Free Rare Earth by Davis Bunn Page A

cream. Six flavors. Ben and Jerry’s. I will never forget the taste of that first bite. Marvelous.”
    â€œCan you ask about Serge?”
    â€œI have never stopped asking.” Uhuru swung around. In the glare of the helicopter’s landing lights, a hard glint shone through his polished veneer. “You are new to this country, are you not?”
    â€œI’ve been here less than two weeks.”
    â€œAnd already you are being offered an opportunity that many wait a lifetime for and never receive.” A hint of angry impatience rumbled in the deep voice, echoing the volcano’s distant rumble. “A word to the wise. You must learn to focus upon the opportunity. This is Africa, Mr. Royce. Opportunities such as what I am offering are few and far between.”
    As the rotors began whining up, Uhuru offered Marc his hand. He raised his voice above the engine noise and said, “The fixer I told you about is still there. His office remains just down the hall from the regional governor, though few can even remember how he won the treasured post. That is a fixer’s dream, Mr. Royce. You and your company would be well served if you kept that at the forefront of your mind.”

Chapter Ten
    M arc stood in the camp’s main office and spoke to his Nairobi headquarters via the satellite phone. The signal bounced over whatever communications satellite was closest, then back to earth. The voice on the other end was turned metallic and tense by the process. Boyd Crowder, Lodestone’s chief officer in Nairobi demanded, “Cost-plus? You’re sure he said that?”
    Marc replied, “Those were Frederick Uhuru’s exact words.”
    The generator chugged from the darkness out beyond the baobab tree. Lights from the mess hut illuminated the tree’s knotted and twisted limbs. He heard insects strike the office window’s screens, quick staccato drumbeats against the African night. Shadows flittered past his open window, bats chasing insects at impossible speeds.
    Boyd Crowder repeated, “Emergency food and medical supplies for five camps.”
    â€œAnd ten thousand tents.”
    The line buzzed and crackled. Boyd Crowder was a grizzled veteran of many wars. Marc had seen the man on numerous occasions, first in their Washington headquarters and then during his brief layover in Nairobi. Crowder had served with the U.S. Army for sixteen years, ending his professional career as a full colonel. He had run Lodestone’s Nairobi office for three years. Until tonight, Crowder had treated Marc as just another recruit.
    Crowder said, “I’m pulling you out.”
    â€œUhuru didn’t say anything about my leaving the camp, sir.”
    â€œYou answer to me, Royce. We’re understaffed here in Nairobi. An order of this size is going to almost double our current turnover. You need to be back here coordinating these shipments all the way from supplier to the camps.”
    Much as he yearned for a hot shower and a good meal, the prospect of leaving only heightened his lack of answers. “Uhuru gave me the impression he wanted me posted here for the duration, sir.”
    â€œI’ll call the UN’s district HQ and square it with him. We need you back here ASAP. Be ready to move at sunrise. Crowder out.”
    The next morning Marc entered the camp chapel just as the first song began. As usual, most of the camp dwellers had arrived long before him, and filled the structure with noisy tumult. These services at dawn and sunset were the only times the camp showed any vibrancy.
    When the singing began, people stood and swayed to the music. The volume was as amazing as the harmony. The words were all in Swahili, but Marc thought he recognized several of the tunes. The sun was well up over the horizon before the singing halted and the people dropped to the benches for Charles to lead the service.
    Kitra occupied her regular place, the far left corner, up where she