Brady says. “It’s illegal, but there’s a huge demand in foreign markets. You can make a killing if you have the contacts, and Grant apparently made them. He said he did it one time and this would be the last one. He was worried he was going to get caught anyway and he said he’d quit. He’s not a stupid guy, you know, so I believed him. It was the logical thing for him to do.”

“How does that tie in with your disappearance?” I ask.

Brady looks around the table. “Well, the day I went missing, we were on a mission. There were three of us and we were in a low-risk neighborhood. The other two were providing light security to the homes in the area and I was being the intermediary between the people and the organization. Doing well-checks on kids, elderly, things like that. It’s what we did day in, day out. But then Grant says we got a call to move. So we load up and take off and as soon as we roll into the area, I know we aren’t supposed to be there.”

A knot twists in my gut, a clenching of anticipation mixed with dread that almost makes me nauseous. It might be the way his voice hollows as he’s getting to wherever he’s going or it might be the way his gaze has focused on Mom’s apple clock on the far wall. But my father notices it too, and he tries to comfort me with a look. It doesn’t work.

“Grant and the guy with us head immediately into a building and I suspected then that this was about ivory. I pull out a map and realize we are not only in an area we shouldn’t be in, we are in one we aren’t legally allowed to be in. Boundaries and things aren’t what they are here and we definitely crossed a line.”

“So I’m waiting on them to come out and a little kid races into the street after a ball. He falls and a dog comes at him, one of these feral animals that are ruthless—I’ve seen them take out grown men. So I rush out there and fire some shots and get the dog to leave and check the kid out. And before I know it, I’m face-first in the dirt and being kicked in the ribs and tossed into the back of an old SUV.”

“You’re all right, though. Right?” Presley asks.

“Yes,” he turns to her, smiling. “I had another doctor check me out as soon as I landed here. I’m fine. A little roughed up, but I’m okay. I was able to kind of do basic treatment on myself while in that hellhole, thankfully.”

“Thank God,” my mother whispers.

“How did you get back here? What happened?” I ask.

“Well, two days ago, I was sitting in this room I’d been in for a few weeks. I have no idea where it was, obviously, but it was with a family, which was a first. They seemed like they didn’t know what to do with me or even want me there, really. So I’m sitting there a couple of days ago and everything is just the same as it had been. Same routine by the father, the mother, the little girl. And a bunch of men come, a few I recognize from various places I’d been, and they’re having this argument outside my window. I can’t understand any of it, but I can tell something’s wrong.

The family is getting nervous. I’m getting nervous, trying to figure out what I have around me I can use for a weapon when one of them sneaks past me and tells me to be patient. The way he said it,” he shakes his head, trying to relive that moment, “there was something about his accent or the look in his eye that made me think this might be a good thing. It’s hard to explain. And, a few minutes later—thirty, maybe forty—guns start going off and Unit A, Mandla’s advanced unit, comes in and gets me out.”

My father leans back in his chair, the squeaking cutting through the gush of air that I release. “If they knew where you were, they should’ve gotten you out sooner.”

“No,” Brady says, shaking his head empathically. “It’s not that easy, Dad. They had no idea where I was. I think they did come get me as soon as they knew. I was moved a number of times. Only a handful of people ever saw me. It wouldn’t have been easy to find me. And you know, there’s a good chance they’re going to be in some trouble for doing it the way they did.”

“So you don’t think Nzou knew it the whole time? Senator Hyland thinks—” Dad starts, but Brady cuts him off.

“Senator Hyland has no clue, to be honest. I was moved eight or nine times while I was over there. And from what I understand, as soon as Nzou knew for sure, they did come and get me. And I don’t even want to know what it cost them. I’m sure there was money in paying bribes and spies and things like that. And they had a private plane ready to get me back to the States right away. “