A man in an olive-green military uniform strolled through the door. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a close-cut gray beard, and nearly charcoal-black skin. Two men with Kalashnikov rifles flanked him. He walked directly up to where her father knelt next to the president and asked in French, “Mr. Akinjide, do you know who I am?”

The president glared up at him. “You are Chukuwereije. Your men have terrorized my people for years.”

Chukuwereije nodded to a man standing with him, who stepped forward and punched President Akinjide in the cheek with a gloved fist. Zalika gasped. The sound of the punch sickened Cynthia. The man had probably supplemented his glove with something like steel shot.

“You mean your starving people? The poor and destitute who live out in the jungle? People who travel for days just to get basic medical care provided by Western pigs?” Chukuwereije tapped his chest. “I have not been the one terrorizing your people. They are yours to terrorize after all.”

President Akinjide straightened, his cheek split and already swelling. “You have killed innocent people, maimed mothers, stolen children. You are an evil man.”

Chukuwereije nodded again, and the soldier punched the president in the abdomen. The president fell forward and didn’t immediately straighten.

The terrorist focused his attention on a man next to her father. “You are Apst Gatawwa, minister of the interior.”

The man in the white jacket with gold flourish nodded and raised his chin. “I am Minister Gatawwa.”

“Minister Gatawwa.” Chukuwereije gestured in his direction, and the soldier behind the kneeling officials walked up behind the minister. “For crimes against your people, I find you guilty.”

Before Cynthia could think, the soldier shot the minister in the back of the head, and the man slumped forward. She gasped as women screamed, and another official in the line with her father started to cry. President Akinjide roused, saw his minister lying near him, and tried to reach out to him, but the soldier grabbed him by the back of the collar and hauled him up. He demanded the president put his hands behind his head.

Cynthia could see her father’s arms trembling behind his head. He couldn’t hold that position indefinitely. She prayed for strength for him to endure whatever came next. He looked at her, his eyes calm, his expression unreadable.

Zalika had her arms wrapped around herself, and even though her entire body trembled, she made no sound. Would Chukuwereije go after the daughters of the two men, or would he leave them alone?

Her answer came much too soon. Chukuwereije gestured at Zalika. “You will come to me.”