AMBASSADOR ROBERT OWELEEN was tall and willowy, almost too thin, a silver-haired man of maybe sixty. He stood behind his large antique desk flanked by American and Nigerian flags. Two aides stayed where they were, on a small couch in an alcove off to one side.

“Mr. Cross.” He shook my hand, unsmiling. “My God, what happened to you?”

“A lot. I won't waste your time. I'm here about a man, a killer, known as the Tiger. It's a matter of Nigerian and American security.”

He swept my words away in the air. “I know why you're here, Mr. Cross. I've been getting all kinds of pressure from Abu Rock about you.”

“Excuse me-Abu Rock?”

“The capital. It seems that the only one who wants you in Nigeria is you. The CIA has actually saved your life here, haven't they?”

Now I was a little dumbstruck, to add to my general numbness and dizziness about what had happened recently. The American ambassador knew about my presence here? Was someone taking out billboards about me or something?

“We're sending you home today,” Oweleen continued, with finality in his voice.

I looked at the floor and back at him again, trying to keep it together. “Sir, the man I'm chasing is a mass murderer. He may have government ties here. He's definitely involved with the police in some mysterious way. If I could just have a chance to reach my CIA contact in Lagos-”

He cut me off. “What exactly do you think your authority is, Mr. Cross? You're a visitor in this country, nothing more than that. You can take this up with the State Department if you wish. In Washington.”

“He needs to be stopped, sir. Yesterday he murdered a reporter for the Guardian named Adanne Tansi. I saw him kill her. He murdered her entire family. He's responsible for at least eight deaths in Washington.”

Finally, Oweleen exploded. “Who the hell are you? I never even heard of you until three days ago, and now I'm taking time out for this? Do you have any idea what's going on here?”

He waved his hand at the plasma TV on the wall. “Turn that up.”

One of the aides pushed a button on a remote-and then I watched the TV in shocked silence and with dread.

Chapter 118

THE TV WAS tuned to CNN. A British reporter was speaking over an image of an upscale housing complex-white two-story buildings in neat rows, shot from high above.

The overlay read “Breaking News-Summit Oil Residential Compound, Bonny Island, Nigeria.”

“Never before have families been taken,” the reporter was saying, “and certainly never this number of live hostages. In an e-mail to the international press, People for the Liberation of the Niger Delta now have claimed responsibility for the incident-with these shocking images attached to their message.”

The screen switched to grainy infrared video.