spoken with the man on one previous occasion. Most people in the company
equated the experience with talking with God.
Adding to Kevin’s unease was seeing another wisp of smoke snaking its
way up into the sky from Isla Francesca. He’d noticed it when he’d first
arrived at the lab that morning. As near as he could tell it was coming
from the same location as the day before: the sheer side of the
limestone escarpment. The fact that the smoke was no longer apparent
failed to comfort him.
Giving up on any attempt at further work, Kevin peeled off his white lab
coat and draped it over his chair. He wasn’t particularly hungry, but he
knew his housekeeper, Esmeralda, would have made lunch, so he felt
obliged to make an appearance.
Kevin descended the three flights of stairs in a preoccupied daze.
Several co-workers passed him and said hello, but it was as if Kevin did
not see them. He was too preoccupied. In the last twenty-four hours he’d
come to realize that he would have to take action. The problem wasn’t
going to pass as he’d hoped it would a week previously when he’d first
glimpsed the smoke.
Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do. He knew he was no hero; in
fact, over the years he’d come to think of himself as a coward of sorts.
He hated confrontation and avoided it. As a boy, he had even shunned
competition except for chess. He’d grown up pretty much a loner.
Kevin paused at the glass door to the exterior. Across the square he
could see the usual coterie of Equatoguinean soldiers beneath the arches
of the old town hall. They were up to their usual sedentary pursuits,
aimlessly passing the time of the day. Some were sitting in old rattan
furniture playing cards, others were leaning up against the building
arguing with each other in strident voices. Almost all of them were
smoking. Cigarettes were part of their wages. They were dressed in
soiled, jungle-camouflage fatigues with scuffed combat boots and red
berets. All of them had automatic assault rifles either slung over their
shoulders or within arm’s reach.
From the moment of Kevin’s arrival at Cogo five years previously, the
soldiers had scared him. Cameron McIvers, head of security, who had
initially shown Kevin around, told him that GenSys had hired a good
portion of the Equatoguinean army for protection. Later Cameron had
admitted that the army’s so-called employment was in reality an
additional payoff to the government as well as to the Minister of
Defense and the Minister of Territorial Administration.
From Kevin’s perspective the soldiers looked more like a bunch of
aimless teenagers than protectors. Their complexions were like burnished
ebony. Their blank expressions and arched eyebrows gave them a look of
superciliousness that reflected their boredom. Kevin always had the
uncomfortable sense they were itching to have an excuse to use their
weapons.
Kevin pushed through the door and walked across the square. He didn’t
look in the direction of the soldiers, but from past experience he knew
at least some of them were watching him, and it made his skin crawl.
Kevin didn’t know a word of Fang, the major local dialect, so he had no
idea what they were saying.
Once out of sight of the central square Kevin relaxed a degree and
slowed his pace. The combination of heat and hundred-percent humidity
was like a perpetual steam bath. Any activity caused a sweat. After only
a few minutes, Kevin could feel his shirt beginning to adhere to his
back.
Kevin’s house was situated a little more than halfway between the
hospital-lab complex and the waterfront, a distance of only three
blocks. The town was small but had obviously been charming in its day.
The buildings had been constructed primarily of brightly colored stucco
with red tile roofs. Now the colors had faded to pale pastels. The
shutters were the type that hinged at the top. Most were in a terrible
state of disrepair except for the ones on the renovated buildings. The
streets had been laid out in an unimaginative grid but had been paved
over the years with imported granite that had served as sailing ships’