--------------------------------- July, 1960 - Lusaka, Zambia --------------------------------- Half a continent away from Anna Politkovskaya and the past she was leaving behind, Andrew Walls was still running from his. For two weeks he, and the girl who he had come to know only as Ferro, had blundered through the jungle. They had bounced from place to place until, at last, they had slipped across the Rhodesian - Zambian border. It hadn't been easy. The Communists inside Zambia had been doing their best recently to overthrow the Royalists who still supported the King of the Lozi People. The Royalists controlled most of the army and police forces so it had been a one sided battle until recently. At the moment the Communists were still confined to the more rural sections of the country and they used the rough terrain to lash out at Royalist and Rhodesians alike. Unlike the Rhodesians, however, the Royalists were painfully short on airpower and Andrew had seen how Rhodesian aircraft ranged into Zambian airspace with little regard for national borders, bombing and strafing Communist positions at will. Two weeks of jungle hell had landed the couple in Lusaka. Andrew at first feared that they might be questioned but the streets were full of the wounded, displaced, homeless, all of them refugees from the fighting in the countryside. They were just two among ten of thousands. The press of humanity oppressive after weeks in the jungle. The stink of so many pushed together, the sick, the dying, the doorways cluttered with bodies that snored under thin rags. The children were the worst, begging, stealing, or even operating in packs to take down larger adversaries in search of food or money. The police could only be bothered to protect the locals, what refugee's did to each other was of no consequence to them. It seemed that the soldiers only took a look at you if you were carrying a firearm, or a basket big enough to conceal one. Since Andrew and Ferro had literally nothing but the clothes on their bodies, they were left largely alone. Once a soldier had tried to suggest Ferro should come with them but she shrunk from his almost childlike face and hid behind Andrew. The strangest sight of all was the complete lack of white faces to be seen, no matter where he turned. He assumed most of them had fled to Rhodesia or South Africa when the Communist insurgency broke out. It made him feel a good deal safer. All of his current enemies were from white governments in Rhodesia and America. Not much of a chance they would be blending in around here. The concrete was warm under their bare feet as they padded down one of the side streets. The houses around them were not poor by any measure and the sky above their heads were choked with a never ending network of laundry lines, power cables, and, for some reason, a pair of shoes tied at the laces and thrown over one of the lines. Automobiles were even more rare here than Rhodesia and only on a few occasions did they rumble through and they were almost exclusively police or military patrols. In each case they had stood off to the side, smiled blankly, waved back if waved at, and then choked on the diesel fumes as the vehicles passed by. "You look lost, friend." A voice called from a nearby doorway and Andrew turned quickly to see clean shaven and well dressed black man smiling at him from below a sign marked [i]Rooms. Cheap.[/i] "You might say that." Andrew replied, looking up and down the street and then back at the stranger. Ferro was pressed against him, her breathing loud in his ear as a small dust bunny whirled by on the street. There was no one else to be seen as the street curved away as it were a large crescent shape. "Our first time in Zambia." "Well welcome then," Replied the stranger with a grand wave of his hand. Andrew took a closer look at him as he moved out of the shadow of the doorway. He was wearing a clean white shirt, dark grey trousers of a local make, and had a pistol tucked into the waist of his pants, held in place by a red sash. "To the alley of lost souls!" "Alley of lost..." Andrew felt his heart sink and his face must have mirrored his thoughts because the man burst out laughing. "Naw Ek Se, I'm fucking with you. This here is part of the Church Circuit." He grinned and pointed up at the spire that soared above them. Andrew hadn't noticed it before. Indeed he had failed to notice that the [i]Rooms. Cheap.[/i] was actually hanging from the wall of the church. Much of the lower side had been covered by smaller dwellings but this door still stuck through. The frame was of black brick, the main building of red that had once been white washed but it was now peeling away. It was evidently some side entrance and he noticed the little wooden doorway that you could once have, and maybe still could, put an unwanted child so that someone inside could raise the child as a God fearing member of the Church. The stranger had a fine smile and his eyes did not betray any evil intent to Andrew. He hadn't become a drug Kingpin by being bad at reading people and he felt confident that the man meant them no harm. He chuckled in spite of himself and then pointed at the sign. "Cheap rooms? What's the catch?" "Gotta earn them, Ek Se." It took Andrew a moment to realize that the man was calling him "friend", or at least a slang version of it anyway, in Zambian. His eyes narrowed though as he looked at the pistol and then at the church. "What sort of work, friend? I ain't one for muscle work anymore. "No, no," The man laughed again then stepped into the street, hand extended. "I am Brother Isaiah. I keep an eye on this here portal to make sure none of the undesirable's come on in and try to help themselves to the offerings, if you know what I mean." He flashed a golden cross from his shirt at them as if it was some of talisman. "I believe him." Ferro's voice interrupted Andrews thought process and she stepped around him to approached Isaiah. She bowed slightly and offered him a greeting in a language Andrew did not recognize. Brother Isaiah's eye widened then he bowed and replied in the same language. They spoke for a moment and Isaiah's eyes became hard as he glanced at Andrew, hand straying to his pistol. Another burst of chatter from Ferro and he relaxed, then extended his hand to Andrew. "You saved one of the sisters. Well done you." "Sister?" Andrew asked uncertainly as he shook the hand. Ferro nodded at him. "Yes, I was a nun before... Well, before I met you. I can speak common Zambian, English, and Latin." "A nun in Rhodesia?" Andrew couldn't keep from blurting the question out and Isaiah raised an eyebrow at him. Ferro only nodded. She still wasn't much on speaking, though the bruises she had sustained from the attack were nothing but unhappy memories now. "You're from Rhodesia?" Isaiah's tone was still friendly but he looked wary, glancing up and down the street before swiftly opening the door behind him and ushering them in. The darkness beyond the door yawned wide and Andrew couldn't help but worry for a brief moment. He hesitated before stepping into the blackness. The door behind him slammed and heard the sound of a bolt sliding home. There was silence for a moment then the sound of a match being struck and light flared as Isaiah lit a hand held lantern. He waited for the flame to settle and then glanced sharply at Andrew. "You must be Andrew Walls, the American, then?" "How the fuck..." Andrew's body felt as if someone had dumped ice water over him. How the hell did a Priest in the middle of Zambia know who he was? He almost began to look for a way out of the space but he could see no way except past Isaiah. He bunched his fists and prepared to dive at the man if he went for the pistol. "A friend of mine told me about you in a letter. He fed you in a cave when you crossed the border." In an instant Andrew's memory flashed back to the cliffside hideout, concealed in the deep brush, and kindness that had received from the Communists who called it home. He unclenched his fists and nodded slowly. "You mean Bupe? Tall fellow, short spiked hair, funny way of dancing and singing?" Isaiah nodded. "One the same. I guess you probably didn't know then, he's dead. The Rhodesian's killed him and most of his group a few days ago. By the grace of god, one of them was able to send us a signal before they were overrun." "You're a Communist then?" Andrew asked in disbelief. "Isn't that out of step with the church?" "There is room for Gods house for all, Andrew. But we must keep you of sight. Rhodesian agents are in the city and they've been asking about you. I don't know who you are, or what you did, but you pissed them off something fierce." Isaiah was now leading them up a flight of well fitted wooden stairs and the sound of chanting could be heard above. "Well, that should be easy to avoid. White face stick out like a sore thumb around here." Andrew began to relax. At least, here, amongst other blacks he might be safe. He doubted he would stay long but heck, anywhere was better than running for a while. He was so lost in thought that he crashed into Isaiah as the man stopped abruptly to look at him. "White? What were you doing in Rhodesia? Smoking crack? The Security Forces employ many blacks and people of colour. They are not fools." Isaiah had no idea just how well he had hit Andrew's previous line of work on the head. He hadn't had anything for almost three weeks now of course and the withdrawal had been terrible but whole "not dying" thing had kept him pretty focused. "Well I need to get out of here then. Can you help me?" Andrew asked as they passed through a low doorway into a long room filled with single bed cots. Some were filled with sleeping forms, some were empty. Those that had occupants also had weapons leaning against them. Andrew looked around. "What [i]can[/i] I do?" He asked with some despair. "You sleep, you wait, and when the time comes, you fight."