Vultures in the Playground

by A. Sparrow

  “I got mugged. That’s how—”

  “Oh, that’s just awful, just plain awful. But like I said, it’s not unusual in Monrovia these days. Well, listen … this isn’t actually my job, but let me take your information and I can find someone who can help you. Do you happen to know your passport number?”

  Archie recited it from memory.

  “Just a sec. Let me enter it into the system. You realize that you’ll still need to come here in person and file a DS-64 … uh … hang on … oh dear … this is odd. Are you sure you gave me the right number? I might have made a mistake in entering.”

  Archie gave her the number again, speaking slowly, certain that the number he had given her had been correct. It was as deeply ingrained in his head as his birth date.

  “Are you certain that’s the right number? The system is telling me that the number you gave me is invalid. And there’s a strange, little flag that’s popped up in the database. Never seen that before. Hang on, let me have one of the guys come over and have a look.”

  She put Archie on hold. He could feel his phone minutes ticking away as Shania Twain twanged her way through ‘Whose bed have your boots been under.’ He should have known better than to try to handle the reissue over the phone. He was about to hang up and just wait till he got to the embassy when he overheard snatches of frantic and combative discussion.

  “Hang on sir. I need to transfer you to a more secure line.”

  “Secure? What for?” There was a buzz and a click.

  “Hello? Mr. Parsons?” The voice coming over the line was as deep and resonant as a radio pitch man’s, and just as devoid of any regional inflection.

  “Doctor, actually. But that’s okay.”

  “Sorry to hear about your incident. We’d very much like to provide you some assistance. Do you mind telling us where you’re staying? We can send a driver.”

  “Huh? Since when does the embassy come door to door?”

  “Liberia’s a pretty rough place these days as I’m sure you understand. Sometimes we’ll go the extra mile for our citizens, especially for folks like you, who do so much for the hearts and minds. So where is it you’re staying?”

  “Well … it’s called “The Red Hibiscus. It’s a new place on—”

  “We know it. Hold tight. We’ll send a team out right away.”

  “A team?” Something weird was going on. This was not how embassies operated. Did they know of something bad about to go down that they weren’t willing to share over the phone? A coup, perhaps? “You know … you really don’t have to come all the way out here. I’ve got a taxi waiting for me in the lot. It’s just as easy for me to come there.”

  “Oh, it’s no problem at all,” said the man. “They’re already dispatched. Can I please have your room number so I can pass it on?”

  Archie’s skin prickled. The guy he was speaking with had such a disarming manner, but the oddity of the circumstances triggered a vague and primal sense of danger. He had not survived all those years of visiting failed states by ignoring his instincts.

  “Um … I’ll be out in the lobby. I’ll look out for them and … uh … wave.”

  “Okay, then. Just sit tight. Have a cup of coffee. We’ll have someone there within the hour.”

  “Okay. Um … thanks. I guess.”

  He hung up. Archie sat there, his stomach squirming. Since when did an understaffed and overworked embassy provide door to door service for someone with some missing paperwork? It wasn’t like he was some VIP. He was just some crap operative for an insignificant beltway bandit operation.

  Maybe it was those damned psycho-active malaria pills making him paranoid again. When he had taken mefloquine after 9/11 it had turned every Middle Eastern person in Addis Ababa into a terrorist and convinced him that a cab driver named Muhammad was trying to kidnap him simply because he had taken an alternative route to the Ministry of Health.

  Archie listened to his gut. He packed his things hastily and checked out. He found James loitering by the door.

  “You are going now?” said James.

  “Kind of,” said Archie. “I want you to find a shady spot by the exit of the lot. We’re going to sit a spell.”

  James loaded the suitcase and pulled up just off the main avenue under a mango tree with low, overhanging branches. Archie sat with his back against the passenger door, watching the turn-around in front of reception for signs of a diplomatic vehicle.

  A grey van pulled up and disgorged three men wearing combat boots and oversized windbreakers. The Xtraktiv logo on the door leapt out like a swastika.

  “Hmm. It’s those guys again,” Archie muttered, as a wave of unease quivered through his gut.

  The men disappeared into the lobby. A minute later they burst back out the door, scanning the parking lot and its environs.

  “Go,” said Archie, seized by misgivings. “Go James. Go!”

  “Where do we go?”

  “I don’t care. Back to Monrovia. Wherever. Just go!”

  ***

  Traffic was backed up for almost a mile behind the checkpoint outside Monrovia. It seemed like everyone who had deferred travel during the fuel shortage had spontaneously taken to the roads. If the Xtraktiv van was following, it was not visible among the train of cars that had accumulated behind them.

  Vendors hawking fried dough balls and skewered meat took advantage of the long queue, shoving their wares through the window, some of them so persistent they had to be pushed away.

  They passed through an area of overgrown fields, ragged palms and rusted, sagging fences. The old Voice of America compound had stood here before the turmoil of the 1990s had forced a move offshore to São Tomé. Stray dogs and goats ruled the property now.

  The checkpoint stop was routine and cursory. A quick peek in the trunk from some sleepy-eyed soldiers and they were on their way again. They were rolling through a hectic market area when Archie’s cell phone chimed.

  “Hello. Mr. Parsons? Are you still at your hotel?” It was the guy from the embassy, the one with the radio voice.

  “Um … kind of … I’m … uh … in the area.”

  “Well, we just send some folks to meet you, and the lady at the desk said that you apparently … uh … checked out.”

  “Well yes. Actually, I did. I decided to try another hotel closer into town. You know … to make it easier to conduct my business.”

  “I don’t understand. We agreed you would stay put. What was the point of us sending a ride if—”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have misunderstood you. You know, I am kind of jet-lagged and … my ears—”

  “I thought I made it quite clear,” said the man, his voice even and calm but simmering under its lid. “So where are you headed now? Back to the Liberty?”

  “Back?” Archie’s face flushed. “How did you know? How could you possibly know I was there originally?”

  “You … told us.”

  “No I didn’t. I never mentioned it.”

  “Oh, sure you must have. To Elaine, when you described the mugging.”

  “No. I didn’t. I never said a word about staying at the Liberty.”

  “Listen, this is silliness. It was just a hunch. The Liberty’s a pretty common destination for international guests—those who don’t know any better. I prefer the Cape myself, but I’d recommend the Royal if you have to stay downtown because—”

  Archie hung up the phone.

  ***

  “Where to now, boss?” said James. “We are here, the center of Monrovia, like you asked.”

  “Just keep driving around. And … don’t call me boss.”

  “Okay man, but where you want to go?”

  “Just keep moving. In circles, I don’t care. I just don’t want them to track these phone calls. I’m not sure they can, with any accuracy. But I don’t want to make it easy for them to find us. Understand?”

  “Someone is chasing you?”

  “Don’t know for sure. Probably not. I’m pro
bably just freaking out over nothing, but ... better to be safe than sorry.”

  James stared at him, blinking. “Okay, boss. Whatever you say. Remember, the petrol is scarce and expensive, but it is your money. How about I take you to Paynesville? Show you some fancy neighborhoods. Where the big shots live.”

  “That’s fine, just … no dead ends. Okay?”

  It was still too early to call Melissa or work. He fished the napkin from his pocket and un-crumpled it. He had a weird feeling about what he was about to do.

  “Can I borrow your phone James?”

  “My phone?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for the minutes.”

  “Okay.” Eyes wary, James handed over his phone.

  Archie called the number he had copied from the placard on the fence.

  A man answered, his voice reedy and American. “Octagon Petroleum.”

  “I’m sorry. I must have misdialed. This isn’t Xtraktiv?”

  “Well yeah, it is. OPM is our … eh … parent company. Who is this? How can I help you?”

  “Well … um … this is kind of awkward. My friend … who’s now in the hospital … well he was mugged yesterday. And he said he saw the man who took his stuff run off into your compound. We were wondering if … maybe … he might be an employee of yours.”

  “Who am I speaking to, please?”

  “Um … this is Tom … Tom Brady.”

  “And what’s your connection with this other guy … the one who got mugged?”

  “He’s a colleague. We’ve worked together on projects.”

  “This guy, the one who’s in the hospital. Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, well … he’s a little banged up and … cut.”

  “Must be serious if he’s still in the hospital.”

  “Well, yeah. It’s bad enough.”

  “Which hospital?”

  “Why? You going to send him flowers?”

  “If this man is accusing our employees or wrongdoing, we might like to have a chat.”

  “Wait a minute … what about the guy who mugged him?”

  “Do you have a description?”

  “Well, according to my … friend, he was about five foot nine, African and—”

  “Well, that certainly narrows it down,” said the man, sarcastically.

  “Let me finish! He had tribal scars in sets of three down both cheeks. His hair was long and braided.”

  “That right there describes about half of our male employees. Listen, if you’re going to accuse us of—”

  “I’m not just accusing! This actually happened. I … my friend saw him go through your gate. He had key code access.”

  He heard some indistinct muttering at the other end.

  “What hospital is he at? That Catholic mission place?”

  “Um … Harbel. He’s at the clinic at Harbel.”

  “Okay Tom. I’m glad you contacted us. All I can say is … uh … we’ll look into it. I’d recommend you not mention anything to the local police … because … well, you know how they are.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  “You haven’t yet, have you? Contacted them?”

  “No. We haven’t.”

  “Mind me asking who you work for, Tom?”

  “Um … Global Change … for Children.”

  “Oh, that’s nice. Alright, then. Thanks for letting us know. We’ll be in touch with Dr. Parsons and get this straightened out.”

  “Wait … how do you know my—?”

  But the line had already gone dead. Archie stared at a stand of banana trees, their large leathery leaves flapping and rustling.

  “Here we are,” said James.

  “Where’s that?”

  Archie looked out over an upscale neighborhood of concrete slab houses. Broken beer bottles topped cinder block walls. Dark red soil ringed newly planted and recently watered palms and shrubs.

  “This here is Paynesville,” said James. “You like?”

  “It’s … nice. Who lives here?”

  “Bankers. Ministers. Some white men.”

  “Why are we here?” said Archie.

  “You tell me just to drive. So … I want to show you. It is a good place.”

  “Okay.” Archie watched a hen squeeze under a wrought iron gate followed by three tiny chicks. Passersby began to accumulate around the taxi and stare. Apparently, foreigners were a curiosity even here.

  “Where to now?” asked James.

  Archie’s head swam with confusion. He wasn’t sure he could believe everything his brain was telling him. Had that embassy operative really been acting squirrely? Had he not mentioned his name to the Xtraktiv guy? He was having difficulty piecing together thoughts and making decisions. It had to be the residue of a mild concussion.

  “Let’s get out of town for a while,” he said. “Just drive. Anywhere. I don’t care where.”

  ***

  The taxi kicked up a cloud of dust as it hurtled down a series of dirt roads cutting through a massive but abandoned rubber plantation. They passed clusters of old plantation worker housing that looked like oversized rabbit hutches. It amazed Archie that people still chose to live in these places.

  Archie’s phone kept ringing. At first he ignored it, but when it kept happening, he turned it off completely.

  And then James’ ring tone went off—James Brown—old school funk.

  “Don’t answer it.”

  “It is okay,” said James. “Maybe it is my brother.”

  “Please, don’t answer. Please.”

  James shrugged and let the call go to voice mail.

  “Any place I can buy another SIM?”

  “Sure,” said James. “Many place sell them.”

  “Take me.”

  James made a right turn at the next intersection and went back out to the main road. He pulled up in front of a small Lebanese grocery next to a filling station that was already out of petrol for the day. A tiny shack out front sold cell phones and accessories. Archie bought two sets of SIMs and scratch cards for an alternative service called LoneStar.

  He came back and handed a set to James. “Here. Put this in your phone. Stop using the other one.”

  “But my friends, my family, they know this number. They will not know how to reach me.”

  “Call them. Give them your new number. I’ll get you all the minutes you need. Just don’t use that old one while you’re with me. Okay?”

  James looked askance at him. “What did you do, man? Why are they chasing you so?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what’s going on. It’s probably nothing. I’m just … being careful.”

  He clapped his hand on my shoulder and gazed deep into my eyes. “Listen, man. I don’t need no trouble. This taxi is food for my family. You pay me some good money… but I am thinking maybe the trouble is not worth it. Do you know what I am saying?”

  “I promise you, I didn’t break any laws,” said Archie. “Whatever they’re after, there’s no way this is a problem for you. I mean, you’re just a taxi driver.”

  James gave him a long look. “I am saying this, man, because you are making me nervous. I see the fear of death in your eyes.”

  “Death? Oh no. Nobody’s killing anybody. That’s ridiculous.”

  “I am just saying; this is what I see in your eyes.”

  “No. Everything’s gonna be fine,” said Archie. “I’m just … being cautious, until I know for sure. This is how we’re going to do things.”

  James stared straight ahead out his windshield. A tattered Liberian flag dangled from the awning of the phone shop and wafted in the breeze.

  “I just don’t want no trouble, man. I am tired of it.”

  “I understand. I’ll let you know … if things get hairy.”

  James sighed. “I am going to need some more petrol soon. This place would only give me a few liters last time.”

  “Let’s go find some, then,” said Archie, climbing into the passenger seat. He c
hecked his watch. “Meanwhile, I’m going to make a few more calls.”

  Chapter 4: Harbel

  Highlife music blared from a shack selling bootleg CDs as James’ taxi crept forward in the petrol queue. At the current rate, it would take another half hour to reach the pumps, but at least this establishment had fuel, unlike the first two they had tried.

  Archie glanced at his watch. It was almost seven a.m. back in Maryland. He decided to give Melissa a call. She stayed at his place whenever he was away on lengthier excursions—the missions that sent him country-hopping down the west coast of Africa. Sometimes he would find traces of her lifestyle when he returned—lacy panties under the bed, ratatouilles in the freezer and bottles of cheap Merlot in the recycling bin.

  She would be making her coffee now and feeding Felix and Tony, his kitties. She answered on the second ring.

  “Hey, Melissa. It’s just me, checking in.”

  “I was wondering when you would call. How was your flight?” It was a horrible connection. Her words echoed and buzzed.

  “The flight was fine. It was the walk that got a little bumpy.”

  “The walk?”

  “I was mugged. They took my passport and credit card.”

  “Oh my God! Were you hurt?”

  “Not too badly. I’m a little sore, but it could have been worse. I’ve got kind of a … a strange situation brewing. The embassy is acting all weird, and … I’ve had some odd dealings with this company, whose employee, I think, took my passport.”

  “Weird? In what way?”

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. It just feels like … someone’s out to get me. Sounds wacky, I know. Probably nothing. Just the malaria pills making me delusional.”

  Digital ghosts crackled in the background.

  “Melissa? You still there?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Just trying to absorb it all.”

  “Well, don’t worry about it. I’m here, I’m doing fine now. I’ll let you know if anything changes.”

  Silence.

  “Maybe … I should let you go.”

  “You … you take care of yourself, Archie. Stay away from that … company. They sound like bad news. Let the embassy help you.”

  “Yeah. Well. We’ll see.”

  “It was nice to hear from you. Felix and Tony say hi. Stay safe.”

  “Bye.”

  Melissa seemed a lot less talkative than usual. Maybe she was having a party, or a gentleman friend was staying over. Understandable, given it was only his second night away and she was coming from a three roommate, two bedroom living situation to a three bedroom condo all to herself. He wasn’t crazy about the idea of some strange guy shagging his house-sitter on his own mattress, staining his sheets, drooling on his pillow cases. But what right did he have to expect her to match his hermitic and celibate existence? At least she kept the place tidy. He always came back to green plants, vacuumed carpets and happy cats.