The Golden Chair

by A J Fontenot

  The other question nagging at her was the one that had been with her since she talked to McGillis back in D.C. The connection between Lennox and her mother’s death. It was thin… So thin there wasn’t actually anything there… Except for the one thing: Lennox was in Mogadishu when her mother died. That, and her mother named him in her notes.

  She looked again at the graphs in her hand. Paul was right. If there’s a play here, it needs to be made…carefully.

  The next few days would be critical, she decided. Right now, she wasn’t on anyone’s radar. Carl, despite whatever he was doing, had given her some latitude. And Lennox didn’t know she was here. If she was going to find something, she needed to do it fast, while she still had the upper hand.

  26

  The MOH

  Erin paced back and forth in the trailer that was too small for pacing.

  The door opened, and sunlight blanketed the inside. Marisol walked in.

  Erin sat but didn’t look at her.

  “Am I…interrupting something?” Marisol said.

  Erin held up a finger. “What are you doing right now?” she said.

  “Uh…nothing,” Marisol said. “What’s up?”

  “If we borrow one of the trucks, do you know the way back to Accra?”

  “Yeah, but why?” Marisol said.

  “I have something I need to…,” Erin said, still in thinking-mode, “Something I need to do. Can you take me?”

  “Sure, when do you want to go?”

  “Now,” Erin said, looking up at her again. She picked up the printouts from Gavin and stuffed them in a small bag she slung over her shoulder. The two of them walked out of the trailer.

  Outside, Paul was still sitting behind his Land Rover parked under a large tree. His chair was leaned back and his feet were propped on the tailgate. He was looking through a set of papers, pen in hand.

  Erin started to walk to the older Land Rover. But Marisol stopped her, “No way we’re taking that one,” she said, “no air condition.” Marisol walked up to Paul.

  “Paul,” she said, “need to take your truck down to Accra.”

  He looked at them both and started to respond.

  “Girl stuff,” she said, “you know.” And without waiting for a response, she held her hand out, palm up. “Keys, please,” she smiled.

  Erin thought Paul might say something, but he didn’t. He just reached into his pocket, trying to pull his keys out without standing up. “When are you coming back?” he said.

  “Oh…,” Marisol said, “we’ll, um, definitely be back by…” She cut her eyes toward Erin.

  “Tonight,” Erin said.

  “Tonight,” Marisol finished, nodding her head, still holding out her hand.

  Paul dropped the keys in her hand.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but Marisol had already turned and started walking toward the truck. She got in and started the engine.

  Erin climbed into the passenger side. And as she was pulling her door closed, Marisol had already started driving. Marisol pushed a button, and the sunroof slid open.

  The ride down to Accra was uneventful. The road was flanked by the same red dirt and endless green trees she’d seen on the way up. The only changes to the scenery were the small towns they’d occasionally pass through.

  Marisol spent most of the ride, to Erin’s relief, doing the talking. Erin, for her part, spent the ride looking out the window and making occasional ‘mm-hmm’ sounds.

  As they drove into the city limits for Accra, Marisol turned to Erin.

  “What’s the plan? Where to?” Marisol said.

  “Ministry of Health. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yep,” Marisol said, nearly clipping a motorcycle that had buzzed through their lane. “We have to file paperwork with them every few months. Have to get their stamp. So we have to drive in and do it in person.”

  Marisol turned off a larger road, nearly missing a completely different motorcycle, and pulled onto a smaller tree-lined road. It was a strange dynamic, Erin thought. Neither the motorcycles nor Marisol seemed to notice how they kept coming to one of them ending up under the wheels of the other.

  “This is where a lot of government buildings are,” Marisol said.

  Even though they were still in the middle of the city, it immediately felt quieter. There weren’t as many people walking around in this area.

  “The MOH — the Ministry of Health — is here,” Marisol said. “Along with the trade office. And the Port Authority has a central office here, too.”

  They passed through a checkpoint. A soldier in dark green fatigues, rifle slung over his shoulder, stood next to it. Marisol rolled down her window and held out a badge. She slowed the Land Rover but didn’t stop. The guard took a short step forward to look and then motioned her through without reading any of it.

  They drove on through the tree-lined street. Erin saw larger, non-descript buildings. Marisol parked in a small parking lot near one.

  “This is it,” Marisol said.

  Erin looked up at it.

  “If what Gavin showed me is correct,” she said, “then all we need to do is prove it. We can’t put SERA in the middle of it. That would risk…other things.”

  “Such as?” Marisol said.

  “Well, SERA is one of the NGOs my client, ITG, works with. And like most big organizations, they don’t like controversy. They’d just assume cut ties than investigate the ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ of the matter. Besides,” Erin continued, “if Paul had wanted to bring SERA into it, he’d have done something already.”

  “So…”

  “So what I really need is for the Ministry of Health to agree to back me on my investigation. I’m not bringing them an official problem yet. But when I do bring a case to them, I want them to be ready for it. Plus, I want to quietly start looking into Lennox. I don’t want to raise any alarms.”

  “But, won’t that still spook your client?” Marisol said. “I mean, if you find something, that’ll create controversy, right?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said, “not if we do it right…”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I need to talk to the Minister of Health first.”

  They got out of the Land Rover and walked through the glass doors into the building. As they waited, Erin reached into her bag and pulled out her Washington Post lanyard, hanging it around her neck.

  She was surprised to see almost no security inside the building. It felt more like an office park than a government building. They walked up to the circular reception desk.

  “We’re here to see Minister Djan,” Marisol said.

  “Do you have an appointment?” the woman behind the desk asked.

  “No, but my name is Erin Reed,” she said, holding up the ID badge hanging around her neck. “I’m here with The Washington Post.”

  The receptionist looked at it and picked up the phone. She pushed a button, holding the receiver to her ear, and waited. “There is a reporter here, for Minister Djan,” she said.

  Erin and Marisol stood by, hearing only the downstairs-end of the conversation which was mostly a series of yes’s and no’s. The receptionist put down the phone and said, “I’m sorry, Minister Djan is not available right now. But one of his aides will be down shortly to talk with you.”

  “Thanks,” Erin said. They walked across the room and sat on a couch.

  A moment later, the elevator door dinged and opened. A younger man with a shaved head and a bright orange tie appeared. He glanced at the receptionist who gave a slight nod, and then he looked to Erin and Marisol.

  “Good morning,” he said. “My name is Akwasi Bamfokwakye,” holding out his hand to shake. “You can call me Waz.”

  Erin and Marisol shook his hand. “Hi Waz, I’m Erin Reed, from The Washington Post.”

  “My pleasure,” Waz said. “I’m afraid Minister Djan is not available at this moment. But I can talk with you on his behalf. Please, follow me.”

  Waz l
ed them to a nondescript conference room, which apparently doubled as the break room, as employees would regularly walk in to refill their coffees.

  She told him she was writing an article about NGO corruption.

  “Miss Reed,” Waz said, “it is our policy to promote the good things in our country.”

  But, she assured him, she was also here representing her client, InTrans Global (ITG), a large conglomerate who regularly docks cargo vessels here in Accra’s port. They too have “sensitive requirements,” she said carefully. They talked a bit longer. Most of it, she figured, was him coming to trust her and her intentions. And that she wouldn’t do anything to hurt the Ministry of Health in the process.

  “What do you get out of this?” he said finally.

  What she didn’t tell him, is that this kind of alliance would give her the support she needed to push Lennox to show his cards. Carl knew something he didn’t want to tell her. But there were too many coincidences. Something wasn’t right.

  “My client,” she said, “has a strong”—she paused on that last word—“interest in keeping a good profile in the media. The last thing they want is controversy. But,” she continued, “they also have a business to run. And that means they need things to run smoothly.”

  Waz considered all of this.

  “I will share this with the Minister,” he said, “and, we will be in touch with you.”

  With that, he showed them out.

  Outside, Marisol looked at Erin. “You really think that’s going to work?”

  “No idea,” she said, “but it’s worth a shot. Besides,” she continued, “it’s like what you said earlier. People like Lennox and Keeler work on intimidation. They’ve made their deals, and so they think they can get away with whatever they want. But that’s what makes them weak. They get sloppy. We’re just going to push them to get a little bit sloppier.”

  The truth was, the words Erin heard coming out of her mouth sounded more confident than she felt. There were more than a few moving parts in all of this…

  They got in the truck and drove back out onto the main road. Around the corner, Marisol pulled up to a public parking area and parked the Land Rover again.

  “I need to do a quick errand,” Marisol said. “While we’re here,” she added, stepping out.

  “Um,” Erin said.

  “Won’t take long,” Marisol said, poking her head back in before shutting the door. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes. That, over there,” she pointed, “is the Makola market. It’s fun, if you want the whole ‘Africa’ experience, carved zebras and stuff like that.”

  Marisol shut the door and walked in the opposite direction, disappearing into the crowd.

  Erin looked and saw a swarm of people flanked by buildings and bright colors. The truck, she could feel, was already getting warm. Marisol took the keys with her. Erin looked at her watch, thirty minutes… She got out and walked toward the mass of people.

  27

  Secure Line

  The sat phone beeped in his ear. That meant the connection was secure.

  “All is in place, heading your way. Three days,” came the scrambled voice on the other end. The scrambled voice…another precaution.

  “Okay,” Lennox thought for a moment. “That’ll work.”

  “Will you be ready?”

  “When the time comes, yes.”

  “Do you have the target?” the scrambled voice asked.

  “We’re close.”

  “And what about the girl?”

  “I’m going to let it play out.”

  The voice didn’t respond. The phone beeped again, still secure.

  “From one to ten, what’s our level of risk?”

  “Two,” he said, without delay.

  The voice was quiet again.

  “That’s too high.”

  Lennox’s voice remained neutral. “We might need her for leverage,” he said.

  “What about Paul Dannon? Is he going to be a problem?”

  “Not,” Lennox said, speaking slowly, “if I have leverage.”

  There was another pause.

  “Keep me posted.”

  The click stopped, and the line went dead.

  28

  It's a Go

  Erin was standing by the still-locked Land Rover when Marisol came back.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said.

  “It’s okay, I bought a carved zebra,” Erin said, holding it up.

  They got in, Marisol backed the truck into Accra traffic, and they began making their way north, out of the city. Shortly after, they were on the N6, heading back to SERA’s camp.

  Erin’s bag on the floor next to her feet beeped. It was her sat phone. She reached down and pulled it out, answering.

  “Hello, Miss Reed,” came the voice. “This is A—”

  Static washed over the line.

  “Can you say that again,” Erin said, “I couldn’t hear you.” They were already out of the city now, and reception was less stable.

  “It’s Waz,” she heard. “From the” — more static — “of Health.”

  “Oh, Waz, hi,” Erin said, “I didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

  Another wave of static disappeared. Waz was in the middle of another sentence: “…is very happy with what you proposed.”

  “The Minister?” Erin asked.

  “Yes, the Minister. I just talked to him.”

  “That’s great news,” she said.

  “But…there is something else,” Waz said, almost apologetically, “and, I’m afraid, he was very firm on this point.”

  “Okay...,” Erin said.

  “He does not want any bad relations from this. Minister Djan does not want this to look like the Ministry is working against Mr. Lennox.”

  “I understand,” said Erin.

  “Or his partners,” he added.

  ‘His partners?’ Erin thought. She briefly considered asking him about that, but then decided against it.

  “We’re on the same page, Waz. I will keep your office updated,” she said.

  “Thank you, Miss Reed.”

  Erin hung up the phone. They were on the long highway back to SERA now. She looked at Marisol.

  “Well,” Erin said, “it looks like we’re a go.”

  “Good,” Marisol said. “So…what does that mean?”

  Erin had been thinking about that, too.

  “It means,” she said, “we’re going to have to — carefully — find something solid on Lennox. Something that clearly shows he’s purposefully endangering the health of Ghanaians.”

  Marisol nodded but didn’t say anything.

  “I’m going to have to do this under the radar, too, Marisol,” Erin said. “I don’t think I’m ready to bring Paul in yet. Or anyone else at SERA.”

  “We,” Marisol said.

  Erin looked at her.

  “We are going to have to do this under the radar,” Marisol said.

  “Okay.”

  “Good. Because I know exactly where to start.”

  “You do?” Erin said.

  “Yep,” Marisol said. “The lab.”

  29

  The Plan

  The sun had set, and large drops were beginning to splatter their windshield.

  “All the data we get from Lennox and Keeler comes from their lab. It’s close to us. Well, actually, we’re close to it,” Marisol said. “It’s one of the main reasons we picked that location.”

  “What do they do there?”

  “The best way to think of it is like a chain. Both us — SERA — and Lennox can collect raw material, like soil or water samples. But our ability to process them at the raw-material level is pretty limited. We can do some basic comparative tests. But when we need to do anything else, which is most of what we do, we don’t have the tools, and so we have to go through them.

  “They help us,” Marisol continued, “by turning raw material into data that can be analyzed. Once it’s ones and zeros, we can do our w
ork.”

  “Which include projections and reports,” Erin said.

  “Right. Once we’ve got the data, Gavin can compare it to the datasets we get from the WHO and the CDC. They give us access to databases for that reason. Then we make models and predictions, and Paul and Ben work with local governments to help them to help curb outbreaks and health issues.”

  “So…does Lennox run this lab?”

  “Yeah, as far as I know he does. That guy, Keeler, works with him. But he’s more like hired muscle. Not really the ‘science’ type.”

  “How long has SERA worked with Lennox?”

  “For as long as I’ve been here. SERA hasn’t been in this location for too long. SERA has other units and offices in other parts of West Africa, too. In fact, there’s a regional office in Accra, which is one of the reasons our field team is so light.”

  Erin thought about this for a while.

  It was dark outside now. The two had stopped talking, and the rain outside was falling steadily now.

  “Marisol,” Erin said, “how did you ever get connected with Paul?”

  “That,” she said with a smile, “is a long story. But I think we’ve got other, more pressing things to talk about. Like how we’re going to actually get something we can use from Lennox’s lab…”

  That question had also been rattling around in Erin’s mind, too. Anything illegal would be, well, illegal. And considering the stakes, that wasn’t an option. No, it would have to be some—

  “I’ve got an idea,” Marisol said.

  “Yeah?”

  “We’re going to need a camera. And…” Marisol looked at her, “how good are you at climbing?”

  30

  Lee Jun

  Lee Jun sat at his desk, reviewing a series of charts that had just come over the fax. He was presently trying to fill in the gap where the transmission had left a gap.