Cross Country

76
    A BUSINESSMAN WITH rumored connections named Mohammed Shol stood like an expensively framed portrait of himself in the open double doors of his enormous home. The main building was twenty thousand square feet, and the guesthouse was another eight thousand. He was among South Darfur’s wealthiest men and never missed an opportunity to show it off.
    The gated compound with its high walls and attached citrus greenhouse made its own statement:
Who but the devil lives like a king in the middle of hell?
    Not that the Tiger minded dealing with devils; he did it all the time. This was his business, and if he had carried a card, a
black devil
might have been the logo.
    Shol smiled broadly as he shook hands to elbows with the large and quite handsome fixer and murderer. “Welcome, my friend! Your team will wait out here, of course.”
    “Of course.”
    “They will be fed.”
    “They are always hungry.”
    The Tiger left Rocket in charge of the others and knew he would maintain discipline. The boys waited by the front gate, across the yard from Shol’s two plainclothes guards, who watched the younger ones with unconcealed amusement. The guards at the estate had come up from the streets themselves.
    Let them be cocky and sure of themselves,
the Tiger thought as he eyed the older watchdogs. Underestimation had always worked in his favor.
    He followed Mohammed Shol through the estimable front hallway and across an interior courtyard. Cooking smells, cardamom and beef, came from one side of the house. Boys’ voices came from the other — reciting in Arabic, which further defined Shol’s politics.
    They came to a glass door at the far end of the courtyard.
    An enclosed grove of exotic fruit trees showed on the other side. Shol stopped.
    “We’ll meet in here. Can I offer you tea? Or perhaps grapefruit juice?” The latter was a boast, since such juice was a delicacy here.
    “Nothing,” the Tiger said. “Only what I came for. Then I will be gone.”
    Shol dismissed his houseboy with a quick flick of the wrist, then used a key from his
jallabiya
pocket to let them inside.
    It was pleasant in the greenhouse, temperature controlled with a waft of humidity lacing the air. The tiled floor was shaded under a low canopy of green. Above was the geometric pattern of a glass-and-steel ceiling.
    Shol gestured for the Tiger to enter a small dining area in the back.
    Four rattan chairs surrounded a luminescent bai wood table. Shol moved aside a potted sapling. Then he ran the combination on a floor safe hidden behind the tree.
    Inside the safe was a paper envelope, stuffed thick. Shol took it out and placed it on the table between them.
    “I think you’ll find it’s all there.”
    Once the Tiger had checked the contents, he set the package on the floor and sat back.
    Shol smiled.
    “You’ve done much here,” the Tiger said, gesturing around the room. “It’s impressive.”
    Shol smiled, puffed up by the compliment. “I’ve been blessed many times.”
    “Not just blessed. You’ve been busy. You are clever, I can tell.”
    “It’s true. Between the legislature and my businesses, there’s little time for other things.”
    “Travel,” the Tiger said. “Meetings day and night? And your family, of course.”
    Shol nodded, clearly enjoying that the subject was him. “Yes, yes. On most days.”
    “Saying things you shouldn’t. Putting your loved ones at risk.”
    The nodding stopped. Shol seemed to forget that he was afraid of looking the Tiger in the eye, and did it now. “No,” he said. “Truly. I’ve not talked about my business dealings with you, or anyone else.”
    “Yes,” said the Tiger, without moving. “
Truly
. You have. You know
a reporter
— a woman? Adanne Tansi?” He reached up with one finger and tipped open his collar an inch. He spoke into a microphone.
    “Rock da house!
Now,
Rocket. Spare no one.
Make an example of them
.”

Chapter 77
    A FEW SECONDS later, the entire greenhouse reverberated with a half dozen or more gun blasts coming from outside. And then bursts of machine-gun clatter.
    Mohammed Shol tried to get up, but the Tiger was fast and agile and already had his hands around the man’s throat and was choking him. He slammed Shol into the far wall and a spiderweb pattern blossomed in the glass.
    “Do you hear that?”
the Tiger shouted at the top of his voice. “You hear it? All your fault!”
    There was more gunfire. Then screams — women first, followed quickly by boys,