The surprise to me was how little attention anyone gave to two men handcuffed together. I guess these people had other things on their minds besides me and my marine guard.

The terminal at the airport was overflowing, noisy, and as chaotic as the scene of a bombing. We burrowed our way in to a security office to arrange a walk-through to the plane.

Apparently the handcuffs weren't coming off until I was buckled in tight and pointed toward home.

The waiting area was packed, like everywhere else, with all eyes turned toward a single TV. It was tuned to an African channel.

The female reporter had a Yoruban accent, just like Adanne's, and it was the strangest thing, but that's what finally put me over the edge. Tears started to roll down my cheeks, and I began to shake as if I had a fever.

“You okay, man?” the marine cuffed to me asked. He seemed like a good man, actually. He was just doing a job, and doing it well.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I'm fine.”

Still, I wasn't the only one crying in the room. With good reason. Nigerian troops had moved in on the Bonny Island complex in what was supposed to be a “rescue mission.” Instead, all thirty-four hostages were now dead. Open fighting had broken out all through the Delta region. Riots were reported in at least two other states in the south.

The images of the slaughtered hostages were shocking by American news standards. The hostages were lying on the floor of the corridor, adults and children both. The bodies were slumped and fallen, draped over one another, with bloodstained clothes, and hoods still over their heads.

One woman near me let out a piercing scream. Her family was still down in the Delta. Everyone else was quietly fixated on the screen.

“Governors' offices in Rivers, Delta, and Bayelsa states have issued warnings,” the reporter went on. “Local citizens are urged to avoid all but the most necessary travel for at least the next twenty-four hours. Full curfew is in effect. Violators will be arrested, or possibly shot.”

The marine cuffed to me, Owens, spoke. “Your plane is boarding. Let's go, Detective Cross. Hell, I wish 1 could go with you. I'm from DC myself. I'd like to go home. I miss it. You have no idea.”

I took a number from Owens and promised to call his mother when I got back.

A few minutes later we were all being led out to the airplane. I heard someone call my name and I looked to one side, toward the terminal building.

What I saw there froze my blood and seemed to change everything.

Father Bombata was looking right at me, and he raised his small hand and waved.

Standing beside him, towering over the priest-if he was indeed a priest-was the Tiger. Abi Sowande. The monster ran his thumb across his throat.

What was that supposed to mean-that this wasn't finished?