Shift Delete

by Gary L. Rashba

  Not really interested in conversation, Lippnow kept it short with, “Lots of accidents, I guess.”

  The driver just beamed back with a big smile, proud of his city.

  From the moment he got off the flight in Lagos, Lippnow found nearly everything shocking and disorienting. He felt so different here, but not because his skin color made him so obviously different from the locals. The incessant hounding by people competing for his attention, the chaotic traffic, the smells and sights and sounds. It was a case of sensory overload that made him very tired all of a sudden.

  A crowded yellow minibus with passengers hanging off the back drove past them. Lippnow looked at the other drivers, who smiled back as they took the traffic situation in stride. He saw miserable-looking shacks, tin shanties and run-down and neglected areas, with an occasional modern building looking very much out of place. Lippnow took in billboard advertisements, the buildings, even the crazy traffic and appreciated the country’s differences.

  Truly saddened by the explicit poverty he could see, he made a mental note to look into some type of relief efforts for Africa to which he could contribute to the common people’s well-being that might help make a difference in their lives.

  Crowds of people streamed along the streets and sidewalks. He noticed a gas station that looked abandoned, yet what appeared to be gasoline being sold by the roadside from jerry cans.

  “What’s this? No gas?” Lippnow asked.

  “No sir,” the driver explained. “You see, the petrol stations are supposed to sell subsidized petrol. But the fuel has been diverted to the jerry cans where it is sold at higher, black market rates.” Again, a proud smile from the driver.

  Lippnow recalled something he had read about Nigeria on the internet while preparing for the trip. “Expect the unexpected!” the person had written. “Because there is nothing that can prepare you for the experience that is Lagos!”

  Now that he was here in Lagos, he recalled the internet traveler forum accounts from Lagos that he had dismissed as being exaggerated were anything but. It was chaotic but exciting. Though he was only a passenger, Lippnow still felt like he had endured an ordeal when they finally reached the hotel in the business district on Victoria Island on the south side of the city. An island—literally and figuratively—of tranquility: spacious, orderly and best of all: guarded. He felt relief from the friendly welcome by courteous, professional hotel staff. He found his room rather simple for what he was being charged, and it reeked of cigarette smoke, but he understood that this is how it was in Nigeria. At least he felt safe, and could now relax and enjoy the nice view looking out over the Atlantic Ocean. He headed down to the lobby lounge to meet Karl.

  Soft music played in the background of the dimly lit hotel lounge where Lippnow, dressed in khakis and a Nautica golf shirt, was relaxing with a cold draft of local Star lager, semi-reclining on a low velvet quarter- moon shaped couch with a high back while speaking with his German business partner Karl Lcinhos. The German had a very intense, some might say scary appearance, with a widow’s peak receding hairline, high cheekbones, narrow face and penetrating eyes. But he had an easy-going manner about him. He was dressed in a bright green flower-print shirt, white cargo shorts and sports sandals. Karl’s English was excellent, just heavily German-accented and intonated. It always took Lippnow’s ear a minute or two to grow accustomed to his speech.

  “What else can you get your hands on?” Karl began.

  “I don’t know. What are you looking for?”

  Karl nervously looked left and right to make sure no one was nearby enough to hear their conversation. “Control devices,” he answered softly.

  “For what?” he asked without thinking, a fraction of a second before he honed in on precisely what Karl was talking about, especially given his overly cautious, almost cryptic approach on this one. It certainly explained why Karl insisted they meet only face-to-face.

  Karl leaned forward. Lippnow did the same. It was almost humorous: the men’s faces were just inches apart, appearing as if they were about to kiss. In a security precaution in case someone was trying to record them or even read their lips, Karl cupped his hands around his mouth and quietly said, “Centrifuges. Gas centrifuges, yah?” He leaned back and watched Lippnow carefully for a reaction. There was none, nor did Lippnow say anything. Karl leaned forward again, repeating his cautious drill of hiding his mouth. “It’s dual-use equipment,” the German clarified.

  “Hi. May I join you?”

  Startled by the interruption, the men looked up to see a very sexy African woman in a short red dress. Her skin was dark, but her delicate facial features indicated an ethnic mix of some type.

  Lippnow shook his head no, politely adding, “We’re busy,” pointing to Karl and back to himself.

  She smiled and responded, “I understand,” and sat down very close to Darrel anyway.

  Lippnow thought of Leonardo DiCaprio in the 2006 movie “Blood Diamond” saying, “TIA, This Is Africa” depicting the “anything goes” aspect and appeal of the Dark Continent.

  Karl, seated on a comfortable armchair across from the low round cocktail table that held their drinks and a small bowl of peanuts, had evidently chosen his seat strategically; he knew the drill.

  “Where are you from?” she asked Lippnow, ignoring Karl.

  “Do you mind?!” he asked, trying to get rid of her.

  “No, not at all.” She smiled. Her teeth were white and perfectly straight. Lippnow now took the time to notice that she was quite pretty and that she carried herself with confidence. She stayed put.

  She leaned forward and took a small handful of nuts.

  “I like nuts,” she said with a smile.

  Lippnow smiled. “Now that’s a conversation-stopper,” he said. “What do you expect me to say now?”

  “That you will buy me a drink!”

  “I’ll buy you a drink,” he answered, defeated by her persistence. “One drink. You can tell me all there is to know about your fascinating country, and then this jet-lagged traveler will retire for the night.”

  “Not alone!” she objected with a playful smile. “You haven’t tasted the local fare.”

  Lippnow blushed. He actually liked her quick wit.

  Karl excused himself, catching Darrel’s eye with a smile that said, “Have Fun!” But Lippnow was not interested in getting AIDS from some African whore, witty and attractive as she was.

  They talked for the few minutes it took for her Amaretto to arrive, and then as she slowly sipped it, she thought she was making headway with him, but he wasn’t interested.

  “How far do you live from here?” he asked.

  He’s the one with the hotel room, she thought. Why in the world would he want to know where I live?

  “Not far,” she answered.

  Lippnow wished her well, said goodnight and reached into his wallet to pull out two 1000 Nigerian Naira banknotes which he offered to her, asking, “Is this enough for cab fare home?”

  Insulted, she got up and walked away, looking for another prospect.

  He ordered a large bottled water to take to his room, signed for it on his room tab and headed off.

  21. EXPECT THE UNEXPECTED

  The following day Darrel and Karl met with a Nigerian general contracting firm in a sleek, new high-rise building in the business district. The taxi ride to the meeting felt a bit awkward, limited to small talk about the weather and crazy local driving habits, avoiding anything of substance as Darrel mulled over what Karl had begun to tell him before that whore had interrupted them.

  They reached an office that read “Nigeria Building & Infrastructure” on a heavy frosted glass door with a wooden frame. After pushing the call button on an access control keypad, a friendly Nigerian man wearing a suit opened the door and greeted them.

  “Welcome my friends,” he said, waving his arm inward
to invite them in. The office had faux hardwood flooring accented by brightly-colored Oriental carpets and runners. The lobby was decorated with enlarged photographs of construction projects: a hospital, an office building, an industrial plant, a stretch of highway with a clover-leaf junction, an airport terminal, sea port and a residential neighborhood of handsome houses. A young Caucasian woman sat almost hidden behind a reception desk. She smiled and greeted the men in very proper British English. Interesting mix of people here, he thought.

  “I am Yakubu,” the Nigerian man introduced himself as he extended his hand to Lippnow. “Please come in.” He had shiny skin and a wide smile that revealed a mouth full of straight teeth.

  As Yakubu escorted them to a conference room, Lippnow quietly asked Karl sarcastically, “How do you find these people?”

  Karl responded with a smile, and his cheeks reddened slightly.

  They took seats around a sleek transparent glass conference table in a handsomely-appointed conference room with a full glass wall overlooking the ocean. There was a self-service Nespresso machine on a corner table. Wary about how long the milk might have been sitting there, Lippnow dropped in a capsule and closed the breech-like lever that always reminded him of a bolt action rifle or an artillery piece. He pressed the button for a short espresso before taking his seat at the conference table.

  “There is a huge problem in Nigeria with the theft of crude oil and refined petroleum from tankers,” the Nigerian began explaining. “In fact, there is more piracy here than in Somalia, hard to believe as it may be. Many, many vessels are attacked. Did you know Nigeria produces two million barrels of oil a day? Yes! We are one of Africa’s largest producers.” Lippnow found the cadence of the way he spoke irritating.

  “The reason for so many oil tankers,” Yakubu continued, “is because we don’t have enough oil refineries. Did you know this country can refine less than a quarter of our oil production?”

  Did you know this? Did you know that? What does this guy want from me?

  “OK, so what’s that got to do with me?” Darrel asked slightly irritated before looking to Karl for an explanation.

  “Bear with him,” Karl responded. “It is important for you to understand this situation well.”

  Yakubu continued. “Every day, hundreds of tankers are plying the Gulf of Guinea and the Niger Delta, creating the perfect storm for pirates to operate. There is a well-organized industry for stealing oil. It even has a special name here: ‘bunkering’!”

  He paused for a moment before continuing. “So we are to build a mega oil refinery here in Nigeria. We will be the general contractor for this turnkey project, acquiring all the equipment to build this very special facility.”

  Turning to Karl unamused, Lippnow said, “Don’t tell me you’ve brought me all the way to Nigeria to put razor wire and pan-tilt-zoom cameras around an oil refinery.”

  “Mr. Lippnow,” the Nigerian answered with a smile. “There is no project!” He flashed his wide smile.

  “Huh?” He definitely did not like this guy.

  “Mr. Lippnow. We need you and your United States connections to get many items for our refinery that are restricted.”

  “But didn’t you just say a moment ago that there is no refinery?”

  “Precisely!” the Nigerian answered, again with that annoying smile.

  Turning to Karl, an annoyed Lippnow demanded in a raised voice, “What the fuck is he talking about?”

  Karl smiled at his angry cohort. “The items we need you to help us get are dual-use items for a very special project.”

  “What kind of ‘very special project’?”

  As Lippnow listened intently, he nodded his understanding.

  So it was “industrial equipment for a new mega refinery.” Karl leaned to him and said, “We vill call this simply ‘the refinery’.” Lippnow again nodded his understanding, with no expression on his face.

  “Where’s the real destination of the goods?” he asked. He had an inkling it was Iran, but it could be North Korea, Syria or some other country he hadn’t thought of.

  Karl waved him off. “Not now.”

  Lippnow nodded acceptance.

  Yakubu added that he would provide all proper End Use certificates for the goods they wanted Lippnow to procure in the United States for the refinery. “This is Nigeria,” Yakubu explained with a happy smile. “Enough Nigerian Naira or, better yet, U.S. dollars and I’ll get you an official End Use certificate for the moon!” He and Karl laughed at his joke, while Lippnow merely smiled a closed-mouth grin as he pondered all that he had heard.

  Following the meeting on the way to the airport, Lippnow reflected on the meeting. He was not fond of the Nigerian, whom he found rather annoying, and lacking focus. Yakubu had asked Lippnow if he could help move ivory, but Lippnow wanted to stay focused on the deal at hand. He jotted down some notes and agreed to look into it, appearing cooperative and interested, but he had no intention of dealing in such dirty business of poaching elephants for the ivory in their tusks just to satisfy consumers in China with ivory carvings, figurines and statuettes, which the Chinese consider lucky or even a status symbol.

  Lippnow could guess how this all worked. Probably a healthy bribe to win a contract for some national infrastructure project, developing relations with officials that allowed the company to secure future projects, end use documents and whatever else they needed.

  Lippnow called Karl’s cell phone from the airport. “Karl, it’s me.”

  “What’s up, Darrel? You didn’t say much on ze way to the ze airport.

  “I’ll do some checking when I get home.”

  Karl smiled happily. “I had a feeling you’d be interested. I vouldn’t have brought you all this vay odervise.”

  “I don’t like the African guy.

  “Never mind him. He doesn’t know anything about ze business. All he knows is zat we’re discussing a shipment that vill go to United Arab Emirates.”

  “What’s all this shit about ivory?

  “Darrel, bitte. Don’t worry about him, ya?” Karl tried to dismiss Yakubu’s involvement.

  “He won’t get in the way?”

  “They are necessary Darrel, ya?”

  “You mean a necessary evil!” They both laughed.

  “How do you think I got you through ze airport so easily when you come?

  No, no. He’ll do his part and be done with it. He’s small.”

  “OK. I trust your judgment. I’ll be in touch as agreed.” Lippnow hung up the phone and headed towards the departure gate for his flight to Frankfurt, stopping at the restroom which he was disgusted to discover had no water or toilet paper. Better to wait for the claustrophobic airplane bathroom—at least those are relatively clean.

  Lippnow wouldn’t have anything to do with killing elephants for their tusks, yet here he was considering a deal to illegally supply nuclear weapon components to fundamentalist nutcase Shiite Muslims in Iran. This is Africa.

  The cell phone call was picked up under a United States Government interception program called MYSTIC that secretly monitors calls in several international telecommunications systems. Extensive reception and interception antenna installations located around the world collect, store and process massive amounts of information as part of the U.S.’ war on terror, drug trafficking and other crimes. With so many electronic means of communication, from cell phones, internet surfing, emails and text messages, the U.S. Government’s signals intelligence efforts could collect unfathomable quantities of “Big Data.”

  Computers at the National Security Agency in Fort Meade, Maryland scouring call contents for metadata tags like Iran, nuclear, drugs and terror recorded the call, tagging it with the word “ivory,” whose trade was associated with funding terror organizations and conflicts throughout Africa, like its better-known cousins, the “blood diamonds.” A hub of arms merc
hants, trade and arguably the internet scam capital of the world, Nigeria was very much in the crosshairs of this NSA program. An analyst would determine there was no pressing operational need for wiretapping in this case, but the cell phone number was entered into a huge government database where crucial details could be quickly retrieved if and when necessary.

  22. SALAMI AND CABBAGE

  Seated at his large mahogany office desk, Lippnow googled “Nigeria Building & Infrastructure” and was not surprised to read about allegations of money laundering and tax and building violations. Despite police investigations, charges were always dropped.

  Innocent until proven guilty, he thought to himself with a smile. Or innocent when you pay off the prosecutor! He chuckled at his own joke.

  His searches indicated that NBI had managed to stay off the U.S. Government’s Specially-Designated Nations, or SDN list. Dealing with companies or individuals on this list of “bad guys”, whose assets are blocked would have been a non-starter since it would catch the attention of U.S. authorities and thwart the possibility of exports.

  He had already made up his mind to go for it. Or at least to learn more about these “dual use” items Karl said were needed. That meant meeting the customer, which Karl arranged to do in Warsaw. He was nervous about this, but had made up his mind. Karl wrote him that he would “introduce him to some people” in Warsaw. Lippnow found it strange—almost cryptic—the way Karl phrased it.

  While checking-in at the Lufthansa business class line, Lippnow looked with contempt at all the economy class passengers waiting in the long check-in line. He traveled light, with just his wheeled carry-on bag as that got him out of the destination airport quicker. It was also about control. With his suitcase in his hands, he controlled it; Lippnow couldn’t stand the idea of the TSA prying through his bag, even though he had no prohibited items. He hated arriving at his destination and noticing something different about his bag, opening it up to find a TSA “Notification of Baggage Inspection” notice that his bag had been searched, as if he were some common criminal. But at least the TSA tells passengers when their bags have been searched. It’s what the government doesn’t tell you that was of much greater concern and drove his passion for privacy.