The Lord of Opium

He kept to the shadows of trees, and every moving branch or birdcall made him flinch. He simply didn’t know where the dangers were. But the children weren’t in the nursery. A line of caretakers sat along a wall, and at their feet was a dead eejit. It was probably the one who let the cow die, the animal Dr. Rivas was using to grow a replacement for his son.

Matt ran to the main part of the hospital, and at last he saw normal people. Nurses in white scrubs were standing outside an operating room with doctors in gauze masks and latex gloves. The operating room door opened, and the medical staff went inside.

Matt edged forward, and his foot bumped against something. He glanced down and saw a body. It was a soldier, and the smell of hot metal rose from him. He’d been killed with a stun gun, and very recently. Matt backed away, but an African man in a military uniform came out of the operating room and shouted, “Stop him!” Instantly, soldiers poured out of the operating room. They grabbed Matt and removed the stun gun and knives as easily as peeling the skin off a banana. They shook the tranquilizer beads out of his pockets, but it was Matt who was overcome by gas, not his enemies. He passed out almost instantly.

45

PRISONERS

He woke up on the floor. He was in a hospital room, and on a bed, clenching her teeth like a little wild animal, was Listen. He stood up and almost passed out again. He fell against the bed.

Then he noticed the men sitting by the door. They were squat and broad-chested, your standard-issue thugs. Their booted feet looked twice the size of those of a normal man.

Matt was swept with dizziness again, and his stomach heaved. Listen sat up. “There’s a bathroom next door if you want to barf.”

Matt staggered inside, lost the coffee he’d drunk earlier, washed his mouth out, and staggered back. He collapsed next to Listen. “Don’t bother trying to talk to them. They’re Russians,” said the little girl. “They’ve been jabbering at me for hours, but I’ve been ignoring them.”

“How many of them are there?” asked Matt.

“Only two. Dr. Rivas said the border closed before more could get in. I didn’t know we were at war with the Russians.”

“We aren’t. They’re working for Africans,” said Matt. He knew now who had taken advantage of the open border. Just as El Patrón preferred Scottish bodyguards, Glass Eye Dabengwa had preferred Russians. Foreigners weren’t as likely to betray you as your own kind.

“Africans! I’d sure like to meet them,” said the little girl.

“Don’t get your hopes up. Thugs come in all types. Where’s Mbongeni?” he asked.

“Dr. Rivas says he’s very sick and needs an operation.”

Matt couldn’t speak for a moment. He knew what kind of operation the doctor had in mind, and that meant that Glass Eye needed a transplant. “And where’s Dr. Rivas?”

“Don’t know.” The little girl shrugged. “First he came for the Bug, and then he came back for his son and daughter. They were going on a trip, but the bad guys got here first. Can you make those men let us go?”

It was worth a try. Matt pointed at the door, nodding to show that he wanted it open. One of the men rubbed his chin with a rasping sound like sandpaper. “Nyet,” he said.

Matt tried to walk past them and got pushed back. It was a lazy gesture, like shooing a fly, but the strength behind the man’s hand propelled Matt across the room and into a wall.

“Maybe they’ll fall asleep,” said Listen. The men showed no indication of sleepiness. They rumbled to each other in Russian and smoked a hand-rolled cigarette that they passed back and forth.

Matt recognized the smell from El Patrón’s parties, where guests were offered hookahs. “If they keep that up, they’ll pass out,” he said. But the guards showed no sign of passing out, either.

After a while someone knocked on the door and handed through trays of food. It was a kind of beef stew with tomatoes and onions. On each tray was a slab of polenta as heavy as a brick. But the food was surprisingly good and the polenta okay if you ignored the rubbery texture. The guards ate enthusiastically, using their fingers and wiping their hands on their pants. They cleaned up the leftovers from Matt’s and Listen’s trays.

“I’m thirsty,” complained Listen. She opened her mouth and pointed down her throat. One of the men went into the bathroom and returned with two plastic cups. “I sure hope he got that water from the sink,” said the little girl.

Time passed slowly. To keep Listen amused, Matt told her one of Celia’s Bible stories. “Samson was a very, very strong man,” he began. “When he was a baby, he could pick up his crib and throw it across the room.”