by A J Fontenot
Why are we still using faxes…
Jun was the regional director for SERA, and his office, which was comprised of just his office, was located in Accra.
The phone on his desk rang. It was one of those older styles that had an actual bell in it and a curly cord attached to the receiver. The color was “aqua mist,” a green color the rest of the world hadn’t seen since the seventies. He’d worked all over the world, and wherever he went, he brought it with him. It was the little things…, he thought.
He picked up the receiver.
“Jun,” he said, still trying to make sense of the wavy fax report in front of him.
“Lee,” the other end said, “it’s Paul.”
Paul Dannon, SERA’s country director. Paul and Jun went way back. They were in the service together when they were young. And after that, they managed to stay in touch over the years. In fact, it was Jun that recruited Paul, after he’d sold his medical procurement business. Jun convinced him to come work for SERA.
“Listen…,” Paul said, “there’s been a development over here, and—”
“Everything okay?” Jun asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Paul said, “nothing urgent.”
“But?”
“But,” he seemed to be hesitating. “Lee,” he said, “I don’t like the direction this thing is going.”
“You’re talking about the loggers who died?”
“Just some things about it not adding up.”
“You’re thinking there’s going to be an outbreak after all?”
Paul was not the kind of man to think out loud. Jun looked out the window, it was dark, and all he could see was his own reflection. He looked down at his watch. This wasn’t what he’d—
“I’m going to be in Accra tomorrow,” Paul said, “in the morning.”
“You’re…what?” Jun said.
“Best we talk in person. Not over the phone.”
“Okay…right,” Jun said, “tomorrow…I can…”
“Lee, everything all right?”
Is everything all right… Everything hadn’t been alright for a long time, he thought. And he was afraid Paul was now…wanting to come in and talk. He’d need to find out what he knew. And, he continued to think through the situation, maybe he could just get him out of the way for a while. Let this whole thing blow. That might work…
“…you at ten, then,” Paul was saying.
“Uh, yeah…,” Jun said, “tomorrow, you said? Yes…that’ll…that works.”
Jun put the receiver back on its cradle. His elbows were on his desk. His fingers massaged his temples. “Paul…Paul,” he said, letting out a long sigh, “you’re forcing my hand, my friend. I hope you can see that…”
31
Wise Men Say
The rain from last night was gone now. But the ground still squished under Ben’s boots as he made his rounds — a ritual he’d had for longer than he could remember.
There was nothing in particular to check on. He walked well outside the bounds of the camp, up and down the faint path the trucks drove out to the road. For Ben, walking was a way to start his day fresh.
He felt drops as he walked under the branch of a tree. He could hear small mammals moving somewhere above him, causing some of last night’s rain to sprinkle down on him. The birds, Ben noticed, were especially loud the morning after a heavy rain.
Ben grew up all over Britain. His parents moved to the Welch countryside when he was a teenager. But before that they’d lived in Bath, then Salisbury, and, when he was still too small to remember, a flat in London. He discovered running as a solitary discipline that he could do no matter where he lived. But over time the running turned into walking. Which is where he found himself as he saw Paul’s Land Rover driving out of camp.
As he made his way back down the dirt road to the camp, he watched the truck dip slowly down and then up again, following the lumps in the path that led out to the road. Paul slid his window slid down as he pulled up next to Ben. He slowed. “Heading down to Accra for the day,” he said, without stopping. “Be back tonight.”
Ben raised his coffee in response, making his way back to camp.
Once back, it was still quiet. The sun was just starting to tip above the girls’ sleeping trailer now as the door opened. Marisol walked out.
“Morning Ben,” she said, he noticed, with a bit more energy than usual.
He raised his coffee again, without words.
She walked to the supply trailer, then back into her own.
Ben sat in one of the fold-up chairs, finishing his coffee.
Next, Erin walked out.
He tried to catch her eye, to say good morning…but she didn’t slow down. She, too, went straight to the supply trailer.
Ben stood up, then sat back down.
She walked back by and back to her trailer.
Ben got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. He propped his feet up on the portable table they left outside each night.
Erin came out of the trailer and walked up to him.
He pulled his feet down, looking at her directly now. “Um, hey, good morning,” he said.
She looked at him, for the first time, he realized. She had actually walked to the coffee maker next to him.
“Morning,” she said, in a disappointingly neutral voice, as she filled a tall insulated mug.
“So…,” Ben said.
But she had already turned and was heading back to her trailer.
“Sorry?” she said, turning back to him.
“Oh,” he said. “Nothing…I mean…”
She looked at him for a moment longer.
“…how’s it going?” He said, lamely.
“Good…it’s going good,” she said with an amused smirk. “I’m going to…,” she said, motioning to back to her trailer, where she’d been heading before he’d stopped her.
“Yep, right,” he said, “very good.”
She continued to smile at him before turning to leave.
‘Very good’…?
He closed his eyes, trying to think about ways it could have possibly gone just a little bit worse. A sadistic kind of comfor—
“Oh, Ben,” she said, turning back to him again.
“Uh, yes,” he said, opening his eyes, almost standing as he said it. “Um,” he cleared his through, “Yes,” he said again.
She scrunched her brows as she looked at him. “Do you have a camera? One I can borrow.”
“Uh, of course, what do you need? I mean, I’ve got all of my gear here.”
“Just, something small,” she said.
“Small? What are you planning to shoot?”
“Um…,” she hesitated, glancing away as she said it, “I just need something I can fit in my pocket.”
Kwami walked out of his trailer. He walked over to the coffee maker. He sat down, drinking his coffee. “Good morning,” he smiled.
“Good morning,” Erin smiled back at him.
A flash of jealousy washed over him, and he immediately pushed it away. It was not that kind of jealousy, as if she was interested in Kwami. Just…he wished she would…
Marisol walked out of her trailer again.
“Okay,” Ben said to Erin. “I’ve got something you can use.”
Marisol sat behind Ben, taking his chair and leaned over to tie her boots.
“Hang on a second,” he said and walked back to his trailer. Inside, Gavin was still sleeping. Ben glanced at him as he slipped over to his side and started slowly looking into one of his bags. “Where…is…it…,” he said under his breath as he moved things in Gavin’s bag aside.
Gavin turned over, and Ben froze, his hands still in Gavin’s bag.
He looked at Gavin, still asleep, and continued to search. And then, on the counter behind a pair of pants, he saw it. Gavin’s small black point and shoot. “One for the team, mate,” he whispered as he grabbed it and walked back outside.
As he walked to Erin, Marisol came up to him.
<
br /> “Ben,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“We’re going to need the Land Rover.”
He glanced to his old yellow truck. He didn’t actually need it today. And he could use Kwami’s pickup if he needed to go somewhere. But…
“You know, I could go with—” Ben started, pulling the keys out of his pocket.
“Nope,” Marisol said, “we’re good,” taking the keys from him.
“Are you…”
“Yep,” she said, walking over to it, with a daypack slung over her shoulder.
Erin walked up to him, and he remembered the camera.
“Oh,” he said, “here you go,” and handed it to her.
“Thanks, Ben,” she said.
“Oh, uh, yeah,” he said, “no problem.”
Marisol was glaring at him from his truck. “Bye, Ben,” she said a bit louder than she needed to.
Erin turned and walked to the Land Rover to get in.
“I could…,” Ben called out after them, “drive you, or something, if you need…directions.”
The two were already in the truck, starting up the engine.
“A wise man,” Kwami said next to him, propping his boots up on the fold-up table, “once said, some things…cannot be forced.”
Ben looked at Kwami.
“A wise man?” he said, watching the Land Rover drive away. “What wise man?”
“Me,” Kwami smiled, lifting his coffee cup to him.
32
Bergora
Marisol turned out onto the main road, followed it north before turning off onto a smaller highway. They traveled for a while, seeing nothing but red dirt and jungle on either side and a long stretch of winding road ahead. After about thirty minutes on this road, they began to see low mountains on the horizon. A minute later, they saw the signs of a city.
“This is Bergora,” Marisol said. “This is where we need to start.
Bergora was a regional hub for the western Lake Volta region. It wasn’t as influential as a place like Accra was, a port city with an international airport. Bergora wasn’t even a regional capital. That was Kumasi, further north.
But Bergora was full of local connections. The kind who knew things about the goings-on that needed to fly under the radar. In other words, it had people like Mandrell, the owner of the popular bar and grill by the same name. If someone in the area needed something extra, a special kind of help, they went to Mandrell’s. And, for a price, Mandrell found a way to make it happen.
Marisol pulled the Land Rover into the bar and grill. She clicked her seatbelt but didn’t open her door.
“There’s a rumor I heard when I first got here,” she said to Erin. “About Jonah Lennox’s lab—which isn’t too far from here. People would say locals went there to work, or went there for some other reason — it was always a little different, depending on who was telling the story. They’d go in…but they wouldn’t come out.”
She looked over at Erin. “It was all boogie-man stuff. And Paul never seemed to pay it much mind. But…,” she shrugged.
“But,” Erin said, “that might work. If we can at least give the Ministry of Health a reason to pump the breaks, it might be enough to stall things while we gather something more substantial.”
“This place,” Marisol pointed through the windshield, “is basically like the town’s hub for gossip. If something’s happening, Mandrell will know about it.”
They got out and went inside.
Stepping inside was a bizarre mixture of classic Americana and tribal Ghana. Large colored tapestries and rugs hung on the walls, proudly showing Africa’s red, yellow, and green. They were mixed with various black and white pictures of people like Humphrey Bogart and Ava Gardner.
“Marisol,” called a booming, kind voice from behind the counter in the middle of the large room.
“That’s Mandrell,” Marisol said to Erin.
“It’s been too long,” he said to her.
The two of them walked over to the bar.
“Mandrell, this is my friend, Erin.”
“Erin,” he said, “it is a pleasure to meet you. But,” he looked back to Marisol, “I’m afraid you’ve caught us a bit early. We’re just opening.”
“Oh, we’re not here to eat,” Marisol said. “We just need some information.”
To the point. Mandrell acted like many other Ghanaians on the surface, but underneath, Marisol knew he was much more straightforward. She was good at sizing people up, finding out why they wanted what they wanted. And Mandrell wanted to be in the know more than he cared about what was right and wrong socially.
They stood at the bar. He leaned in from the other side.
“What are you looking for?”
“The lab,” she said.
“Rumors…,” he said, motioning with his hand and turning away.
“I’ve heard the rumors, too,” she said quickly. “But I’ve also heard…,” she trailed off, purposely, not taking her eyes off his.
“You’ve heard, what?” he said, feigning non-interest. “And from who?” he said.
“I’ve…got my sources,” she said.
Mandrell looked from Marisol to Erin, and then back to Marisol again.
“Some things,” he said, “are better left alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are not from here.”
“People are disappearing…”
“People always disappear. Besides, what do you care?” he said, his voice beginning to betray hints of anger at her questioning.
Marisol felt his anger was a sign she was getting somewhere. She didn’t respond, letting his last comment linger.
“Listen,” he said, his tone softer now. “You’re right…”
She looked at him.
He looked over his shoulder, back to the kitchen behind him. “Give me a minute,” he said.
He walked to the back, through a door into the kitchen.
Marisol turned smiling and looked at Erin.
“That was good?” Erin said.
“Good indeed. Watch.”
33
Mandrell
Mandrell shut the door of the supply room behind him and pulled out a pay-as-you-go phone. He pushed the button for his contacts and selected the only one there. He held it to his ear as it rang.
“Go,” came the answer on the other side.
“It’s Mandrell.”
“I know. What do you have for me?”
“Some of…” He looked over his shoulder at the closed door behind him. “Some of the ones you told me are here.”
“Who,” he said, not a question.
“Two women. The Americans who are doing the research. One I recognize. Her name is Marisol. But I’ve never seen the other one before.”
There was silence on the other end.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Keep them there.”
“For how long?” Mandrell said, starting to walk back and forth in the small room.
“Until I get there.”
“I…don’t know how long I can…,” Mandrell said.
The voice on the phone was silent. Mandrell stopped walking and listened. “How long do—” he started.
“No…” said the man, interrupted him. “On second thought, don’t delay them,” he said. “Send them on to the lab.”
“The lab?” Mandrell repeated. “You want me to send them to the lab?”
“Yes. And give them a good reason. A reason they can’t resist.”
“You mean…”
“That’s right. Tell them what we’re doing there.”
“Are you telling me to tell them the lab has taken people,” Mandrell said, “that the rumors people are circulating are true?”
“Exactly.”
“But what if…”
“It won’t,” he said sharply. “They won’t.”
Mandrell thought about those words as they lingered.
“I’m on my way now. And I’
ll handle them. But I want them to go to the lab as soon as possible. Understood?”
“I…”
“You’ll be paid,” the man said.
“Well…,” Mandrell said, trying to navigate the important bits carefully.
“And,” continued the man, “our arrangement will stay in place.”
Now it was Mandrell’s time to be silent. He was pacing the small storage room again.
The arrangement. That was what they called the process of Mandrell being the lab’s pipeline for sending people their way. And in return, the lab protected him. Kept suspicions away. Law enforcement away. Up until now, though, there hadn’t been anyone high-profile. It had all been locals the lab had used for testing and experiments. People other people wouldn’t miss.
“Are we clear?” the man said. “And Mandrell… don’t get greedy. That won’t pay.”
It was the thinnest of threats, and Mandrell knew it.
“Okay,” Mandrell said. He wiped his hand over his face. Breathed in deeply. “Okay, I will do it,” he said.
“Good,” said the man, and the line went dead.
34
The Truck
Erin watched a moment later as Mandrell walked back out.
“What was that about?” Erin said to Marisol under her breath.
“Not sure,” Marisol said, keeping her eyes on Mandrell.
Mandrell kept his distance but motioned for them to meet him at the far end of the room. As they began walking, he stopped. “Just you,” he said, pointing to Marisol.
She looked at Erin. “I’ll be back.”
Erin stayed at the bar but made no effort to hide the fact that she was watching them. From her distance, she couldn’t hear what they were talking about. Marisol’s back was to her. But once or twice she saw Mandrell’s eyes dart in her direction.
Whatever he did when he left, Erin thought, he seemed different now. Edgier… She couldn’t place it, but something seemed off.