Cross Country

distance.
    I asked Grasshopper Man what was going on. He didn’t answer. He just opened the door and let me through.
    He closed it behind me, locking me into yet another passageway.
    “It’s been taken care of,” he said.
    “What has?”
    “You have.”
    He was already walking back the way we’d come, leaving me there. My heart sped up and my body tensed hard. This sure felt like an ending, one way or the other.
    Suddenly a door opened on my right. Another guard stuck his head out. He gestured at me impatiently.
    “Get in, get in!”
    When I hesitated, he reached out and pulled me by the arm. “Are you deaf? Or are you stupid? Get inside.”
    The room I entered was air-conditioned. It was like a shock to my skin, and I realized that all he’d wanted was to get the door closed again.
    I was standing in a plain office that seemed quite ordinary. In it were two wooden desks and several filing cabinets. A second guard, bent over some paperwork, ignored me. Also present was the first white man I’d seen since arriving at the airport.
    He was a civilian dressed in light trousers, a loose button-down shirt, and sunglasses. My guess was CIA.
    “Flaherty?” I asked, since he didn’t bother to volunteer any information.
    He tossed me my empty wallet. Then finally he spoke. “Jesus, you look like hell. Ready to get out of here?”

Chapter 44
    I WAS WAY beyond ready to get out of this nightmarish prison, but I was also stupefied by everything that had happened to me since I had arrived in Lagos.
    “What —? How did you find me?” I asked Flaherty before we were even out of the air-conditioned office. “What’s going on? What just happened back there?”
    “Not now.” He walked over and opened a door and gestured for me to go out first. The two guards didn’t even look up. One of them was scribbling in a file and the other was jabbering on the phone when we left. Business as usual here in the bowels of hell.
    As soon as the door closed behind us, Flaherty took my arm. “You need some help?”
    “Jesus, Flaherty. Thank you.”
    “They break your nose?”
    “Feels that way.”
    “Looks it too. I know a guy. Here.” He handed me a small bottle of water and I started to empty it down my throat. “Go slow, fella.”
    He steered me over to an old off-white Peugeot 405 parked under a shade tree nearby. My duffel was already in the backseat. “Thank you,” I said again.
    Once we were moving, I asked him, “How did you do this?”
    “When you didn’t show up on Thursday, I figured there were only a few possibilities. A hundred got me your name. Another five hundred got you out.”
    He took a business card from his breast pocket and handed it to me. It was from Citibank, with an address in Lagos. On the back in blue ballpoint was written ACROSS9786EY4.
    “You’re going to want to change that pass code. And probably wire in another grand or so if you can.”
    “What about my family?” They came rushing into my mind all at once. “Have you spoken with them? Do they know what’s happening?”
    “Listen, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not your social worker. I know you probably feel like you’ve been through the eighteenth circle of hell or whatever, but you can’t count on me for this kind of shit. Okay? I don’t mean to be harsh. But that’s the way it is here these days. There’s a lot going on right now.”
    He tipped a Camel Light out of a pack, lit it, and blew twin streams of smoke through his nostrils. “You can call them from the hotel. Your family.”
    “I’m moved by your compassion.”
    He grinned straight ahead. I guess we understood each other. Mine was obviously not the saddest or worst story Ian Flaherty had heard in Lagos. Probably not by a long shot.
    “You have any food in this car?” I asked him.
    He reached over and popped the glove compartment. There was a chocolate protein drink in a can. It was warm and a little gritty, and nothing had ever tasted better to me.
    I threw my head back, closed my eyes, and tried for the first time in three days to relax and, maybe, think in straight lines about the murder investigation and what had just happened to me.

Chapter 45
    A HEAVY THUD woke me from a hot, sweaty, and unpleasant sleep.
    Maybe only a few minutes had passed. My eyes jerked open just in time to see an old Adidas sneaker bounce off the roof and onto the hood of the Peugeot.
    “What the fuck?” Flaherty craned his head around.
    We were caught in a bad