They watched as an armed guard approached the SureSafe company car. Fournier rolled down his window and exchanged words with the guard, who nodded and activated the gate, causing it to slowly swing open to allow them entrance to the grounds.
Chambers looked at his watch. “I wonder how long we’ll have to sit here,” he said.
An angry look from Portland cut off what else Chambers was about to say.
Although Portland didn’t express it, his sympathy began to shift to Chambers’s attitude. They waited for an hour, which turned into two. Growling stomachs announced that hunger had set in.
“Let’s get something to eat,” Brixton said.
“No,” Portland said. “I want to see where they go next.”
They didn’t have to wait much longer. Fifteen minutes later the SureSafe car exited Gwantam’s grounds and passed where they were parked. Jeffy gave them time to disappear around a bend before making a U-turn and again tailing Fournier and his passenger, Soderman. This time the destination was the XCAL headquarters.
Chambers started to suggest something, but Portland, anticipating his thought, said, “Okay, let’s call it a day and get something to eat.”
They lingered in a small Nigerian restaurant. When they’d finished, Portland suggested to Jeffy that they return to the hotel and come up with a plan of action. “I appreciate seeing them go about their daily routines, but I need to decide what I’m going to do.”
As they returned to their hotel, Fournier and Soderman huddled in the COO’s XCAL office. Conversation during their lunch with Agu Gwantam had concentrated on knowing that David Portland and his two friends were in Nigeria. The unanswered questions were why Portland had made the trip and what he intended to do while there. Fournier had expressed that concern; Gwantam had dismissed them.
“The man poses no threat,” the warlord said.
“But Alain is right,” Soderman said. “There can be no other reason for Portland to have traveled this far than the death of his son.”
“And what can he do about it?” Gwantam said. “It happened more than a year ago. Two years ago. You know how the British can be. They’re sentimentalists. Chances are he has come here out of some warped belief that in doing so he will be closer to his son.” He waved his large black hand for emphasis. “Forget about him.”
Fournier put the brakes on what he was thinking—that Gwantam was a typical black fool lacking an understanding of the way more sophisticated men think.
“From what I understand the man is mentally unbalanced,” Soderman said.
“All the more reason to ignore him,” said Gwantam. He asked Fournier, “The two men he travels with. Who are they?”
“One is an American private detective named Brixton, Robert Brixton. He and Portland are friends. The other man, whose name is Chambers, works for the law firm in the United States that represents XCAL.”
“Why is this law firm involved in his trip?” Gwantam asked.
“I heard from a colleague in London,” Fournier said, smug that he had a direct source of information, “that this man Chambers works for the law firm as an investigator. He was dispatched to London to look into Portland and his accusation that SureSafe played some role in his son’s death.” He guffawed. “It is nonsense, of course, but as you say, this man Portland is mentally ill. Why Chambers is accompanying Portland to Nigeria is a question to be answered.”
“Do we know where Portland and his friends are staying in Port Harcourt?” Soderman asked.
“It will not be difficult to find out,” Gwantam said. “I will see to it immediately.”
It took Gwantam only two hours for his wide group of loyalists to identify the hotel in which Portland and his traveling friends were staying, which he reported to Alain Fournier.
CHAPTER
65
“I must go to an important meeting,” Jeffy told Portland, Brixton, and Chambers when she dropped them at the hotel, “but I will be back in a few hours.”
“I thought we were going to come up with a plan of action,” Portland said.
“We will, we will,” she said, “but first I must attend this meeting. It has to do with the steps we will take next.”
“Who are you meeting with?” Brixton asked.
“Those who will be able to help you. Trust me. You must trust me.”
She drove away, leaving them to ponder their situation.
Chambers, who’d had little to say all day, announced that he wasn’t feeling well and intended to rest.
“You go ahead,” Portland said. “We’ll meet up for dinner if you’re up to it.”
Portland and Brixton took advantage of Chambers’s absence to get together in Portland’s room.
“So,” Brixton said, “here we are in scenic Port Harcourt. Do you know what’s going on? I sure as hell don’t.”
“I know as much as you do, Robert. We’re in this Jeffy woman’s hands, which might be a good thing, maybe not. I still don’t know how she plans to get me together with Fournier.”
“Don’t look to me for an answer,” Brixton said. “You’re the one who hired her.”
“My contact at the embassy vouched for her, no reservations,” Portland said defensively. “He told me that if anyone can arrange for me to confront Fournier, it’s Jeffrey Gomba.”
“Who turns out to be a woman. I don’t trust her,” Brixton said. “I don’t trust anybody in Nigeria. What’s she done for us besides taking us to that cesspool of a militia camp? Speaking of that, what did we accomplish by meeting with the so-called commander of that group? ‘The commander’! We don’t even know his name.”
“Maybe she introduced him to us to make the point that there are other people who’ll be happy to get rid of Fournier.”
“Is that what you intend to do, David, ‘get rid of Fournier’?”
“I don’t know what I intend to do.”
“Well, David, let me make it plain that if you’re here in Nigeria to kill the guy, count me out. I don’t need to end up in some stinking Nigerian jail.”
“Nobody asked you to come,” Portland said.
“Yeah, I know that. I decided to tag along for reasons of my own, none of which are important. What is important is that we’re here. Okay. We’ve seen Fournier. What’s our next step?”
Portland searched for a sensible answer. Lacking one, he shrugged.
“Mind a suggestion?” Brixton asked.
“Shoot.”
“Maybe it’s time to call it a day and head home. You’ve now seen Fournier, know what he looks like, know how much he’s hated by people like Jeffy and that so-called commander. What’s to gain by hanging around hoping to talk to him? What are you going to do when and if—and I stress ‘if’—you have the chance to confront the Frenchman, vent your spleen about your son, cuss him out, ask for an apology?”
“Are you suggesting, Robert, that I cut and run? No, Fournier owes me an explanation about Trevor. I want to know who gave him the order to shoot my son, and why he followed through on it. I didn’t come this far to call it quits. I need to talk to him and I can’t leave until I do that.”
“Who do you think you’re kidding, David? You don’t intend to talk to him. You want to see him dead before you leave Nigeria. Right?”
“It’s crossed my mind,” Portland said. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Chambers has the right idea. I need a nap, too.”
“Jeffy said she’d be back in a few hours,” Brixton said. “Let me know when she arrives. I’ll say one thing about her.”
Portland cocked his head.
“She’s a knockout.”
Brixton went to his room and tried to sleep, but his mind was too active. He realized that he’d put himself in a tough spot. If Portland intended to take some sort of physical action against Fournier he wanted no part of it, no matter how close his friendship with the Brit had grown. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand his friend’s need to inflict some sort of retribution on the man who’d murdered his s
on. He’d had the same vengeful thoughts countless times about the people behind the suicide bomber who’d taken the life of his daughter Janet. But he wasn’t about to take part in an assassination.
He grappled with the decision he knew he’d have to make: continue on with Portland in his quest to confront Fournier and be supportive or bail out and head for home. Both options made sense to him, and he was left with the same quandary as when he’d initiated his internal debate. He couldn’t make a decision—which meant, he realized, that the decision had been made for him. He’d continue at Portland’s side and hope that his presence might influence him.
Portland knocked on Brixton’s door three hours later.
“Jeffy’s back,” Portland said. “She wants to meet.”
“It took her long enough,” Brixton groused, checking his watch.
“She says she’s worked out a plan.”
“Then let’s hear what she has to say. You want to get Chambers?”
“No, let him sleep. We’ll tell him what we’re doing after the decision’s been made.”
Jeffy suggested that they talk outside the hotel. “Too many eyes and ears inside,” she explained.
They walked from the hotel grounds into a dense kapok grove, where they came upon a small, rust-pocked black metal bench on the edge of a swamp. Jeffy had changed clothes; she now wore an olive green sport jacket over a white T-shirt, and jeans.
“You have a big wardrobe,” Brixton commented after he and Portland had sat on the bench.
Jeffy remained standing. “What is that saying? Clothes make the man, huh?” she said through a wide smile.
“Maybe,” Brixton grumbled. “Okay, you said you’d have a plan when you got back. What is it?”
Jeffy’s smile was now smug as she turned to Portland and asked, “What would you think about meeting your French friend tonight?”
Portland looked at Brixton before replying, “That depends on how and where it’s done.”
“Of course, of course,” Jeffy said. “The meeting I have just come from was very valuable.”
“Who did you meet with?” Portland asked.
“Friends who have many connections here in the delta. Friends are the most important thing in life. Am I right?”
“Who are these friends?” Brixton asked, his impatience showing.
“It would not be prudent of me to tell you their names. Let me just say that they are able to help you accomplish your mission.”
“You said that I could meet Fournier tonight,” Portland said. “All right, lay it out for me.”
As she started to elaborate they became aware of two black men who’d stepped from the grove of kapoks and approached. They wore khaki pants and shirts. The shirts had emblems on the sleeves, which they couldn’t read from their vantage point. But holstered revolvers on the men’s belts were plainly visible. They positioned themselves at either end of the bench. Now the emblems on their sleeves were readable: SureSafe Security.
“Hello, brothers,” Jeffy said pleasantly.
“Your passports please,” one of the men said.
“Why?” Brixton asked.
“Your passports,” the man repeated, more sternly this time.
“Who are you?” Portland said, standing. “SureSafe is a private security firm. You don’t have any legal right to—”
“I think you are making a mistake,” Jeffy said to them. “These men are my guests.” She pulled a business card from her pocket and held it out.
Brixton slowly got up from the bench and moved to the side. With the men’s attention focused on Portland and Jeffy, he quickly and smoothly came up behind, pulled his weapon from its ankle holster, and pressed it to the neck of the man closer to him. Jeffy was wide-eyed; Portland acted immediately. He held out his hand and said, “Give me your gun.”
The men looked at each other, confusion written on their faces. “Come on,” Portland said.
He was handed the weapon. Brixton reached from behind and removed the other from its owner’s holster.
“Now,” said Portland, “get lost. Go back to your boss Fournier and tell him he should have sent smarter guys. You hear me? Go on. Leave!”
The men backed away and disappeared into the trees.
“That was a dumb move,” Portland said to Brixton.
“It worked, didn’t it?” Brixton said. “What do we do now?”
“We get out of here,” Portland said, handing the weapon he’d confiscated to Brixton. “Fournier must have found out where we’re staying and sent these clowns. They’ll be back, more than two next time.”
Brixton asked Jeffy where they could go.
“No problem,” she said.
“Go rouse Chambers,” Portland told Brixton. “I’ll check out. Ten minutes, no more.”
It took Chambers more than ten minutes to wake up and gather his belongings. He asked Brixton what was going on but didn’t receive more than, “Come on, move it. We’re out of here.”
Twenty minutes later they were in Jeffy’s car, this one a forest green SUV that matched her jacket.
“Where are we going?” Brixton asked.
“Not to worry,” she said. “I have friends.”
“You said I’d be meeting up with Fournier tonight,” Portland said.
“I will tell you about it soon,” was the lovely, shapely Nigerian’s reply.
“What did you do with those two goons’ guns?” Portland asked Brixton.
“I left them in my room,” Brixton said. “We don’t need to carry an arsenal.”
Chambers, who’d been awoken from a deep sleep, took in what the others were saying and tried to make sense out of it. He finally asked, “What is all this about guns and goons and having to leave in such a hurry?”
Brixton filled Chambers in on what had motivated the quick getaway.
“And what about meeting this guy Fournier tonight?” Chambers asked.
“That’s what Ms. Gomba says,” Brixton said. “Relax, Chambers. We’ll find out soon enough.”
Jeffy turned down a street lined with dilapidated houses and continued until reaching one at the end of the road. She pulled into a weed-choked area next to it and cut the engine.
“What’s this place?” Portland asked.
“A good friend lives here,” said Jeffy.
“Another good friend, huh?” Brixton said. “Who is it this time, the general?”
She ignored him. “Wait here,” she said before she got out of the car and went to a door at the rear of the house. After conferring with someone, she returned to the car and told the men to follow her.
“I don’t like this,” Brixton said to Portland.
“I don’t either,” Chambers agreed. “It could be some sort of a trap.”
“You have your gun, Robert?”
“Yeah, but Chambers doesn’t. It was in the glove compartment of the other car.”
Jeffy overheard the conversation. “I have your gun,” she told Chambers. “I transferred it to this glove compartment. Come, come. Everything is fine. My friends in this house will help you.”
The three men exited the SUV and fell in behind Jeffy as she approached the rear door. It opened and a man bearing an automatic weapon was framed by it. He stepped aside as Jeffy entered. When the others didn’t follow she turned and motioned for them to join her.
The room they’d entered was a kitchen, although it appeared that it hadn’t been used for its intended purpose for some time. A bare bulb hanging on a cord from the ceiling provided the only light. Voices could be heard from another area of the house. Jeffy motioned for them to wait as she left the kitchen. A few moments later she returned with two men, one of whom was “the commander” who’d been at the jungle outpost when Portland and crew had been taken there.
“Welcome,” the commander said.
“What’s going on?” Portland asked.
Jeffy answered. “I will explain everything to you.”
“That’ll be nice, getting an expla
nation,” Brixton said.
Chambers, wearing his blue African dashiki outfit, stood a few steps behind Portland and Brixton, as though using them as shields.
“Are you involved in my meeting Fournier?” Portland asked the commander.
“I will be,” was his terse response as he turned and left the kitchen. The man who’d been with him placed a bottle on what had been a countertop, accompanied by four glasses. He turned and left.
“What are we doing here?” Chambers asked. “I don’t like this at all,” he said. “There’s something fishy about it.”
“Have a drink,” Jeffy said. “It’s good ogogoro. It will help you relax.”
“No thanks,” said Portland. His colleagues also declined.
Although it was no more than ten minutes, it seemed much longer before Jeffy returned to where she’d left them in the kitchen. “Everything is arranged,” she said. “Come. It is time to act.”
CHAPTER
66
Jeffy drove away from the house and navigated the clogged streets until escaping the impoverished neighborhood.
“Where is Fournier?” Portland asked.
Until that moment, actually confronting the Frenchman had only been a goal for him, a concept. But Jeffy had indicated that the time had come for the meeting to take place, and Portland’s nerve ends were sputtering with anticipation. Brixton, too, reacted to the heightened tension. For him it was like when he was a detective in Savannah, Georgia, and a sting was about to go down.
Chambers sat stoically, which didn’t mirror what he was feeling. Deciding to accompany Portland and Brixton to Nigeria had been the result of an impetuous need to break away from his life and the law firm back in D.C. That there would actually be a collision between Portland and the man who’d killed his son seemed fanciful. Now it was real. He considered asking Jeffy to retrieve his gun from the glove compartment but didn’t want to break the silence. Would he need it? Would he be called upon to use it? If so, it would be the first time he’d used a weapon aside from mandatory sessions on the MPD firing range.
Margaret Truman's Allied in Danger Page 29
