Free ECLIPSE by Richard North Patterson

me with honorifics like ‘auntie’ or ‘madam.’ The little village girl I most love, Omo, always calls me ‘ma’am.’”
    In the letters and e-mails she sent him over the years, her precarious existence seemed almost exotic. But her inner life remained, at most, a subtext. Even when he had known her she had been more guarded: now, given the gulf between how they chose to live, to explain herself might seem beyond the power of the printed word. Or perhaps it was the way they had parted. Whatever the case, he divined that she, too, was childless solely because the only children she mentioned were, like Omo, those whose futures she had come to fear for, just as Pierce now feared for her.
    Once more, he checked his watch. It was one-fifteen; in Luandia, ten-fifteen in the morning. The eclipse was moments away.

9

    M ARISSA WATCHED B OBBY AS HE CLIMBED THE PLATFORM AROUND which silent villagers clustered.
    Most were gazing upward, hands shading their eyes. The sun was partially covered now, reduced by the black disk of the moon to a diminishing crescent of light. The air was still; the birds soundless. In the gathering darkness, narrow bands of light and shadow raced across the red earth.
    Omo came to Marissa’s side. The crescent diminished to a sliver, then broke into pinpoints of light that vanished one by one. “Look, ma’am,” Omo exclaimed.
    Marissa smiled at her wonder. “Those dots are the last sunlight,” she explained, “shining through the valleys on the face of the moon.”
    The sole remaining light became as brilliant as a diamond. Then its glimmer vanished, and the black moon was framed by the faintest of orange halos. The village, for once unlit by flaring oil, was swathed in eerie darkness.
    From atop the platform, Bobby called out, “Let the world see
our
light.”
    Along with Omo and Marissa, people began snapping cigarette lighters, their glow illuminating somber faces that now turned from the sky to Bobby. He stood straighter, preparing to speak, and then became still, as though seeing something the others did not.
    The first sound Marissa heard came from the ocean.
    Turning, she saw the stream of lights on the obsidian waters, heard thegrowl of outboard motors heading toward the beach. From above, a sudden beam of yellow cut the darkness, causing Omo to shrink back against Marissa. The black form of a helicopter appeared over the palm trees, blades chopping as it rotated to turn its searchlight on Bobby. A second helicopter appeared, then a third, their thudding so loud that Marissa could hear no other sounds. As their searchlights crossed, she saw the black logo of PGL.
    She swirled to look at Bobby, suddenly small and stricken. She drew Omo closer. Pressed against her, the girl trembled.
    From the ocean the throb of outboard motors grew nearer. Turning, Marissa saw men emerging from the first boat as it struck the sand, weapons projecting from their shadow. “Oh my God,” she cried out. Then a spark came from a figure running toward them, and Marissa heard the soft moan of the man beside her falling to his knees.
    Yanking Omo by the arm, Marissa pulled her to the ground.
    Bullets flew from all directions. The man beside her, gut-shot, shuddered and was still. In the darkness Marissa saw the flash of guns firing, heard their cracks amid pounding footsteps and yelps of pain and panic. An acrid smell sifted through the air, and Marissa’s eyes began to water. Omo pressed so tightly against her that they seemed to breathe as one. “Please, God,” the girl whispered.
    Marissa shut her eyes. From the darkness came the haunting sound of soldiers singing and chanting, the cries of women and children, the muffled sound of bodies falling, the crackling of fire. The smell of tear gas mingled with that of burning wood.
    Marissa swallowed convulsively. Through slitted eyes she saw the village burning. Backlit by the rising flames, a soldier shot a kneeling man in the back of the head. The soldiers