Chapter Forty-Eight
Restaurant Unique
New York City, New York
Everett Westcott sipped his wine slowly as he watched Dr. Nelson Anderson cut into his last piece of venison. Nelson didn’t act like most guests Westcott usually invited. Nelson was relaxed, didn’t seem threatened by his presence, which was rare, and everything he’d said during dinner had been thoughtful and earnest.
Still, something about him was off.
“I’ve been with MSF for a long time,” Nelson said, using the French initials forMédecins Sans Frontières. “It’s rewarding work, challenging, too, but ... I think I’m ready for a change.”
“Really?” Westcott asked. “You’d like to go back to practicing medicine?”
Westcott had been wondering why Nelson had reached out to him. He had a feeling he was about to find out.
“Maybe,” Nelson said, reaching for his own wineglass. “Or ... if the right opportunity came up, I’d consider something with Hearts United.”
There it is . . .
While the statement didn’t shock Westcott, it did come somewhat as a surprise. In theory, someone with Dr. Nelson Anderson’s reputation and pedigree would be a prestigious acquisition for Hearts United. Nelson not only had a stellar reputation on the world stage, he’d also been doingimportant, high-profile work for Doctors Without Borders for more than a decade. But while he’d also been a staunch ally to Westcott and Hearts United in Kenya, the last time the two men spoke, Nelson had clearly indicated he wasn’t going to leave the NGO.
So, what had changed?
“You’re serious?” Westcott asked.
Nelson nodded and offered him a warm, modest smile. “You once said I should reach out if I was ever looking for new opportunities. So, I thought I’d take you up on that.”
“I remember. And I meant it,” Westcott replied. “We’ve done good work together.”
He let the silence stretch a moment.
“There might be something opening soon in the DRC,” he said carefully. “It’s a high-level position that requires the kind of expertise you have, Nelson. And now that I think about it, you’d be the perfect fit.”
“The DRC? Really? I ... I appreciate that. I really do,” a rattled Nelson said.
From Nelson’s dazed expression, it was obvious to Westcott that the man hadn’t expected to receive a job offer on the spot. And then Nelson smiled again, but this time it felt forced, as if he had forgotten to smile and had realized his mistake.
“I can’t tell if you’re happy about the offer or not, my friend,” Westcott said.
“I know how much you care about the DRC and its people, but the country is going through some very complex changes at the moment,” Nelson said. “The National Assembly is in disarray, since the arrest of Prime Minister Bongonda, and you know, with allegations that he was an operative of the River Congo Alliance ... I’m ... I’m just not sure I understand the region well enough to be of service. I mean, Bongonda? With twenty million dollars in an offshore account? I didn’t see that one coming.”
“Not many people did, so don’t get too worked up about it,” Westcott said with a smile. “Honestly, I was taken by surprise too. But you know what? As shocking as Bongonda’s arrest is, I trust the Congolese people will sort it out. And who knows, with Bongonda’s removal, this might clear the way for President Mutombo’s agenda, which I support.”
Westcott studied Nelson carefully, looking for any clues the man didn’t agree with him ... or that he was too eager to go. If he was to place Nelson in an important leadership and operational position in the DRC, they had to see eye to eye. But on the other end, no sane man, especially not one with Nelson’s real-world experience, would accept a high-profile job in the DRC without reticence.
Unless someone asked him to seek me out.
Westcott didn’t think it was the case, but since the Sofie Bergmann incident, he was going to be much more careful about who he brought into his inner circle. After dinner was done, he was going to have a long talk with Mpassi about Nelson Anderson.
“The truth is,” Nelson said, “depending on what it is you have in mind for me in the DRC, I may or may not be the best suited candidate for the position. I’d have to know a lot more about what would be expected of me before I even considered it.”
The man’s answer quieted some of Westcott’s doubts. If Nelson had been tasked with infiltrating Hearts United, wouldn’t he have jumped at the opportunity Westcott had just offered him on a silver platter? But he hadn’t. Nelson Anderson was well versed in the complexity of the region Westcott wanted to send him to, and he was intelligent enough to know he might not have all the answers. Which was something Westcott appreciated.
So why do I feel there’s something else?
They finished the meal with light talk, mostly discussing what was going on in Eastern Africa and a potential pharmaceutical partnership between Doctors Without Borders and an American company.
“Thank you again for dinner, Everett,” Nelson said, shaking his hand.
