The Golden Chair

by A J Fontenot

  Neither of them answered. All three kept walking. An employee in a white lab coat, coming from the opposite direction, moved to the side, as Keeler didn’t both to move out of the way.

  He took them to the back of the facility and opened up a door to a small warehouse, with a loading dock opening out into the back.

  “And this,” he said, opening a door into a warehouse area, “is where the truck…,” he let the word linger, looking at them as he said it, “loads and unloads.”

  The stupid, smug grin seemed to be permanently stuck to his face now. This was all just a game. He’d won. And now he was proving it.

  Erin felt the heat in her own face. The truck…Mandrell, she thought. He was setting them up.

  “We do a lot of,” Keeler paused, as if searching for the right word, “different kinds of business. And so having the right kinds of…relationships,” he said, “is critical.”

  Keeler walked them past the loading dock to another door. He opened it. It led to the outside.

  “Out,” he said, not smiling.

  The two of them walked out, still not looking at each other. They walked silently back down the long road to where they’d parked the Land Rover. And as they walked, the implications of what had just happened, of their nonexistent upper hand, began to fester.

  40

  It's Ready

  Kwami pulled up in his old pickup and parked next to Paul. Gavin sat in the passenger seat next to Kwami.

  Paul glanced at them, nodded without saying anything, and resumed staring at the building he’d been watching since he’d called Kwami.

  Both vehicles sat parked with their windows down.

  “What’s it looking like?” Kwami said, looking at the building Paul was looking at.

  “About what I expected,” Paul said.

  “So…you’re sure then?”

  “Yeah.”

  They were silent as they all continued to watch the building.

  “How long has this been going on?” Kwami said.

  That was a good question. Paul and Lee Jun went way back. For most of the time, Paul would bet, Jun was on the straight and narrow. Or, at least, he wasn’t actively trying to screw Paul. And there was a time when Lee would have actually risked his own reputation, and maybe his life, for Paul. But that was a long time ago. And a lot had changed since then. Jun, for one, had become political. He’d made allies. And those allies, it turned out, were not Paul’s allies.

  “I don’t know,” Paul said. “And, at this point…it doesn’t really matter.”

  “I’m going now,” he said, reaching down to turn the ignition in the Land Rover. Its engine hummed to life. “Keep a good distance,” he said, looking over at Kwami, “Okay?”

  Kwami looked at him and nodded once.

  Paul put the truck in drive and pulled out into the street, driving the several hundred feet to the SERA regional office he’d been casing for the last few hours. To where Lee Jun was waiting for him.

  He parked out front and walked inside.

  41

  Bad News

  The mood back at the SERA base camp was sour. Marisol’s temper had not cooled. If anything, the long, silent walk back to the Land Rover had only fueled it. She kicked over the fold-up table as she walked by, heading for her trailer. The door didn’t immediately open, so she kicked it, too, and walked in.

  Erin sat down in one of the folding chairs and went back over it all. The bridge was down. No denying it. She needed another way around. Another way to get something on Lennox, some thread she could pull — something that would push him out from the careful hole he was hiding in. Something, she thought, that would force his hand, and cause him to slip up, make a mistake. And, up to this point, she didn’t even have any ideas.

  She swore under her breath.

  The phone in her bag rang. She reached down, fished it out, and answered it.

  It was Waz. “Miss Reed,” he said.

  “Waz,” she said, still distracted with her thoughts, “what’s up?”

  “I’m afraid,” he said, “we will not be able to work together.”

  She stood up.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “The Minister,” he said, “is no longer willing to pursue this case against Mr. Lennox.”

  “Wait,” she said, “what do you mean, what did Lennox say to you?”

  “I am sorry,” he said, “that is all I can tell you.”

  The line was dead. She held the phone in her hand, looking at it.

  Closing her eyes, she swore under her breath again.

  “Bad day?”

  She turned, thinking she was still alone. It was Ben.

  “I…overheard some of your swearing,” he said, sitting down in one of the chairs.

  “Oh, yeah,” she said, running a hand through her hair. “Bad day.”

  She sat back down in her chair, still holding the phone in her hand.

  The two of them sat there for a while.

  She thought about Carl, back in D.C., and Conall at The Post. The critical voice her head began talking again. Began telling her—

  “Don’t think on it,” he said.

  She looked at him and started to say something back when the phone in her hand rang again. This time it was Carl. Could he have…she wondered. She pushed the button and held it up to her ear.

  “Carl,” she said.

  “Erin…,” he said. He sounded like he was— “Erin, I just got a call from Jonah Lennox.”

  “You’re kidding me,” she said.

  “What’s going on over there?”

  “Carl—”

  “He says you’ve been working with the government to hold him up.”

  “I…”

  “Erin, that’s the exact opposite of what I need you there doing,” he said with controlled anger, like he was talking to a child.

  “Carl, you need to listen to me right now,” she said, bracing for his response. But none came. The line was silent.

  “Okay,” he said, “what.”

  His response caught her off guard.

  “There’s something…,” she said, “not right here.”

  Still no response.

  “I don’t have any proof yet,” she said slow and measured, “but…but things are not adding up here.”

  “Erin,” he said in that condescending voice, she could feel her anger rising. She pulled the phone away from her ear, looking away, hearing his tiny voice still coming out.

  Marisol walked out of her trailer and around the back.

  She held the phone back up to her ear.

  “…this really puts me…,” she heard him saying, before pulling it away again.

  She was purposefully not listening, purposefully trying to keep herself calm. And then she heard something strange. A lawnmower. No, a motorcycle. From behind the trailer, a motorcycle sped off. It was Marisol taking the spare motorcycle…where was she going?

  She couldn’t hear Ibsen’s voice anymore, and she held the phone back to her ear, hearing him say, “…are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she said, “I’m still here, Carl.”

  “Good, because this is a delicate situation, one we need to—”

  “Carl,” she interrupted him, “something’s come up. I need to go.”

  She hung up the phone and sat back down. She looked down in her lap, looked at the phone, and tossed it down into her bag, sick of it being close to her.

  “More swearing helps,” Ben, still next to her, said. “I mean…I’ve found.”

  She looked at him.

  She slumped over in her chair, rubbing her eyes.

  “What am I missing?” she said.

  She sat back up, “where did Marisol go on the motorcycle?”

  “Beats me,” Ben said.

  She was quiet again, thinking. “And what about Paul…where is here?”

  “Took off,” Ben said, “had something down in Accra. Didn’t say what.”

  Erin stood u
p and began to pace, but it was short-lived, because at that moment, both of them noticed something quite unusual. Or, rather, someone.

  And they were running into their camp.

  42

  Mofi

  Erin and Ben watched the man run toward them.

  As he reached them, he bent double to catch his breath.

  The two of them looked at each other.

  “You okay, mate?” Ben said.

  “I need…,” he said, with heaving breathes, “…I need to find Paul.”

  “Paul?” Ben said. “Afraid you’ve missed him.”

  The man looked up at them both of them.

  “But he’s…,” he started again. He was shaking his head, looking around.

  “He’ll be back later tonight. Why don’t you have a seat,” Ben said, motioning to another chair next to him. “Is there something we can do for you?”

  In the years Ben had been doing humanitarian aid work, this kind of thing wasn’t terribly unusual. People in difficult places will go to great lengths. Once, in Haiti, after the big earthquake, a woman tried to give him her toddler, to take the child back home with him. That kind of thing throws you at first. But after a while, you begin to expect it. Desperate people do desperate things.

  “No, there…,” the man said, still standing, still looking around, “I think some…” He was talking in frantic bursts that Ben wasn’t following. And, judging by the look on her face, Erin wasn’t either.

  “What’s your name?” Erin said, speaking for the first time.

  He looked at her, “Mofi,” he said.

  “Hi Mofi,” she said, “I’m Erin, and this,” she motioned, “is Ben.”

  Ben watched this man, Mofi, as Erin was talking to him. Something about him seemed to be calming down, if only a little.

  “Why don’t you tell us what’s wrong,” she said.

  Mofi nodded, looking at her. Whatever had him riled up a minute ago was beginning to melt, at least a little.

  “I know something,” he said, “and I must tell Paul. It’s important.”

  “You’re at the right place, we work with Paul,” Ben said.

  “How do you know Paul?” Erin said.

  “It’s my uncle,” Mofi said. “He sent me to find Paul, to tell him what was happening at the lake.”

  She nodded once, giving him space to keep talking.

  He began telling her about the day he heard the noises, the gunshots, and the last day he saw his uncle. And then he told her about the instruction his uncle, Tano, gave him, to find Paul and—

  “Wait,” Ben interrupted. “Tano?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking at Ben now.

  “Tano from where?” Ben said.

  “He is from the Jasikan district…”

  “Jasikan,” Ben repeated to himself.

  “He and Paul are brothers,” Mofi said.

  “Paul did some work years back in a village in the Jasikan district,” Ben said. “He’s told me about it because there were some government permit issues that came up recently, and…”

  “Yes,” Mofi said, “with my uncle, Tano.”

  “Mofi,” Erin said, drawing his attention back to her. “What is it you need to tell Paul?”

  “Tano sent me, to him, they killed the men at the lake.”

  “Who is ‘they’?” Erin said.

  He shook his head, “I don’t know. I’d only just started working there. All I knew was they were using cutting the trees from under Lake Volta. I helped them, stripping the trees once they were—

  “Wait,” Erin said, her tone changing. “Are you talking about the twelve loggers that died at Lake Volta?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying,” he said, but now looked confused. “How did you…”

  Erin looked at Ben and then back to Mofi.

  “Mofi,” she said in a voice that sounded like she was choosing her words carefully, “can you tell us exactly what happened?”

  He looked down again.

  “I don’t really know. I was outside, with Tano, when we heard the guns. Tano went to look and came back and told me. And then…”

  “Can we talk to Tano?” Erin said.

  Mofi was quiet and wouldn’t meet their eyes.

  After a moment, he looked up again. “I don’t know… I have a feeling in me that he…” He was having trouble finishing his thought. And Ben could see him getting anxious again.

  “It’s okay,” Erin began saying, her words coming out steady and even. “Mofi,” she said, “can you tell us anything else about the logging business, or what they were doing there?”

  He nodded, “That was something Tano told me, before he…before I left to find Paul. He started talking about the old Ashanti legends. I grew up hearing these stories,” Mofi said. “But once I was grown, I knew they were just stories, not real. But…Tano said he saw something that made him think one of the legends was real. And the people we were working for, he told me—that’s what they were doing there. They were looking for it. The logging was just so that no one would bother them. Their real purpose was to find the lost Ashanti treasure. And, Tano, at least, thinks they just found it.”

  “The lost Ashanti treasure,” Erin said, “do you know what it was?”

  “Yes,” he said, looking up at them, “it’s what they call the golden chair.”

  43

  The Patuka

  Keeler’s phone beeped. It was the tracker. The Patuka.

  About time… he thought. He pushed a button on the phone and held it to his ear.

  “I’ve caught up to him,” the voice on the other end said, barely above a whisper.

  “Took long enough…,” Keeler said. “Where are you now?”

  “A few hours walk from Bergora, in a camp. Americans, looks like.”

  “Describe it.”

  “Three heavy-duty trailers, two sleepers, one supply. One Land Rover.”

  “Is the target alone?”

  “No,” he whispered back, “two others.”

  “Who?”

  “Woman, white. Twenties, maybe thirties. And a man, dark. Not African. Has pink hair. Same age. They’re talking to the target now.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Are you exposed?”

  “No. Want all three?”

  Keeler thought about that. He knew the two others. They would be trouble if this went sideways. But he also knew Paul Dannon. And he’d find a way to make trouble if something happened to his team. But…he thought, Dannon might not be an issue after all.

  “Do you want me to take all three?” the Patuka asked again.

  “No,” Keeler said, “just the target. And,” he leaned in closer to the phone, “do not be seen by the other two. Clear?”

  “Clear,” he whispered.

  “Call me when it’s done.”

  Keeler ended the call and dialed Lennox.

  “What,” Lennox said, answering his phone.

  “The tracker has found the one who escaped,” Keeler said, “He’s handling it now.”

  “Handl-ing or handl-ed,” Lennox said.

  “It will be finished in a moment.”

  “And the other thing?”

  “It’s done.”

  “Completely?”

  “Of course.”

  Lennox considered this for a moment, the incompetence of force…

  “Call me back when this is finished,” he said and hung up.

  44

  Need to Know

  Paul walked into Lee Jun’s office without knocking and sat down.

  Jun looked up at him. “Thought you weren’t coming,” Jun said.

  Paul sat down in the chair opposite Jun’s desk.

  “I had to figure out what I was getting myself into first,” he said.

  Jun sat across the desk, looking at him.

  “So,” Paul said, “because I’m curious, what does Lee Jun cost?”

  Jun let out a breath and looked away, shaking his he
ad. He stood up, walked to the window. He turned back to Paul, “you…,” he said, wagging a finger at him. He shook his head and turned away again, apparently trying to find any words that weren’t incriminating.

  “You don’t—” he started again. But he didn’t get the chance to finish.

  Two soldiers opened the door behind Paul and walked into Jun’s office. Neither acknowledged Jun. They walked up to Paul, one standing on either side of him, still sitting in his chair.

  For Paul’s part, he kept his eyes on Jun.

  “Come with us,” one of them said.

  Paul looked up at the one that spoke and then back at Jun. “Well…,” he said, slapping his hands onto his knees, almost playfully, “that’s it then.”

  Jun didn’t look at him.

  Paul stood and walked with the two armed men. Passing through Jun’s door, he stopped and turned back to Jun.

  “Lee,” he said, “this all could have been very different, you know that.”

  Jun still didn’t meet his eye.

  Kwami and Gavin sat in the truck, watching as two armed guards walk out with Paul between them. One opened a car door, while the other stood next to Paul, directing him into the back of the vehicle.

  “Whoa,” Gavin said, shifting in his seat as he watched the scene. “What’s…going on?”

  “It’s all right,” Kwami said, calmly.

  Gavin looked at him. “Kwami,” he said, pointing at Paul being arrested. “Paul’s—”

  “Relax,” Kwami told him. “We needed everyone to play their hand… We knew this might be necessary.”

  “I didn’t,” Gavin said, looking between Kwami and the vehicle Paul was now sitting in.

  Kwami looked at him. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Paul didn’t want anyone to accidentally let on that we knew anything, so…it was need-to-know kind of thing.”

  Gavin looked back at the vehicle as it pulled away.

  “So…,” he said, “what do we do now?”