Ashanti Gold

by James Crosbie

  ‘Look pal,’ Colin, pushed the girl away and rose to his feet. ‘We only came in for a drink and a meal. We’ve had that, and now we’re leaving, okay?’

  ‘You pay girls some money, then you leave.’ The African looked at Colin then stared into Bert’s face. ‘They at your table, so now you pay.’

  ‘Pay for what?’ Bert demanded, rising to his feet. ‘They came and stuck themselves on us. We didn’t ask them to come over.’

  ‘They at your table, so you pay,’ the man demanded, rubbing his forefinger and thumb in that international gesture. ‘You pay me for my girls.’

  ‘I’ll pay you fuck all,’ Bert growled. ‘Come on, Colin. Time we got out of here.’ Bert moved to walk away from the table when the African swung a punch at him, catching him full on the eye. ‘You bastard!’ Bert snarled, retaliating with a roundhouse punch that knocked the man to the floor.

  ‘Come on!’ Colin grabbed Bert as he bent to hit the man again. ‘We can’t afford this sort of trouble. Come on, before the others join in.’ He pushed a still angry Bert towards the door and out into the street, quickly getting into the car and driving off as the first man ran out from the bar.

  ‘Bastard!’ Bert said angrily. ‘Caught me proper, he did.’ He turned down the sun visor and looked into the vanity mirror, gingerly touching the swelling around his eye. ‘Look at it!’

  ‘It could’ve been worse,’ Colin inspected at Bert’s eye. ‘At least it didn’t break the skin. But I think we’ll call it a night now; we’ve got a lot to do in the morning.’ He turned in the direction of Bert’s hotel. ‘Nine o’clock sharp, right!’

  ‘Nine o’clock sharp,’ Bert repeated. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be up and ready to go.’

  *

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Colin exclaimed when he saw Bert walking towards him. Even behind the sunglasses the heavy bruising on Bert’s face was obvious. ‘Your eye, it’s a real shiner.’

  ‘Yeah, ain’t it,’ Bert agreed. ‘Came right up during the night.’

  ‘We’re fucked!’ Colin said in disgust. ‘That’s the job gone clean out of the window.’

  ‘How?’ Bert demanded. ‘A black eye won’t stop me working.’

  ‘Aye,’ Colin agreed, the stress making him revert to his native Scots. ‘It maybe won’t stop you working, but if you do work you can guarantee it’ll get you done.’

  ‘Done?’ Bert looked at him. ‘What d’you mean, done?’

  ‘Look at you,’ Colin held out his hands. ‘You can’t go on board that plane. A white man with a black eye! Christ, Bert, once your description goes out you wouldn’t last ten minutes on the street.’ He made an exasperated sound through his teeth. ‘That’s it, the job’s fucked!’

  ‘What about a bit of make-up?’ Bert groped for a solution. ‘Some of that pan-stick stuff and the dark glasses. Should be all right with that.’

  ‘No, it’s not on,’ Colin shook his head. ‘You would be close up and in their faces. Christ, even Steven Spielberg couldn’t hide that eye.’

  ‘What’s to be done, then?’ Bert finally asked. ‘Job off?’

  Colin scratched his head, deep in thought. ‘I don’t know … there’s maybe still a chance.’

  ‘How?’ Bert asked eagerly. ‘What can we do?’

  Colin thought hard, his lips pursed in concentration, before finally nodding his head. ‘Aye,’ he said, repeating the word again as he voiced his thoughts. ‘Aye, it could be done.’

  ‘What could be done?’ Bert pressed him. ‘What have you come up with?’

  Colin stared into Bert’s face, his mind still taking in the momentous decision he had come to. ‘We could swap places, you and I. Change jobs,’ he said. ‘You on the ground, me in the plane.’ You’ve been to the site and know what’s to be done. All we need to do is swap jobs.’

  Bert held up a hand. ‘C’mon, Colin. That’s just not on. The parachute jump … You’ve never had any training.’

  ‘I know that,’ Colin retorted. ‘But you said yourself there was nothing to it.’

  ‘Yeah, I know I said that. But I still did the training. You? You’ve never even strapped on a parachute. Fuck me, you could kill yourself.’

  ‘I’m not giving up on this job, Bert. This is a one-off! A chance of a lifetime, and I’m not throwing in the towel for the sake of making a parachute jump. There’s plenty of people that jumped from planes who never had any training.’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Bert agreed. ‘But they were all emergencies, life or death situations.’

  ‘Aye, I know that. And as far as I’m concerned this is life or death for me; secure my future once and for all, or carry on with all the rubbish stuff we’ve been doing for years.’

  ‘It’s up to you, Colin,’ Bert’s face was deadly serious. ‘The jumping bit is easy; it’s remembering to pull the ripcord that’s important. Once you do that the ‘chute will automatically bring you down.’

  ‘Right,’ Colin came to a decision. ‘We’ll take the parachute gear up to your room and you can give me a run-through with the parachute harness – how to put it on and stuff like that. And then you can show me how to pull the ripcord.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, you don’t even know where the ripcord is!’ Bert shook his head. ‘Man, you’re taking on an awful lot.’

  Colin gripped Bert’s forearm and squeezed hard. ‘Listen,’ his voice was as serious as Bert had ever heard it. ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s all or nothing now. We’ve all worked too hard on this job to throw in the towel at this stage. We’re going ahead with it, whatever it takes. And even if that means I have to make a parachute jump, then that’s the way it is. So let’s get up to your room and you can give me a crash course on this parachuting business. I want to practise getting in and out of the harness a couple of times, become a bit familiar with it and learn how to pull the ripcord. After all,’ he reminded Bert, ‘according to you it’s only a matter of pulling the ripcord and the parachute does the rest.’ He opened the boot of the car and lifted out a small case. ‘C’mon,’ he said. ‘It’s time we got on with it.’

  *

  Bert looked doubtful as he draped the parachute across Colin’s back and guided his arms through the harness, showing him how to tighten the shoulder straps, clip and lock the chest belt and pull the leg straps firmly against his hips and thighs.

  ‘Just make sure everything fits nice and tight,’ he told Colin. ‘In fact I’ll adjust the straps for you now – that way you’ll just have to put the harness on like a jacket and clip up the chest and leg straps.’ He was working away as he spoke, adjusting and pulling until he was satisfied the harness fitted snugly against Colin’s chest and hips. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘the ripcord.’ He took Colin’s right hand and pushed it back towards the parachute pack. ‘Feel for this metal hand-grip.’ He moved Colin’s hand onto a metal ring. It was easy to find, falling naturally into Colin’s palm as he reached backwards, and he practised the movement several times until he was confident that he would have no problem finding it when the time came.

  ‘As soon as you exit the plane push your hand back onto the ripcord,’ Bert moved Colin’s hand as he spoke. Count to three and pull the ring firmly forward. You will feel as if you are being jerked upwards, but it will only be the canopy opening and slowing you down. Once you start floating you will have plenty of time to locate the target and once you do find it, you keep your eye on it all the way down so you know which direction to run when you hit the ground.’

  ‘Sounds straightforward enough,’ Colin told him. ‘As you said before; pull the ripcord and the parachute will do the rest. But what about the landing?’

  ‘Well,’ Bert said, ‘you need to keep both feet tight together, knees touching, legs slightly bent ready to roll your body forward.’ He adopted the position to demonstrate. ‘Get set up like this and you should roll out fine.’

  ‘Feet together, knees together …’ Colin copied Bert’s movements, ‘legs bent, roll forward. Okay?’

  ‘That’s about it, Colin
. Just remember that position and you should be fine.’ Bert pushed the release catch on Colin’s chest, catching the parachute as it slipped from his shoulders. ‘Just keep cool, remember what I’ve told you and you should be all right.’

  ‘I’ll be fine, Bert,’ Colin nodded his head, repeating the words as if reassuring himself, ‘I’ll be fine. Now come on,’ he looked at his watch. ‘Get that parachute packed up again and down to the motor. Then you’ll be taking my Peugeot and following me to Cape Coast, where I’ll set up the getaway car. When that’s done we’ll be heading back to Takoradi so you can check me in for the Kumasi flight.’

  *

  The university car park was half-empty when Colin pulled into it and he had no trouble finding a shaded, unobtrusive spot in a quiet corner. He locked the vehicle up and placed the keys on top of the offside front wheel before strolling casually over to where Bert was waiting. A few minutes later the Peugeot was stopping again, opposite the worn road that led to Uturri, the same road that Bert would soon be traversing on his way to the drop zone. ‘There’s no other road for miles,’ Colin explained to Bert. ‘And it becomes even more of a track after couple of miles until it finally runs into a dead end at Uturri, so you can’t go wrong. I’ve been up and down that road several times in the last couple of months and never once seen a soul on it.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s good,’ Bert nodded thoughtfully. ‘No people, no witnesses.’

  ‘Aye,’ Colin agreed, ‘That’s the way I like it.’ He took a last look at the road to Uturri. ‘So you think you’ll be all right then? No problems about finding your way?’

  ‘No probs, mate,’ Bert nodded, twisting the key in the ignition and pulling away. ‘Couldn’t be sweeter.’

  *

  The drive to Cape Coast had revitalised them and Colin was more like his usual self as they headed towards Takoradi. They had plenty of time in hand and stopped off at Sekondi for a final discussion and to sort out some final details.

  ‘I’ll hold on to the bag while you do the check-in and collect the boarding pass, Bert. I’ve been through that airport a few times recently and a check-in girl might recognise me,’ Colin told him as they sat outside a café overlooking the wide Bay of Sekondi. ‘And pass me your smother; I’ll have to put it on before we get to Takoradi.’

  Bert passed over a package. ‘Wig and false moustache, good ones too. And you’ll have the hat and shades on of course.’ He straightened his own sunglasses on his nose.

  ‘Should be enough,’ Colin agreed. ‘Besides, I can’t see any of the passengers being very willing to step forward as witnesses. The people to worry about are the soldiers and the plane’s crew, and they should have no reason to pay us any particular attention until we stand up and declare ourselves.’

  ‘The routine for the plane is well sorted out,’ Bert assured him. ‘Doc will keep you right. You shouldn’t have any trouble.’

  ‘One thing’s for sure,’ Colin added. ‘If anything does go wrong – we’re done! There’s no place to go on board a plane.’

  ‘Nothing’ll go wrong, Colin. We’ve been going over and over it for the last few weeks and got it all sorted out. If you make the jump, it’ll all be done and dusted.’

  Colin smiled at his enthusiasm. ‘Aye, we can do it all right,’ almost adding aloud, providing the gold is on the plane.

  An hour before the Kumasi flight was due to depart Takoradi they went back to the car where Colin spent several minutes in the rear seat attaching a realistic moustache and adjusting a wig on his head. When he added a wide-brimmed sunhat and dark glasses, even Bert had to admit the disguise looked good.

  ‘You look well,’ Bert complimented him. ‘A good smother.’

  ‘Right,’ Colin consulted his watch and took a deep breath. ‘Time to make a move.’

  25

  Ray peered anxiously from the window of the plane as the mid-morning flight from Accra touched down at Kumasi. At first he could see only rolling bush through the starboard window, then the plane turned off the runway, its wingtip moving like a pointer as more of the airfield came into view. He saw the helicopter immediately and felt bitter disappointment at the sight of it standing firmly on its hard-pad. He thought of the work he had done the night before: the three-hour taxi ride north; penetrating the airfield’s perimeter fence; two hours of patient, painstaking work sawing at the underside of the struts supporting the Lynx’s landing gear; the return trip to Accra – all for nothing.

  Dejected, he trudged behind Doc towards the arrivals gate, knowing now that the job was irretrievably lost. He turned to stare at the crouching helicopter one last time. He appeared cool but every nerve in his body screamed in frustrated anger, and he tortured himself for not simply setting it ablaze. But deep down he knew that that would have been a mistake – such obvious sabotage would have stirred up a hornet’s nest of activity. With time so short it would have been impossible to risk the return trip to Accra. No … without sophisticated timing devices and explosives, weakening the struts so that they would snap under the strain of landing after its routine morning test flight had been the best he could do. If only he had cut deeper.

  *

  The city of Kumasi was about three miles north of the airport and, rather than be seen loitering about the terminal, Doc and Ray took a taxi into town, planning to return when the first of the boxing charters were scheduled to leave and they could mingle with the crowd.

  Morosely silent, Ray trooped behind Doc as they threaded their way through yet another local bazaar, brooding on the helicopter and his failure to immobilise it. Yet, despite his failure, he felt an almost masochistic desire to be near the airport, even if only to see the gold that might have become their own.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Doc trudged along, panting like a hard-run canine, mopping his forehead with an already sodden handkerchief. ‘It’s like a fucking hothouse out here. I’ve got to get out of this sun.’

  Ray grasped his opportunity. ‘We’d be better off at the airport,’ he said. ‘The lounge is air-conditioned and the fans should be gathering by now.’ The urge to return was so strong that he found no difficulty in finding excuses to head back.

  ‘Anywhere would be cooler than this,’ Doc agreed, turning his head to locate a taxi.

  *

  The airport was indeed beginning to fill with fight fans as they slipped into the lounge, thankfully sinking into low-slung armchairs that faced onto the aircraft parking area. Ray stared towards the helicopter pad, but his view was obscured by a loading plane. Finally a last hurrying passenger crossed the tarmac and climbed the shallow steps, turning before he entered the dark oval to wave a Union Jack triumphantly at the fans still waiting for their flight. The door closed over and in another minute the propellers spun into life. The plane began to move, slowly at first, then more smoothly as it gathered speed.

  Ray inched forward on the edge of his seat as the large tailfin of the departing plane sailed slowly across his line of vision, aware of a deep thudding in his chest as the ominous, shark shape of the helicopter shimmered into sight through the distorting ripples of rising heat. Ray stared at the lethal Lynx, wishing he had a Browning anti-tank gun in his hands; he would have used it too! He decided to say nothing to Doc, knowing he would be angry at not being put properly in the picture.

  There was a stir of activity outside and a three-vehicle convoy drove past, heading for the helicopter. At the same time, loudspeakers announced that flight GA 670 from Takoradi was on schedule and would arrive in Kumasi in a few minutes’ time.

  Doc looked at his watch and raised his eyes to Ray, his face growing several degrees more serious. ‘Thirty minutes,’ he said. ‘Thirty minutes and we’re up and running,’ his tongue wetted the bristles of his false moustache between phrases.

  Might as well be thirty years, Ray grunted to himself, watching the convoy head towards the helicopter hard-pad.

  ‘He … e … y,’ Doc breathed out in a whisper. ‘Those motors out there … One of them is an arm
oured car and there’s a truck and a jeep too! Isn’t that what we’re waiting for?’

  ‘Routine convoy,’ Ray told him, still reluctant to admit the truth. ‘Probably arming the chopper for a patrol.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Doc accepted the explanation without question. ‘They certainly look a bit busy, don’t they?’

  Three white-overalled mechanics were fussing over the helicopter and two of them turned towards the convoy as it approached. The third man hung back, something seeming to have attracted his attention. Ray saw him put his hand out to feel round the strut where he had made his cut. Suddenly the mechanic was on his knees, peering closely at the underside of the steel tubing where it curved away from the body of the aircraft. Ray was too far away to hear, but he could see the man’s mouth open and close as he shouted for attention. Several men rushed forward, another of the ground crew going under the machine to excitedly confirm his colleague’s discovery.

  Ray leant forward, eyes fixed on an officer who had leapt from the armoured car to stride purposefully towards the excited group. The officer, Judas Akaba, knelt and inspected the strut, moving to the rear support when a check revealed similar damage there. He rose to his feet, cane pointing urgently at the struts as he stepped clear of the machine. One of the ground crew stood in front of him and they appeared to be arguing, the mechanic shaking his head as if refusing an order. Akaba’s cane rose and slashed viciously across the mechanic’s face knocking him to his knees as the soldiers cocked their weapons, pointing them in readiness. Then two of the ground crew were being escorted under armed guard towards a service hanger. Moments later they reappeared, pushing a trolley bearing welding equipment towards the damaged helicopter.

  Ray looked on bleakly as one of the ground crew knelt under the belly of the Lynx, striking sparks into the nozzle of his welding torch to ignite a long, wavering, yellow flame of acetylene gas before catalysing oxygen was fed into the mixing valve at more than 2000 pounds per square inch pressure. Suddenly, like Doctor Jekyll’s brew, the oxygen forced the innocuous acetylene gas into a volatile, blue-point flame capable of slicing through the thickest steel. The mechanic pulled dark goggles over his eyes and under the guns of the military escort bent to weld the fractured strut, his head disappearing in a burst of smoke as the flamehead touched the painted surface. In seconds the metal melted and merged under the concentrated heat of the torch, quickly undoing Ray’s crude sabotage as the sides of the cut fused solidly together.