Chapter Four

"What do you mean, no?" Duncan yelled. "They're out there and I'm going with you to get them. I can find him -- I know I can!" This was going nowhere, he'd been yelling at Daniel for the half hour since they'd heard the news and the other man still had not budged. He'd refused to allow Duncan to accompany the rescue party that was, at that very moment, assembling to go after the missing team.

"I know that you care about Matthew, Duncan," Daniel said gently. "He's my friend, too. But you have to let me do this the right way. You've been in Africa all of what -- a week? You don't know what's out there. I have seasoned people who know the bush, know the dangers. Let them do their job. We have a pretty good idea now the area where the crash occurred, so chances are we may have them back by nightfall."

"Just let me go with them. Hell, give me a jeep and I'll go by myself." Now he was begging, but he couldn't make himself care about that now, not when Methos was out there, in God knew what kind of shape, unarmed and defenseless. Whatever it took, this time he would not be too late.

"I won't be authorizing any supplies or transport for you, so you can just forget that," the doctor told him sternly. From across the camp director's small, sparsely furnished office, his eyes, full of empathy, met Duncan's. "I know you're worried about him, but it would be suicide to head out there by yourself. Give us a little time, we'll find them." Daniel's broad, dark face closed off, clearly ending the discussion. He walked to the door, turning back to look at Duncan just before he went through it. "Just be patient," he said and then was gone.

Duncan's hands curled into fists and he breathed slowly and deliberately, willing the anger away with calming rhythms much older than himself. It didn't help, the anxiety still coiled around his ribs until he could barely push the air in and out. He had to get Methos back. Had to. No matter what it took. Now. Duncan stalked out of the office, throwing the door open so that it crashed against the wall with a satisfying bang.

He strode across the compound, still inwardly fuming, until a sudden thought stopped him dead in his tracks.

Grace.

Duncan spun on his heel and ran back to the office. The camp director's office was still empty, Daniel had explained when they had used it earlier that she was in Lusaka for a few days for a conference. Duncan snatched up the phone from the bare-topped desk and punched in the number.

And waited, the ring tone whirring endlessly in his ear. What time was it in London, anyway? His brain wouldn't settle enough to work it out and at last, he slammed down the phone in frustration. Goddammit!  For a few moments Duncan gave in to the anger burning inside him, the surge of panic and helplessness that rose up and threatened to choke him. He picked up the phone and tried again.

This time the phone would not ring at all. Dead silence mocked him. Despite all the technological advances of recent years, communications out here in the bush remained unreliable at best, distance, geography and lack of resources all conspiring to make even the latest equipment no better than two cans and a string sometimes. Duncan knew that, but it didn't stop him from wanting to rip the phone from the desk and hurl it through the nearest window. He resisted the impulse, breathed in deeply, centering himself as best he could, and tried again.

A small dart of hope shot through Duncan's heart as he heard the ring tone whir in his ear once more. He couldn't lose Methos now, it was too cruel to imagine. In his head Duncan knew that he had every chance of surviving the crash, but in his heart, all that he could see was the man he loved, torn apart by the cataclysmic meeting of earth and aircraft.

No. He pushed the image aside -- Methos would be fine. He had to be.

The rough tearing sound of gravel being spurted from beneath the wheels of a jeep made Duncan start. He spun around towards the window just in time to see two vehicles heading out of the camp. The rescue party. He stood, every muscle taut with frustration, watching the jeeps until they disappeared into the bush.

Duncan was still watching, transfixed by the place where he'd seen the rescue party last, when a voice on the other end of the phone line surprised him so much he almost dropped the receiver.

"Montgomery residence," a refined British voice announced.

Duncan identified himself and asked to speak to Grace, trying desperately not to bellow at the man in his urgency. Mrs Montgomery was in the garden, he was told, if he would be so good as to wait...

Waiting was interminable, a torture, every cliche he'd ever read and then some. Sweat drizzled down the center of his spine and dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. Methos would be all right, he assured himself, as he swiped the sweat away. A mocking voice was gathering its forces in the back of his mind when Grace's lilting accent found his ear.

"Duncan?" Grace asked, in that way she had, the way that should have made him smile. Would have -- on any other day. "Duncan, what is it? What's wrong?"

Duncan cut straight to the point. "Grace, I need a favor. Adam's here -- you know, the one I told you about and--"

Grace broke in excitedly, "But Duncan, that's wonderful! You've found him again. You..."

"No, Grace," Duncan said soberly, over the top of her happy chatter. "There's been an accident, the chopper he was in has gone down and I need you to get Grant to organize supplies and transport for me."

"Duncan? I don't understand...hasn't a rescue team gone after them already?"

He blew out an exasperated breath. "Yes, of course, they just left, but--"

Grace cut him off. "Then you should let them do their job -- they know what they're doing. Be patient, Duncan, your Adam will be all right."

Duncan's gut knotted -- alternately hot and cold with a mixture of fear and frustration. He gripped the telephone so tightly that his fingers began to numb. "Grace," he answered tightly, "I have to get out there. I can't explain it, it sounds so...foolish, but I know he needs me."

"All right, Duncan, I trust your instincts," she answered. There was the faint sound of footsteps in the background and Grace added distractedly, "Hold on a moment, my love, Grant is here." Then Duncan heard a muffled shuffling and the phone went quiet for a few frustrating minutes.

At last, a low British tone -- achingly reminiscent of Methos' -- came onto the line. "MacLeod -- Grant Montgomery here. Look, Grace has explained the situation to me and while I understand your wish to go after your..." the uncomfortable pause was almost imperceptible, but not quite, "friend, I can't in all good conscience, authorize you to go after them at this stage--"

Duncan couldn't believe what he was hearing. He cut Grant off midsentence. "I can't just stand around here and wait for them to bring him back in a bag!" he ground out.

"That wasn't what I was suggesting at all, MacLeod," Montgomery cut in smoothly. "What I was going to say was that you give the team a little time to do its job. Stay in touch with them -- if they don't bring him back today, then certainly, I'll give you every assistance."

Disagreement was on the tip of Duncan's tongue, but from somewhere deep inside himself he managed to wrench the shreds of good sense. He agreed and even found the presence of mind to thank Grace's husband for his cooperation, even though the tightness in his gut still seemed to reach right up into his chest until he could barely breathe. They said their goodbyes briefly -- Duncan adding a message of gratitude to Grace -- and then he replaced the receiver, his hand still shaking from unused adrenaline.

His head so full of plans, contingencies and preparations that he almost felt that Methos was whispering into his ear, Duncan strode out of the office in search of Dr Mboku and news on the rescue party's progress. The feeling that Methos was with him was so infinitely comforting -- a lifeline that he could cling to -- that the fear seemed to ebb, just a little. His feet squelched as he made his way across the compound, the sticky mud, heavy with clay, clung to his boots and weighed them down. But Duncan barely noticed, his mind firmly fixed on the hours ahead.

Methos was alive -- he had to be. Duncan refused to believe otherwise until he held the evidence in his hands. Harsh words would not be the last ones exchanged between them. If only will and belief could make it so....

He found Daniel in the logistics office. The doctor was sitting at the computer, and he made a small, almost furtive movement with the mouse before looking up to meet Duncan's eyes. Duncan wondered at the action, briefly, but shook it off with his need to know the latest news overwhelming him.

"Has there been any word?" Duncan asked without wasting time on pleasantries.

Daniel frowned and Duncan wondered briefly whether the doctor had been offended by his bluntness, or if there was something else at play. Daniel turned away from the desk and stood before answering, "Not yet, MacLeod, give them time. And speaking of time," he continued, "it's time that you got to work. I know you're worried about Matthew, but there are a great many more people right here who need your help. There's a supply truck due in about an hour -- no, actually, I'll meet that -- the back-up generator needs checking and you still have to meet your team." The doctor rose from the chair and stepped forward towards Duncan, grasping him by the upper arm and steering him in the direction of the door. "So, let's get on with it, okay?"

Duncan knew that Daniel was right, he could do nothing for Methos right now, but there were people here that he could help. He pulled together what concentration he could, and tried to focus.

***

The noise of the camp caught Duncan's attention. He wasn't sure why, but he'd expected it to be quieter -- the people to be more subdued. But the long rows of eight foot by four foot blue plastic shelters burst with life, with raised voices and the bustle of people talking, singing, arguing. Mothers called to children, men's voices chorused in a traditional work song from the end of a row where a latrine was being dug, children's voices rose contentiously. The familiar melody of a Christian hymn sung in pure harmony floated out on the smoky breeze. It could almost have been any small African town. Almost.

The difference here was the people. They were thin -- some beyond thin, skeletal -- reduced by suffering to the barest minimum, distilled by famine and the marathon walk until they appeared constructed entirely of bone with the merest covering of stretched, dry skin. And these were the well ones, Duncan knew, the others -- those even more debilitated by illness, injury and starvation were kept at the hospital. But these people in front of him were survivors. Tough...strong. They had done whatever they needed to do, paid whatever price was required in order that they and their families survive. Pieces connected in Duncan's mind and he no longer wondered why Methos wanted to be here.

Thoughts of Methos made his heart ache -- the not-knowing was eating a hole in his chest. There was a hollowness inside him so large he could almost feel the wind blowing through -- cold and chill despite the heat of the afternoon.

They stopped in front of a crowded payotte -- a gathering place -- at the end of a row of tents. Daniel looked around the teeming space, his eyes narrowing. "Agustinho said that he would be here. He's usually pretty reliable."

A young man, looking barely out of his teens, emerged from the crowd, holding a naked baby boy in his arms. He smiled broadly at Daniel, turning his head to nod a quick greeting to Duncan. "Dr Mboku!" he cried excitedly, reaching out to pull a very young, very thin woman in a tattered red headscarf and long, ragged skirt to his side and hug her tightly with his free arm. She was tall and high-cheekboned, with sad, watchful eyes that seemed to have had all the hope drained out of them. "This is my sister! I have not seen her for two years -- since I went into the mata to get away from the FAA batidas. Her husband has died but this is her son, little Agustinho -- named after me," he beamed. "She carried him on her back, walking sixty kilometers to get here as soon as she was strong enough from the birthing." He was so excited his words were as rapid as machine-gun fire.

The young man was almost incandescent in his joy and he kissed the baby noisily on its bald little head before handing him back to his mother. "I will come back after I have finished work and we will go to my house," he told her, releasing his grasp on her with palpable reluctance.

Duncan kept waiting for Daniel to tell Agustinho to forget about work for the day and take his sister and her child to his home, but no such direction ever came and though he wondered at it, he said nothing. "Agustinho," the doctor said, "This is Duncan MacLeod, the new logistician. He's taking over from Simeon Nguni. You will be working with him from now on."

Duncan thrust out a hand. "Good to meet you, Agustinho. It's wonderful news that you found your sister again, you must be very relieved."

The young man took Duncan's hand and shook it firmly in the African fashion, a wide smile still gracing his round face. "Oh, yes," he answered. "I am very glad to see her. For two years now I have not known if she was alive or dead. She will come and live with my wife and I in the village now. Our house is small, but we will make room somehow."

Duncan nodded and sent the young man a smile. This small piece of good news in the midst of so much suffering did a little to lift Duncan's spirits. If a reunion could happen here, in the midst of all this, if two people could find each other amongst the surging thousands here in camp, then maybe it wasn't so impossible that he and Methos might find each other too. The small shred of hope brought the worry flooding back again and it took a massive act of will to pull it back under control once more.

The three men emerged from the tent city near the hospital buildings and skirted around towards the back. Duncan smelt the generator shed before he saw it, the distinctive stench of diesel rising above even the camp odors. Daniel unlocked the padlocked door and opened it, gesturing Duncan inside. The shed was hot and dark and filled with the hulking machine, Duncan eased around it, finding a model he'd at least seen before.

"I believe they've been having trouble getting it started. You'll find all the tools you need in that cupboard behind you, MacLeod -- the fuel is in the tanks outside. I'm sure Agustinho can fill you in on anything else you need to know. I'll find your other assistants for you and send them down to meet you after they unload the supply truck. Okay?"

Duncan smiled and nodded, already pulling on a greasy coverall, before rifling through the toolbox. His panic over Methos could almost be pushed to the back of his mind here, in the face of so much need. Not entirely, though. It simmered there, in the lower reaches of his consciousness, a lurking menace waiting for an unguarded moment. The shed door banged against the wall as Daniel chocked it open and left without another word.

He and Agustinho, 'Gus, please, Mr. MacLeod,' soon settled down to wrestling the dinosaur of a generator into submission. They chatted quietly as they worked and Duncan heard how Gus had met his wife, a local girl, when he was a refugee here and she was a nursing aide. Duncan could hear the mixture of love and awed fear in Gus' voice as he spoke of his wife and had to grin a little to himself, she sounded like a tough lady. More than anything, though, the soothing rhythm of the other man's speech, the focusing on another's problems, the simple act of listening, helped to keep him from tearing himself apart with frustration. Duncan was more grateful to Agustinho than he could ever tell him.

He tried to make Gus call him Mac, instead of the more formal 'Mr. MacLeod' but it was a lost battle. So he let it slide for now. He would find another way to put them on a more equal footing. Duncan thought again about the story Gus had told him, about the courage that these people took almost for granted. "Agustinho, may I ask...you said that you went into the mata to escape the FAA batidas. Now, I know the FAA is the government army, but the rest...?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Mac," (this being the only compromise on his name that he could get out of the young man) "I forgot that you are new. When the soldiers come to a village and want to take away food and supplies, they force some villagers to carry it for them, or they die, most of the time they die anyway. That is batida. Many of us escape into the mata -- the bush -- but we must be very careful. In Moxico province, where I was born, UNITA troops hold much ground and they are as bad as the FAA. They like to kill with the machete if they think you are on the government side. Women, children...it does not matter. True -- not true...it does not matter. So, two years ago, I walked here. It was a very difficult journey, but it was better than dying like a dog in the bush. I think that maybe one day in my country there will only be armies, and no people left for them to rule at all."

There was steel underlying this young man's bright and happy manner and Duncan found himself warming to him. Although Duncan had, in fact, been briefed extensively on the violence that both armies were perpetrating on the people of Angola, it took on a completely different aspect in this place, told by this man. No longer an abstract horror, but a real and tangible fact of life. "Well, I'm glad you're here," Duncan told him. "I look forward to working with you."

Gus had heard on the grapevine about the chopper crash and they talked about it a little as they worked, Duncan unable to hide his worry about Methos. But Gus would have none of it, his optimism overwhelming. "Don't you worry about Dr Booker, Mr. Mac; he's one bloody tough guy. He'll be all right, you'll see. They will be back in no time. One time...maybe last rainy season, I think, I heard that Dr B got bitten by a big old Gabon adder out by the latrines behind the hospital. My friend tell me that he strangled the snake and went back to work, no trouble at all." Gus nudged Duncan with his elbow and grinned, repeating, "One bloody tough guy."

Duncan couldn't help but return the smile. Oh, Methos...legends just seem to follow you around, don't they?  He could easily imagine Methos' ire at being seen cheating death. He would be utterly incensed, mostly at his own carelessness, and no doubt he had concocted a perfectly plausible explanation within seconds. At that moment, all Duncan wanted was to be able to ask Methos himself the truth of the matter. If he was lucky, he might even get it. That thought only brought the yearning back into sharp relief and Duncan clenched his fist tighter around the wrench he held, forcing the pain down.

He tightened the last bolt on the generator's starter motor housing and stood up, stretching the stiffness out of his muscles. "Give it a try now, Gus," Duncan instructed. The genny purred into life at the first try, and Duncan heartily clapped his assistant on the back and smiled. "We make a good team," he said above the noise. "You'll be doing this by yourself in no time at all." He flipped the manual start switch back to its 'off' position and added, "I'm going to get a breath of fresh air before we clean up. Back in a minute." The diesel fumes in the small, hot shed had been making his head pound for the last hour.

"I'll do the clean-up, if you like, Mr. Mac," Gus offered easily. "I'm used to this stink."

Duncan nodded gratefully, smiled again and stepped outside. The afternoon shadows were gathering and odor of a thousand evening meals being prepared over a thousand cooking fires was strong on the light breeze. His thoughts went back to Gus' words about Methos; the Old Man was a bloody tough guy, Duncan knew that only too well. Any seeming fragility about Methos was simply an illusion, an effect cultivated as camouflage, nothing more. He had a better chance of survival than any other person on that chopper but, as much as he wanted it to, the vision of Methos returning in the rescue party's jeep would not solidify. Instead, all he could see in his mind's eye was a broken rotor blade turned into an airborne guillotine...

A vaguely familiar voice raised contentiously interrupted Duncan's thoughts and he turned away from them gladly. He looked around for the source of the noise but could see no one. Walking around the back of the shed, he could see, perhaps fifty meters away, the supply dock and the large, secure buildings that held the food and medical supplies. The voices -- and he was sure now that there were at least two -- grew louder, but he still could not see the speakers. Something about the voices, or the nature of the exchange -- though he could never have said exactly what -- made him follow it up.

A few steps further along, took him to an angle where he could better see the supply dock. He squinted against the rays of the dying sun and looked again at the wooden structure. Two figures stood beside it, their postures tense and aggressive. As Duncan watched, there was more animated exchange, though quieter this time, the taller man gesturing pointedly at the smaller one and then, after another minute, a package about the size of a thin paperback novel was handed over from the smaller man to the taller, who tucked it in the front of his trousers.

Duncan shifted quickly behind the shelter of a nearby building, flattening himself against the wall, while continuing to watch. The handing over of the parcel seemed to ease the tension between the two men a little and Duncan watched as the man who taken the parcel clapped a conciliatory hand to the shoulder of the other. They parted and soon after, Duncan heard the rough rumble of a large truck starting and driving away.

The man who remained stood still while the truck left, apparently watching it leave. Then at last, the tall man turned so that Duncan could see his face, lit in profile from behind by the setting sun. Duncan's heart sank. If his instincts were correct and this exchange was part of what he'd been sent here to find, it could hardly be worse.

The man was Daniel Mboku.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Continued in Chapter Five Back to Main Page Back to Contents