“Look at those dumb bastards,” he muttered.

Dennis gave Charlie an odd look. This wasn’t going the way he’d expected. Marsh appeared to be an angry and frustrated man. Dennis wondered if he should make the reason for Marsh’s anger and frustration the central theme of his interview. If Charlie Marsh had gone through a spiritual transformation during his years in Africa, Dennis’s book would be even more interesting. He’d read the articles Martha Brice had included in the file, about the exciting prison standoff, Charlie’s affair with the congressman’s wife, and the murder case, so he knew the book would have sex, politics, and violence, but this could add a whole new intellectual layer to the biography that would engage the critics and those who voted for literary prizes.

AS THEY NEARED Baptisteville, clusters of huts constructed from mud and tin started to appear at uneven intervals. Occasionally, Dennis spotted a house built with concrete blocks, which vaguely resembled the ranch houses he’d grown up with in the suburbs. Behind the buildings, grassland stretched to the horizon. The foreign landscape captured Dennis’s attention and he found himself asking Charlie questions about what he was seeing. Charlie answered his questions grudgingly and deflected any questions about subjects Dennis could use for the interview.

Dennis guessed that they’d reached the outskirts of the city when they passed the executive mansion, which reminded him of a casino he’d visited in Atlantic City. A few minutes later, the Volkswagen was stalled in traffic on a narrow, one-way street lined with two-story buildings. Balconies shaded the street-level stores. Through the open fronts, Dennis glimpsed shelves and display cases stocked with bolts of cloth and canned goods.

Throngs of people crowded the sidewalks but it was rare to spot a white face. Horns honked and beggars supported by wooden staffs limped by. The traffic moved and the car drove out of the business district onto a sea-cliff drive. In the distance, at the top of the cliff was the fifteen-story Batanga Palace hotel, a stark, modern edifice that was the tallest building in the city.

“I’m going to tell you the facts of life,” Charlie said as the hotel driveway came into view. “In Batanga everyone is a spy. You can’t trust a soul. The average Batangan will sell his mother to the secret police for a few dollars. So, you don’t talk to anyone about anything. Not the bellboy or the desk clerk, not anyone.

“Now, we’ve been followed since we left the airport. No, don’t turn around. You won’t be able to pick them out. When we pull up to the hotel, act natural. You’re going to want to hang on to your suitcase, but that would be like waving a big sign that says, ‘I’ve got something hidden in here.’ So you let the bell man take the suitcase up to your room. Then you take the money out and put it in that flight bag you’re carrying. After you do that, have a shower, which is the first thing a white man who hasn’t been in Africa before would do when he got to his hotel. But keep your flight bag with you in the bathroom. As soon as you’re changed, go down to the bar. Bring your flight bag with you. If you leave it in your room it’s going to be searched.”

“Are you going to meet me?”

“No. I’m out of here as soon as I drop you off. Now listen up. A big, bald white man will contact you. His name is Evers. You give him the money. He’s going to fly us out of here, tonight.”

“Tonight! But I just got here.”

“And you’re just going to leave. Evers is a mercenary. He’s got a plane coming in on a bush airstrip a few miles outside the city. As soon as you give him the money he’ll contact his partner and we’ll all meet up at the strip.”

“Is Evers going to take me there?”

“Hell, no. You don’t want Baptiste’s men seeing you two together. All he’s taking is the money.”

“Then how will I get there?” Dennis asked anxiously.

“Ask the doorman at the hotel where the nightlife is, then have the doorman get you a taxi.”

“Should I bring my suitcase?”

“Are you stupid? Who brings a suitcase to a bar? No, you don’t bring your suitcase. You leave it in your room so no one thinks you’re skipping out.”

“Hey, back off, Charlie. I’m new to this cloak-and-dagger stuff.”

“You’d better be a fast learner because one stupid move could cost you your life. Now pay attention. As soon as you’re away from the hotel, tell the driver you’ve changed your mind and want to see an old friend. Give him these directions,” Charlie said, slipping Dennis a piece of paper. “This will take you to the expatriate compound so it will look like you’re visiting a white friend. When you get to the gate of the compound tell the driver to go two more miles. If he balks, slip him five dollars. He’ll take you to the moon for that kind of tip. Watch the odometer. Just before it hits two miles, you’ll see a dirt road off to the right. Take it a mile in and we’ll be there.”

“I don’t know about this,” Dennis said nervously.

“You have two choices. Do what I just told you and get out of this hellhole tonight, or use your return ticket to fly out tomorrow. The problem with choice number two is that you’ll have to be in Batanga in the morning, by which time President Baptiste will know that I’ve flown the coop.

“Now ask yourself, who is the last person with whom I was seen and who do you think will be questioned about where I’ve gone? While the secret police are adjusting the voltage to the electrodes attached to your testicles, I’ll be flying to freedom and you’ll be wondering why you aren’t with me.”

“Attaching electrodes! They can’t do that, can they? I’m an American citizen.”

“You think Baptiste gives a shit? When he finds out I’ve escaped, he’s going to want to hurt someone, and you’re going to be the only one here.”

The shower felt great. The cold water washed away the fatigue of travel and the layer of sweat that had caked his body ever since Dennis had stepped out of the plane into the African sun. The mere fact that he was in Africa was astonishing to someone who had never been farther than the East Coast of the United States. As Dennis toweled off, he thought about everything that had happened since he’d landed in Batanga. The events of the past hour both scared him to death and exhilarated him. The exhilarating part involved mercenaries, secret police, and the possibility of a thrilling escape in the night. The scary part involved the possibility that the escape would be thwarted by the secret police and he would end up with electrodes attached to his testicles. Dennis was terrified of being tortured, but he was more frightened of losing the most important story and the greatest professional opportunity of his life.

After he changed into fresh clothes, Dennis carried his money-filled flight bag to the bar, which was packed with expatriates and wealthy Batangans. Charlie had told him to order a piña colada, which would identify him to Evers as the person with the cash. Dennis found a table and put his flight bag between his feet so he could touch it. He was halfway through his drink when a gorgeous black woman in a short red dress sat next to him.

“That’s an interesting drink you have there. What is it?” she asked.

“It’s a piña colada.”

“You like that drink?” she asked.

“Yes, I do. It’s good.”

“Is it sweet?”

“A little.”

He felt a sudden pressure on his left knee and the heat rose in his cheeks when he realized it was caused by the woman’s hand.

“I can be good too and I’m sweeter than your drink. Do you want to taste me?”

Sweat formed on Dennis’s brow, even though the hotel was heavily air-conditioned. He had very little sexual experience and a situation like this had never before presented itself. Every nerve in his body was urging him to answer in the affirmative and whisk this stunning woman up to his room. Then he remembered his Pulitzer Prize and why he was in the bar.