by A J Fontenot
“Paul?” Ben said. “Mate, Paul trusts us…meaning,” he said, lowering his voice, “we don’t have to share every little detail. Right?”
Gavin looked at him.
Ben kept his eye on the temperature gauge on the dash has he pushed down on the accelerator, causing the back tires to kick up a cloud of dust.
13
Some Changes
Erin left the Metro and walked, on autopilot, while her brain was elsewhere. Processing. Replaying.
Was the van aiming for Paul?
Why was Ibsen hesitating before?
What has she missed in the reports Lennox had sent over?
She put her key in the lock, turned the knob, and pushed her front door open. She reached around the corner for the lightswitch, throwing a blanket of light behind her out into her yard.
Erin lived in a safe neighborhood. It was one of those things she was, at the same, thankful for and annoyed by. Thankful she didn’t have to worry too much about break-ins, but annoyed by the sterile nature of neighbors whose biggest concern seemed to be who cut their lawn and when.
At that moment, however, as she closed her door, she had a different feeling. She felt, distinctly, that she wasn’t alone. The hair on the back of her neck stood as she felt like she was being watched. Or…maybe, she thought, that was just a bit of paranoia from before, left over from almost being run down by a stranger in a van a half-hour ago.
As she shut her door, she felt her phone buzz. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and saw a screenful of notifications.
A text from Richard — her on-again, off-again (currently off-again) boyfriend:
“thinking about you. we should give us another go.”
Get back together via text… She shook her head. “Nope…” she said under her breath as she thumbed through her other notifications.
A text from Ibsen.
A missed call from Ibsen.
A voicemail from Ibsen.
As she clicked through to listen, another text from Ibsen came in:
“call me.”
She tapped back to the missed calls, touching his name, and put the phone to her ear.
“Hey,” Ibsen answers. “Where are you?”
“I’m—”
“I was thinking,” he said, not waiting, “you were right, we should do this.”
“Do…what?”
“The story.”
He was hyper. More than usual. It almost sounded like he was on something…
“Where are you, Carl?” she asked.
“I’m here. Office. Was thinking about what you said you were right. This is the way to go,” he stressed. It almost sounded like he was trying to sell her on something. Like she was one of their clients. It was a switch she’d watched for years, one she was all too familiar with.
“Carl, wait,” she said. “Just a few hours ago you were strong-arming this. And you’re calling me at—” she stopped to look at her watch, “—ten-forty at night. What’s happened?”
“Happened? Nothing. You were right,” he said, still talking in rapid bursts. “Okay, listen, gotta go. Heading out. Go do it, okay. Julia’s got your tickets. Emailed them to you.”
“Tickets?”
“Yeah, Ghana. Just…,” he said.
She could see him in her mind’s eye, waving a hand, dismissing the details.
“…shadow SERA for a few days, write it up, we’ll publish it somewhere later. And ITG will appreciate it.”
Erin pulled the phone from her ear and tapped the speaker button and opened her email. A new email from Julie: ‘Fw: Your flight confirmation from IAD to KIA.’
Erin turned off the speaker and put the phone back to her ear.
“…is good. Good call,” he was still talking.
“So…wait. Now you want me to go to Ghana? Just like that.”
“That’s what we’re talking about. Of course. It’s good. You’re good. See you in a few days.”
“Okay but—” she started.
He was gone.
She stood in her foyer, still holding her phone and thinking through this strange call she’d just had. Carl had always been an impulsive person. But it wasn’t like him to not have a plan. To shoot from the hip. For all of the show, he really was a good strategist. She couldn’t help but feel there was something else she was missing…
Her phone vibrated again. She looked down. It was Conall McGillis.
“Hey,” she said, her mind still floating in and out of the last call.
She heard a heavy sigh on the other end. “You’re not going to believe this. I don’t even believe I’m telling you…”
“What is it?”
“Lennox,” he said. “After we hung up, the name kept nagging me. Or maybe it was your constant—”
“What is it.”
“I pulled out the old files,” he said. “I looked back through the daily briefs Gillian was sending me. It’s been a long time, ya know,” he said, starting to drift into the weeds.
“Conall.”
“Anyway — I didn’t find anything there.”
Erin put the phone on speaker and leaned against the wall, pushing off her shoes as he continued to talk. She walked into her living room.
“Then,” he continued, “I happened on a note I’d written on one of my calls with Gillian. I didn’t remember it until now.”
Erin stopped walking.
“It was one of those off-handed things. I’d written his name down. Then I did some more digging. I went back through a different file, sideline stuff.”
“And?”
“And, he was one of her sources.”
Jonah Lennox was one of mom’s sources…, she thought.
“What was his connection?” she said.
“I don’t know. He was a nobody. It was the only time she ever referenced him.”
Erin thought about this. It wasn’t much.
Then she realized, for the first time today, for the first time in years, she was smiling. Not the kind of smile that shows up on your face, but the kind that buoys you from deep inside.
“Erin? You still there?”
She picked up the phone, turned off the speaker, and put it to her ear.
“Yeah,” she said, “I’m here.”
“Sorry, it’s not much.”
“It’s enough,” she said. “Oh,” she’d almost forgotten, “Carl just called me a minute ago. This is really weird…and I’m not sure I know what to think about it. But he’s sending me to Ghana.”
“Ghana?”
“Yeah. The loggers who were killed by the bacterium.”
“Right, but… why? AP’s already picked that one up.”
She considered that for a moment.
And then she thought about the van and the warning Paul gave her.
“Well,” she said finally, “there might be more to it.”
“Okay,” he said, “keep me posted.”
Erin hung up and sat back on her couch. She began to feel the wave of adrenaline wearing off. She wanted to think through this more. To at least figure out Carl’s angle. She opened her email again and looked at the message from Julia. It was an early flight, tomorrow morning.
She didn’t have time to buy anything new. But she’d done these last-minute trips before. That in itself didn’t bother her. But it was Carl… and that van, and… before she realized it, she was falling asleep. She walked upstairs while she still could, and fell into her bed, setting the alarm on her phone as she did.
14
The Ministry of Defense
Lennox held out his arms. The security guard passed the wand down one side and up the other.
“All clear,” the guard told him.
“Mr. Lennox,” the tan-suited man stood waiting for him. “It’s good to see you again. This way, please.”
The two of them walked briskly down the hall, deeper into the Ghanaian Ministry of Defense.
“The Minister has briefed me on the nature of your visit,” the
tan-suit man said.
“Mm-hmm” Jonah said, without looking at him.
“Yes, and we are grateful for your contributions. Normally, something like this would be handled by the Ministry of Health, but as it has a…,” he hesitated, “weaponized component, we are, of course, naturally taking the lead on it.”
Lennox continued to not listen as they walked.
They approached another checkpoint. Tan-suit held up his badge. The guard looked long enough to verify it was, in fact, a badge of some sort and then waved them through. They walked into a large atrium, lined with portraits of past presidents. Busy workers moved about. They approached an elevator on the far wall. Tan-suit pulled out his badge and swiped the card reader. The light turned green, and the elevator opened. They walked in, and Tan-suit pushed the button for the fourth floor. The shiny brass mirrored interior reflected them in all directions as the two of them stood in silence. The elevator beeped and giggled as it moved up.
With a ding, the doors slid open to two armed guards, permanently stationed on the fourth-floor landing.
Jonah exited, not waiting for Tan-suit, and began walking down the hall.
The other man walked a few steps at a time, to catch up with him. They entered an octagonal wood-paneled room, a kind of foyer for several key offices. On the opposite wall was a large, heavy wooden door with a brass plaque next to it that read, ‘Defense Minister: Ebo Rumfa.’
The door was open slightly, and Tan-suit knocked on the door frame.
An older, thickset man sat at the far end of the office. In front of him was a large wooden desk, and behind him, large windows overlooking trees and a street not open to the public. The walls were lined with bookshelves and awards. In the middle of the room were a pair of couches situated around a coffee table.
At the sound of the knock, the man looked up from his paperwork.
“Mr. Lennox here, sir,” Tan-suit said.
The Minister motioned with his hand.
Lennox walked in, and Tan-suit followed. The man stood awkwardly, apparently not sure if he were expected to stay or go.
Lennox turned and looked at his escort for the first time.
“That will be all, Isaac,” the Minister said.
“Sir,” he said with a slight bow.
“And,” Rumfa added, “shut the door.”
“Sir,” he said again and walked out.
Rumfa stood from his desk as Lennox sat on one of his leather couches. The older man walked to the cabinet to his right, opened the glass door, and pulled out a crystal bottle of brandy.
“Imported from Tbilisi,” he said, with a slight smile. He held out the container to Lennox. “Drink?”
“No.”
“You’re missing out,” he said in a sing-song voice that didn’t seem to match his appearance. “This is better than your Kentucky bourbon.”
“My Kentucky?” Lennox said.
“Not European accent,” Rumfa said as he poured his own glass. “Where else?”
“Ebo,” he said slowly, not bothering to use his title or even his last name. “I didn’t come here to talk genealogy.”
“See, that’s the problem with Americans,” he said, sitting down on the couch opposite Jonah. “It’s always go, go, go. And then, before you know it,” he held up his hands, theatrically, “life is over.”
Lennox stared at him as he talked. Not responding. Not doing anything.
Rumfa waited for him to respond, but he didn’t.
“So you’re here,” Rumfa said, “about our little project then.”
Lennox continued to look at him.
“Do you have it?” Rumfa said. His voice no longer had the playfulness from before.
“Soon. We know where it is. And we’ve,” he paused to find the right euphemism, “cleared the decks, to make for a quiet extraction.”
Rumfa stood and began pacing, drink in hand.
“And about the different…,” Rumfa said, as if he were working through a mental checklist.
“Taken care of,” Lennox said.
“And,” he lowered his voice, though they were the only ones there, “what about the…other thing?”
“Your money,” Lennox said, not bothering to lower his voice.
Rumfa winced slightly. “Our arrangement,” he said.
Lennox pulled out his phone and pushed a single button. He held it to his ear, watching Rumfa he waited for the other end to answer.
“Transfer,” he said to the phone. He waited. “A wire,” he spoke again, “Jonah Lennox.” And he raddled off his twenty-one digit account number. “Yes,” he said, still to the phone. “Hold.”
He leaned forward on the couch, holding the phone out for Rumfa.
“Your turn,” Lennox said.
Rumfa set the glass down and took the phone.
“Hello,” he said flatly. “Yes. One moment.” He walked to this desk and slid a paper aside and began reading off his own twenty-one digit Swiss bank account number.
He handed the phone back to Lenox, who, without looking at it, put it back in his pocket.
Lennox stood and turning. He began walking to the door. As he reached for the handle, he heard Rumfa behind him.
“Wait.”
Lennox paused, not turning back around.
“I want to see it,” Rumfa said. The hunger in his voice was almost palpable. Lennox had built a business over the past quarter-century around people like this. People who wanted something so badly it had controlled them.
Lennox turned to face him.
“Ebo,” he said in a soft voice that was anything but kind, “you know we can’t do that.”
Rumfa seemed to be deciding something.
Lennox didn’t wait for him to finish talking. He opened the door and left.
15
Recon
Paul sat watching the dark SUV, sitting two houses down from Erin’s, parked with its engine running.
“Here’s good,” Paul told his taxi driver. It was five houses away. From here, Paul had a clear view of the SUV but was still far enough to avoid being seen. “Kill the engine and the lights,” he told the driver.
Paul sat, leaning against the inside of one of the back doors, watching the SUV out of the back window. Despite its tented windows, Paul knew the SUV’s driver was still in the car. Not only was the engine running, but the driver-side window was cracked. Every few seconds, a puff of cigarette smoke wisped out.
“You some kinda cop?” the taxi driver said, moving his rearview mirror to look at what Paul was looking at.
“No,” Paul said, without taking his eyes off of the black SUV.
“Guess not…they usually have their own cars.”
The black SUV’s driver-side door opened. Its driver tossed a cigarette butt onto the ground.
“Um,” the taxi driver said, “how long are you going to be doing this?”
That was a question Paul had been thinking himself. After the van, he decided to follow Erin. Just in case. He’d kept a low profile on the train. He’d never been to her house. But he had the address. He noticed the SUV on the walk. It made two passes. In a residential neighborhood. A few blocks before Erin’s street, he called a twenty-four-hour taxi service. It was one of those taxis that was also a ridesharing service, so it only took him a minute to meet up with Paul. He got in and told the driver to drive slow.
“What’s your hourly rate?” Paul said.
“Just to sit here?” he said. Then, after a slight pause, “dollar a minute.”
Paul was sure this was inflated, but he didn’t care. Without taking his eyes off the black SUV down the street, Paul passed a small handful of twenties up to the driver.
“We’ll be here a little bit longer,” Paul said.
“Hey…uh,” as if a thought had just occurred to him, “this isn’t anything illegal, is it?”
The driver of the SUV got out, shut the door carefully, and began walking on the sidewalk toward Erin’s house. Paul opened the door, reached up to
the taxi ceiling, and flipped the switch so that the cabin light wouldn’t come on when he opened the door. Then, looking at the taxi driver, “no,” he said, “it’s not illegal. And don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in five minutes.”
Paul shut the door quietly and crossed the street. He was following the man from the sidewalk. The man was dressed in dark pants and a dark long-sleeve fitted shirt. Best Paul could tell, he didn’t have a gun. But that was only from catching glimpses of his figure in the streetlight. For tonight, he was operating as if he did.
The man walked past Erin’s house, but he didn’t look at it as he passed it. Paul continued to follow him. Then, suddenly, the man ran across the street. In the streetlight, Paul caught a brief glance of him. Nothing to identify him by.
Now the man had doubled back and was walking back toward Erin’s house, slower now.
Casing.
Paul stayed on the opposite side of the street, in the shadows, behind a large oak near the street. From this point, he could see both sides of Erin’s house.
The man walked up to her house and then around the side, into the dark. For a moment Paul thought he’d lost him, as if he’d jumped the fence into the backyard or something. Then he was back again. This time he walked at a normal pace away from her house and back to his SUV. Paul stayed where he was, hidden. He had a clear view of the SUV.
The man got in the car, started the engine, and calmly drove away. Paul walked back to the taxi and climbed into the back seat. He considered following the SUV before deciding against it. He waited another twenty minutes or so, to see if the SUV would double back. It didn’t. The street was silent. Asleep.
“We’re done here,” he told the driver. “Let’s go to the airport.”
The driver looked up from his phone, its blue light throwing a blue light on his face. “Reagan or Dulles?” he said.
“Dulles,” said Paul.
It was late. The airport was deserted.
Without a bag, Paul walked through security effortlessly. He walked past vendors with their metal gates closed. He found a set of large pane windows, laid down facing them, and with his hand behind his head, went to sleep.
