Vultures in the Playground

by A. Sparrow

  They crossed into a strip of forest. The landscape rose and they came upon an abandoned farm compound—one of the dwarf castles, its earthen walls eroded and shattered. A taupe Kia Sportage was parked amidst the ruins, its driver already revving the engine.

  “Get in!”

  Archie looked at Melissa, whose face was as blank as her eyes were wide. One of the shaggies shoved her into an open door and slammed it shut. They tumbled into the cargo compartment through the rear hatch. Archie climbed into the backseat alongside from Melissa. His door wasn’t even shut before the driver gunned it over the rubble of a mud wall. Soon they were tearing down a long straightaway of red dirt road, kicking up a rolling ball of dust in their wake.

  “Quite a stunt you pulled,” said one of the men in the ghillie suits, as he peeled off his camouflage.

  “Uncanny,” said his friend.

  “Huh?” said Archie. “What do you mean?”

  “The way that car went straight into that truck’s path. How’d you get him to do that?”

  Archie stared. He didn’t know what to say.

  “Guys, back off,” said the ruddy-faced man “This man’s a professional. Give him some space.”

  Melissa leaned over and whispered close to his ear. “Do you know these men?”

  Archie shook his head and mouthed the word ‘no.’ He touched his finger to his lips to keep her silent.

  ***

  The three men got out at the airport in Tamale, leaving Archie and Melissa alone in the Kia with the Ghanaian driver. They had stuffed their ghillie suits and weapons into two large duffel bags.

  “Headquarters thinks it’s better you don’t fly just yet. But Andrew here will get you where you need to go.”

  “Um, thanks,” said Archie, at a loss at what else to say.

  “Take ‘er easy, Black. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Yeah man,” said one of the other guys. “It’s been good working with you.”

  “Oo-rah!” said the third man. “You’re a fucking legend.”

  The car pulled away sharply from the curb, and the men waved. Archie waved back after a moment of hesitation.

  “Black? Did he call you Black?” said Melissa.

  “Yeah.”

  A storm of disquietude roiled her features.

  “That poor man. Appiah. Do you think he survived?”

  “Nah.” Archie shook his head. “Not a chance. It looked bad. Real bad.”

  “Yeah. It sure did,” said Melissa, kneading her trembling hands. “Why are you … how can you be … so calm?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not that I’m calm, I’m just … exhausted.”

  Her semi-permanent smile flattened. “You know, Arch,” she said, almost sadly. “There’s something I never told you about my cat-sitting. It’s no accident that you hired me, of all people.”

  “Well, you are my next-door neighbor.”

  “You have other neighbors. What I’m saying, is … even my being your neighbor was all arranged by these … investigators. I don’t know exactly who they were. I have my inclinations, but…. At first they just sort of kept me on retainer. It was kind of low-key and casual. But then they really starting bearing down on me during your last trip … the one you took to São Tomé.”

  “O-kay.” He kept his eyes trained on her, expectant. “Go on. What exactly were they after?”

  “Just … stuff. Like how often you’re gone … where and for how long? And stuff like … your papers and phone messages.”

  “You gave them my phone messages?” said Archie, hackles rising.

  “Archie, they paid well. Very well. And when I signed up … I didn’t know you. I didn’t know what you did. You could have been a spy or drug smuggler or something. I didn’t know you just … helped people stay healthy.”

  “Strangers. You helped complete strangers pry into my business?”

  “Like I said, I didn’t know who they were. They could have been FBI.”

  Archie huffed, took a breath and huffed again, searching for words. “How come you never told me any of this before?”

  “They … told me not to.”

  “Oh Jeez. You know what Melissa? This kind of thing would have been good to know earlier.”

  Melissa sighed. “I tried telling you … at least I thought I did. I mean, it’s the whole reason I came out here. To right my wrongs. I’m sorry, Archie.” Her eyes plumbed the depths behind his pupils.

  Archie turned away and looked out the window. They were barreling through central Tamale, passing a vacant school. Four vultures huddled beside a rusty swing set, their heads turning in unison as the SUV sped past the playground.

  ***

  It took them six hours to reach the outskirts of Accra only to get trapped in a wicked traffic snarl just west of the city core. Vendors plied the gaps with heads piled high with consumer goods of every order—bicycle tires, electrical adapters, apples. Their abundance and diversity suggested that this stalled traffic was not a fluke.

  Two hours later, they finally reached Makola market and the ocean road.

  “Where exactly is he taking us?” Melissa whispered.

  “Don’t ask me,” said Archie, shrugging. “Ask him.”

  Melissa cleared her throat. “Sir? Where … may I ask … are we going?”

  “It is the usual place. Labadi Beach Resort.”

  “Oh, you’re gonna like this place, Mel,” said Archie.

  “Beach resort, huh? What’s not to like?” She lowered her voice. “But we’re not actually going to stay there. Are we?”

  Archie took a breath. “Why not? I’m tired of fighting … what seems to be a losing cause. At this point, I’m tempted to just go along for the ride … let things play out.”

  “What the hell are you saying? You mean like … go to work for them? Or give ourselves up?”

  “No, I … that’s not what I mean. I … I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m just … tired.” Archie thought twice about the wisdom of sleeping in the wolf’s den.

  “Archie, I mean I know things didn’t go the way we planned but … it wasn’t our fault. We tried our best.”

  “On second thought, giving up sounds good. Maybe we should go to Paris. Lay low. Hide out.”

  “We can’t do that yet! Not yet. We can’t let them get away with what they’re doing.”

  “Let’s not talk about it here,” he whispered, glancing up at the driver, who seemed oblivious to their conversation. “Let’s get to the hotel and we can figure things out from there.”

  ***

  “Whoa!” said Melissa, as they passed into the mahogany vaulted chamber that was the lobby of the Labadi Beach Resort. “Way cool!” She gawked at the ceiling all the way to reception.

  Archie studied a group of jocular and paunchy men in cargo shorts for signs of body armor and concealed weapons, but they seemed only to be businessmen checking in for a conference.

  Melissa noticed his skittishness. “Don’t worry, Arch. There’s no reason at all for them to be unhappy with you considering what happened to that poor guy up north.”

  Archie wiggled his hand. “Not so loud,” he hissed.

  “Room number?” said the woman at the counter. Before Archie could answer, her manager rushed over with a key card taken from the top drawer of his desk.

  “Welcome back, Mr. Black.”

  That was a good sign, calling him Mr. Black. “Thank you,” said Archie. He peeked at the key card. They gave him the same room as before.

  “Archie, should I get a room here, too?”

  “Um … I don’t think we should actually stay here,” Archie whispered. “I thought I’d just go up for a peek. See if they left us anything.”

  “Oh, really?” Melissa looked disappointed.

  A porter took Melissa’s suitcase and followed them upstairs. The guard who had surprised him the last time he had visited stood in the hall outside the door.

  “Good to see you again sir. I’ll be right out here if yo
u need anything.”

  He swiped the key card and pushed the door open. They stepped into the room.

  “Who’s that guy?” Melissa whispered.

  “My private security guard.”

  “No way!” She strode into the room. “Ooh, nice!” She pranced around and leapt onto the bed, rolling over on her back her hands folded over her tummy. “Thick memory foam. Whoa. I’m just like melting into it. Man, this must be a six star.”

  “Not quite,” said Archie. He searched the room for another black briefcase. There was no briefcase this time. That meant no guns to dispose of, just a sealed Tyvek envelope with a black business card lying on top.

  He picked it up.

  “Slick,” it read.

  “7KzQv1T1.”

  He yanked open the seal. Two sets of paper airline tickets fell out.

  “Holy shit,” said Archie. “There’re tickets in here for you.”

  “Really? Where to?”

  “Never mind where, that’s not the point!” said Archie. A renewed panic eroded some of the calm he had managed to cultivate. “They’re onto you, Melissa. Someone’s been watching us.”

  Archie opened the closet door. It was stocked with fresh clothes again, but this time in two groups, an entire set of dresses, skirts and blouses hung alongside a mix of men’s casual and formal wear.

  “Jeezus! They’ve got clothes here for you, too.”

  “No way!” Melissa hopped up off the bed and rifled through the hangers. She checked a label. “And it’s even my size … er … close enough. Not that I would wear most of this stuff. Though, that skirt’s pretty nice. And I like that blouse over there.”

  Archie descended to the end of the bed. “Oh my God.” His heart thumped like a war drum. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “So what do those tickets say? Where do they want us to go?”

  “EG—Equatorial Guinea.”

  “Cool! But wait … I don’t have a visa.”

  “You don’t actually need one. You’re an American citizen. The oil companies negotiated a deal that allows Americans to enter EG, both mainland and Bioko, the island capital, with just a passport.”

  “Oh. Cool. Is there wildlife there?” Her eyelids looked droopy.

  Archie could only sigh. “Melissa, what are we supposed to do in EG?” He looked through the papers. “Oh crap.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s another picture here. And another itinerary. I think they want us to do another hit.”

  “On whom?”

  “Michael Kremer. I’ve heard of this guy. He’s some kind of activist. Environmental or anti-poverty. Something like that. He’s South African, I think.”

  “They want to kill him, too?”

  “Well, duh.”

  “Well, shit Archie. Then we’re not done. We need to go to EG and warn him.”

  “Oh? Just like we warned Simon Appiah?”

  “We’ll be more careful this time. This time we go empty handed.”

  Archie scratched his stubbly chin. “You know, I bet this guy reads his own e-mail. How about we just warn him from Paris?”

  “I don’t know.” Melissa squinted and lifted one eyebrow. “I think this is something we need to handle in person.”

  “But why? Don’t you think a simple warning should be enough?”

  “What if it’s not?” she said. “What if he doesn’t believe us? What if chooses to ignore us? We need to be there to make the case.”

  Archie rubbed his eyes and ran his fingers through his greasy hair. “I’d feel better if we worked through some reporter. Show him what we’ve got. We could do that someplace safe, and let him get the word out to Kremer.”

  Melissa cocked her head. “Archie. We have a responsibility here. Another man’s life is at stake.”

  “But all we have to do is to get this story out into the media. Once these people realize they’ve been discovered, they’ll go underground. They’ll turtle up. No?”

  “Not necessarily,” she said. “They might get wind of us talking to reporters, and snuff this poor guy before anything gets out.”

  “Alright,” said Archie, feeling defeated. He was hoping to slip out from under this burden as soon as possible.

  “But that doesn’t mean that contacting the media isn’t a good idea. I mean, we should do both. Contact Kremer and then we can go to some newspaper. Rolling Stone magazine. Someone who would listen. Maybe even a blogger.

  “These papers should be enough, don’t you think?” He handed over a sheath.

  Melissa thumbed through them. “I don’t know, Arch. I don’t see enough here that’s incriminating. Just background information. I think we need more evidence. Some actual orders to kill. Or maybe those weapons they keep giving you. At least pictures of them.”

  “So you think we should go on to EG?”

  “Well, yeah,” she said, as if it were obvious they had no other choice.

  Archie rested his chin on his open palm. “I have to warn you, this place is nothing like Ghana. They’re Spanish-speaking, for one thing, with an absolute basket case of a government. One of the worst dictators alive.”

  “Sounds like fun,” said Melissa, smirking. “Will there be monkeys?”

  ***

  It took two mini bottles of scotch and two Guinness Stouts for Archie to calm himself down. He kept going over a brochure he had taken from the lobby listing every outgoing flight to Europe. Tomorrow there were flights to both London and Zurich. He was considering sending Melissa out on one flight while he took the other, but had yet to broach the idea.

  “Hey Melissa, are you awake?” She didn’t answer. He heard snuffling from the bed. She had fallen asleep in her grimy clothes, tangled in the bedspread.

  Archie sighed and let her rest. He fetched a tiny bottle of white wine from the mini bar, went over and scrunched up on the love seat, turning on the TV with the sound down low. The news on the local channel was all over Simon Appiah’s death, calling it a tragic accident in the midst of an attempted assassination. A white man was being sought by the authorities, and according to witnesses, he was apparently an Englishman. Close-ups of the shattered and burned black Honda in Paga looped continuously. Archie couldn’t take looking at it anymore. He switched over to CNN and its coverage of some demonstration in the Middle East.

  Eventually, Archie drifted off himself, and was woken hours later by bright light pouring through the sliding door of the balcony. The sun had risen. Melissa was sitting up in bed, hair frizzed out, eyes all puffy, scrunching her face at him.

  “Archie? Whatcha doing in my room?” she said, her voice all sleepy and slurred.

  “Nuh-uh. This is my room,” croaked Archie. “Remember?”

  “Oh, right.”

  “How are you feeling?” said Archie, his voice gravelly from a parched throat.

  “Fine.” She sniffed at her shirt. “But man, I need a shower.”

  “Me too. Why don’t you go first?”

  “So are we leaving today? EG?”

  “Go take your shower. We’ll talk about it after.”

  She went and selected a simple cotton shift from the closet, and some of her own underwear from her suitcase.

  “You want breakfast?” said Archie. “I can order room service.”

  “Really? Um … sure. Some eggs I guess. Poached preferably. Eggs Benedict if they have it. Boy … this is fun.”

  Archie placed the order and reclaimed his bed while Melissa was in the bathroom. He had just dozed off again when a toilet flush woke him up.

  Melissa trounced into the room in a bathrobe and a towel turban. “All yours.”

  “Okay,” he said, rousing himself. He rubbed his crusty eyes.

  “Man, you look like crap, Arch.”

  “I’ll feel better after a shower and a shave.”

  “So … are we going to EG or not?”

  Archie sat up and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Would being in Europe make things any better?
Could they even get to Europe if they tried? The authorities would likely be extra vigilant about any male passengers traveling to London after the assassination. That went for Zurich, too. Bata? Perhaps not so much.

  “Yeah. Let’s go,” he said, without much enthusiasm.

  ***

  A new driver and vehicle waited for him outside the hotel. This time, Archie made no attempt to avoid him. He waved the man over. That Xtraktiv logo on the ID clipped to his pocket gave him pause, but it was no longer a deal-killer.

  “How do you do? My name is Amberson,” said the Ghanaian driver. “Are you ready to go to the airport?”

  “Yes, but can we stop at a supermarket on the way? We’d like to pick up some snacks.”

  “Of course.”

  The man took them to an upscale market in Osu where they loaded up on water bottles, soft pretzels, chocolate and brioche, along with a one cedi bunch of bananas from the fruit vendors across the street.

  Accra’s daily newspapers all blazed with gory pictures of the truck encounter that killed Simon Appiah. People were abuzz with shock. From their reaction, it was clear that he was more than some local politician. Every grieving throng reinforced the sting that Archie felt for his role in the man’s death.

  He climbed back into the car, on the verge of hyperventilating. He looked forward to getting out of Ghana and putting the incident in Paga behind him. The distance might help clear his head.

  Maybe they could set things right by saving this Michael Kremer fellow. The guy seemed well connected with media and the like. Maybe Kremer could even help extricate them from this mess.

  But this time, they would have to be more careful.

  Chapter 17: Moka

  The biting midges had returned to Moka. Scalding acid trickling into a pin prick. That’s what a ceratopogonid bite felt like, and by the time you felt it, it was too late the slap, the tiny biting gnats that caused them were either gone from your skin or had already left their calling card—this pain inducing salivary fluid that served to keep their victim’s blood flowing into their guts, though Curt Hodges wouldn’t put it past Mother Nature to have included it simply to torture bad men like him.

  Midge season in Bioko’s cool, green uplands was reason enough to relocate to his second house on Ureca, the fishing village at Bioko’s southern end that was accessible only by sea or by a barely passable jeep trail skirting the base of the Gran Caldera to the defunct port town of Luba.

  He went from his open veranda to a sun room screened with an expensive and fine mesh that was supposed to be midge-proof, but seemed to serve only to filter the bugs so they came through the windows in a trickle rather than a swarm.