Read Online Rare Earth by Davis Bunn - Free Book Online Page B

came into view, Marc knew that was not happening. Parked before the main gates was a United Nations helicopter, the white paint glowing almost gold in the dusk.
    As they approached the chopper, Marc finally asked the question he had carried all the way back. “Why risk trusting me at all?”
    Kitra turned from the dusty lane leading to the camp’s heart, and replied, “Because you know no fear. Just like Serge.”
    He did not know how to respond.
    â€œNo, that is not correct. Serge was different. He was fearless because he was happy.” The admission brought fresh pain. “He was defined by joy. And you, Marc Royce? What are you defined by?”
    He did not wait for the truck to halt before climbing down.
    Kamal stepped through the camp gates and said through Charles that the UN officials were with the camp elders. They assumed Marc and his team would be exhausted and had suggested they all meet in the mess hall. Marc rode into the central compound with Kamal standing on the truck’s running board.
    The water from the overhead cistern was blood-warm and soothing. He drained the tank, then dressed in fresh clothes and headed for the mess hall. He was standing behind Kitra in the buffet line as the screen door slapped open and a beaming burly man entered. “Marc Royce!”
    â€œThat’s me.”
    â€œStand easy, Mr. Royce. I know all about how tired a day on the road can leave you.” He offered Marc a hand the size of a spade. “Frederick Uhuru. UN district administrator. May I join you?”
    â€œSure thing.”
    â€œLet us take this table by the window.” The UN administrator was huge and solid. He was also clearly tired. Weariness and old sweat made his broad features appear almost greased. He wore a blue shirt with the UN insignia over the pocket, and navy trousers. A pair of young aides planted themselves by the side wall as Uhuru settled onto the bench opposite Marc. “The elders have some grand things to say about you and your methods, Mr. Royce. They are normally reluctant to speak of strangers. So reluctant, in fact, I am left with the distinct impression that you are a stranger no more.” Uhuru’s deep voice carried a lilting formality as he turned and waved over a group of newcomers. “Your camp’s new batch of administrators arrived at HQ just as we were departing. We offered them a lift.”
    The UN administrator rattled off introductions, and Marc shook their hands, though his weary brain could not keep hold of their names.
    Uhuru asked, “How would you describe the situation at the Red Cross camp, Mr. Royce?”
    â€œJust as you told me on the phone. Organized starvation.”
    â€œCan your group supply both camps?”
    â€œNot with what we have in Lodestone’s Nairobi warehouses. I spoke with our HQ on the return journey.”
    â€œThe Mombasa port is in a state of absolute chaos. Ten times the normal ship traffic has jammed the waterway. Mountains of goods wait to be off-loaded. And once they are, the roads are nearly impassable because of the refugees. Your people have transport helicopters, do they not?”
    â€œYes.” Marc had toured the Lodestone hangar during his seven days in Nairobi. “And fixed-wing transport designed for short takeoffs and landings in the bush.”
    â€œSplendid.” He lifted himself from the bench far enough to extract a ratty map from his pocket. “There are three more camps in this vicinity that face similar straits, Mr. Royce. I want you to take temporary responsibility for getting them supplies. They are here to the northeast. Your nearest landing strip is here in Eldora, the district capital. There was formerly another strip at the base of Mount Elgon, but it is lost beneath a blanket of volcanic ash. I know; I flew over it this morning.”
    Uhuru raised his hand and a young aide instantly handed over a pen and blank document. “I am hereby