Hongo opened his eyes. Three faces looked down at him. He felt unfocused. His mind was in a haze. Tiyana held the big man’s hand. As he looked around, she squeezed it in a comforting way.

“Habari gani, Hongo.” Hunter said.

“Nzuri sana.” Hongo weakly replied.

“They gave you heavy painkillers and B12, but you are alright for the most part. The bullet just grazed your clavicle. You lost blood and you needed stitches, but, other than that, you are fine. You’re a real trooper.” Hunter said. On second thought, he added, “and a crack shot. Seriously Hongo. That was impressive shooting.”

“Did he get away?” Hongo asked.

“He did. He flew south and slightly west.” Virgil responded.

“Did you find anything out?” Hongo asked Tiyana.

“No. I dropped some serious coin though. I got us a couple dinner invitations from parliament members. I’m not sure if those will turn out to be rabbit trails or if we could actually learn something. I don’t trust them much to help us. I do trust them to try and extort more money.” Tiyana replied.

“We could always go back to the warehouse and dig around.” Hunter suggested.

Hongo chimed in, “I heard one of them speaking a Bantu language that sounded like Makua. We had a couple Makua on the digsite that I managed in Tanzania.”

“Really? And that means…” Hunter trailed off.

“They could have been from southern Tanzania or northern Mozambique. They most likely came from Mozambique, probably a coastal town since they would have to have known their way around ships to become pirates.” Hongo brainstormed.

“So we look into northern Mozambique ports?” Tiyana asked.

Hongo shrugged.

“Yes, let’s do that.” Hunter answered.

“What exactly are we looking for there?” Tiyana asked.

“Look for missing people.” Virgil responded. “If I know Ghaelvord, he will be building an army.”

Hunter seemed deep in thought. “Some of the gang were feverish. They looked pallid, like they hadn’t slept. They were sweating and moved in jerking motions. Also, their pupils were too small. They had an empty look in their eyes. And, they were incredibly strong.”

“It is the yzorak-al’ghul. It is a combination of Ghaelvord’s kebaac and a forbidden biological weapon saved from the Aldenduenum’s demise. His use of it is base. It is vulgar.” Virgil shook his head in disgust. Then, he added, “We should search for breakouts of it.”

“Northern Mozambique coastal ports and breakouts. Check and check.” Tiyana nodded as she summed up.

“Let us go.” Hongo said.

He sat up in his hospital bed. The motion made him dizzy. His head felt unnaturally heavy and he had trouble balancing it. He fumbled in an attempt to dangle his feet over the edge.

“Hongo, lay back.” Hunter said as he pushed Hongo back against the bed. “You are out of it right now. I am going to stay here with you and keep you company. Tiyana and Virgil are going to find the nearest internet café and start researching. Right?”

He turned to face Virgil and Tiyana. They nodded.

“See you around Hongo. Get some rest big guy. Way to take one for the team.” Tiyana said with a warm smile.

Virgil gripped Hongo’s arm on his good side and gave a look of solidarity. With that, they left.

• • •

Bonifacio Macamo enjoyed a good hand-rolled, long-leaf maduro cigar. He sat on a large balcony at the new State House of Mozambique. As the recently-elected president, his first order of business was to have an absolutely palatial new hillside palace built. The balcony would seat hundreds and would serve as the center of innumerable lavish diplomatic parties over the years. Today, however, he enjoyed a post-brunch cigar with only two men. These two men had quickly garnered his good graces and would probably garner him profitable business transactions. One man had frighteningly leonine facial features. His proud nose rested above stern lips and his demeanor commanded respect. Bonifacio never met a man that he could not bend to his will, but something in his pale guest set Bonifacio’s nerves on edge. The army of well-armed personal bodyguards strewn throughout the palace comforted him, though he did not know why. He generally felt that they were unnecessary and that he could handle himself.

The other man had yellow eyes and olive skin. Bonifacio thought he seemed reasonable enough. The two men had offered a fairly straightforward trade, a large container vessel full of iron ore and timber for a little protection and assistance in blood diamond smuggling. Considering the wealth of legitimate mines and logging companies that Bonifacio had recently privatized into his possession, he could easily launder quantities of pirated ore and timber. Also, this would not be the first black market diamond trade that he had ever engaged in with various cronies from the Congo. All in all, the deal seemed right up his alley.

“You are truly a magnificent host.” The pale guest said. “I hope that we can become the greatest of friends. Let this be a business relationship that withstands the test of time.”

With that, he raised his glass of champagne. Bonifacio and the other man joined him in a toast.

“Where did you say that you were from?” Bonifacio asked. “I do not quite recognize your accent.”

“I come from many places and belong to none.” The man responded.

“You were in Somalia rallying the dregs of society to, shall we say, impose tariffs on their sovereign waters. You also have a thriving diamond trade in the heart of the Congolese jungle. Finally, your associate has Arabian features.”

Bonifacio was probing for information. He did not like to deal with people that he did not know. His private investigations into the backgrounds of his guests had gotten nowhere. It was like these men were ghosts.

“I deal on my own terms. I see opportunities and I take them. If the opportunity arises in the lawless coast of Puntaland then I am there. If I see opportunity in the middle of the Congolese jungle, then I am there. I am a wanderer, a nomad, a vagabond, a shiftless rover, and a hopelessly dedicated businessman. While you may find my day-to-day operations unsavory, do not mistake my brigandry for recalcitrance. I never deal harshly with my trading partners. How do you think I built such a large operation outside of the reaches of the law?” The pale man said as he sipped champagne and orange juice.

He had a leisurely attitude and showed no desperation. This surprised Bonifacio somewhat since selling ore and timber on the black market was never easy and since Bonifacio’s Nacala Railway seemed like the only viable option for the amount of product that this man wanted to ship. Bonifacio had privatized the railroad and allowed his brother to purchase it for a song and dance. One of the subsidiaries of Bonifacio’s shell corporations owned a timber trucking company that did business in Malawi and could get the crates from the jungle to the rail yard in Mchinji. Bonifacio could not imagine who else could provide this type of service.

“You are clearly an educated man. Now, you say that you built a large operation and yet I have never heard of you. I do have quite a large network you know.” Bonifacio mused somewhat accusingly.

“I have no doubt that you do, but I wear many hats and the right hand of my operation rarely knows what the left is doing, or even that the left exists.” The man said as he shrugged off the remark.

“Still, I like to keep my friends close and my enemies closer. Strangers, on the other hand, I never let out of my sight, even for a second. I suppose I do not need to mention that I could have you both thrown in irons right now in one of the dingiest hellholes of a prison that this world has to offer.” Bonifacio applied pressure to see the reaction.

He wanted to get a sense of how much leverage he would have in the price negotiation phase of their dealings.

“True, but you would fail to make one of the most profitable new relationships of your life. If you believe that this exchange will conclude our business, then you are sorely mistaken. I have plans Mister President.” The man leaned in close and stared with his piercing eyes. “I have much bigger plans.” He drew out the word “bigger” for dramatic effect.

“Interesting, but I have my own plans. I am the President now. That is a lot of mouths to feed.” At this last statement the president raised his fingers and rubbed them together in a gesture of solicitation.

“Do not push your luck or throw your title around with me. You get one ship. I get transportation. We make the exchange and the exchange concludes our transaction. I do not take on debt. No man has his finger in my pocket.” The pale visitor took a firm stance.

The glare that the man flashed the President sent chills through his ministerial spine. Still, many years of driving hard bargains fostered habits that died hard.

“Let us stop dancing around the issue. You cannot get transportation anywhere else.” Bonifacio was pretty sure that this was true, but the man’s calm demeanor made him add tentatively, “It is just not possible.” He waited to be contradicted, but no response came so he went on, “And, therefore, this transaction indebts you to me. I will own you after this.”

The pale guest returned a glare of unbridled wrath. He did not like getting backed into a corner, especially when he had made a perfectly reasonable offer. The anger, however, only showed for a split second before the face broke into a winsome grin.

In a cloying tone, the man said, “Would you like another cigar? I would like you to enjoy one from my own private collection. Handrolled to perfection. I personally supervised. Smoking is somewhat of a private obsession of mine.”

Bonifacio hesitated for just a second. He got an ominous feeling, but it soon passed. Surely no one would try to poison him in his own palace. He did enjoy cigars and he was always on the lookout for a better roll. He did not like taking consumable gifts from strangers, but then again, he was Bonifacio Macamo, conqueror of the country, president. If he wanted a cigar, then he should have it. He accepted.

When Bonifacio woke up the next morning, he remembered agreeing to all of the man’s terms, but if his life had depended on it, he could not remember why.