by Alana Terry
“Languages. They ask how many she’s fluent in and provide ten spaces to fill.”
Hadassah sighed. “I can only fill five of those.” Her gaze fell to the writing desk in the corner of the room, which held boxes of worn flash cards.
Mom let out a rare impulsive laugh. “Don’t forget sign language and Morse code. But I’m sure they’d accept you anyway.”
“You know, it’s strange to be in the same room with you two ladies. You could have a whole conversation in Italian right now, and I’d have no idea what you’d be saying.”
Hadassah leaned over and gave Dad a kiss on the cheek. “Ti amo, Papà.”
Chapter 2: Minister of Justice
MONROVIA, LIBERIA
Two and a half weeks later
Hadassah opened her eyes, contentment filling her as she stared through the mesh of mosquito netting, through the open window and out into the African sky. She stretched on her mat and prayed in the dawning light of her seventeenth birthday. After her second week in the orphanage, she had grown used to the baby smell, the unrelenting heat, the never-ending sound of crying.
Except this crying was no baby, and neither was it any of the other teens who had joined the mission trip. The cry, full of ache and disappointment, reminded her of a verse somewhere in Proverbs about hope deferred making the heart sick. She threw on clean clothing and transferred her belongings from the pockets of the jeans she wore the day before. She had a feeling she’d need everything: the chewing gum, the money, the amazing cell phone Mom gave as a birthday present before she left, and the mini transmitter and iPod her cousin, Yitzak, gave her at the airport. She shoved half of her money into her sock then pulled her hair back and stuck in her hairpin before stepping out of the mosquito netting.
Isabella was inconsolable. She stood leaning her hands atop the kitchen table and breathing small breaths in between heaving sobs. Her husband, Danny, gritted his teeth, seething with anger and anxiety even as he kissed his wife after each stomp back and forth across the floor.
“What happened?” Hadassah asked, but was blocked by the orphanage’s head administrator.
“Don’t bother them now, Miss Haddy.” The administrator set her arm like a bar across the doorway. “Go with your friends to the market in Monrovia while we fix it here.”
“Danny, tell me what happened.”
The administrator grimaced. “Go on, Miss Hadassah. The van will be leaving for the market soon.”
“I’m not leaving until I find out what’s happened to my friends.”
Isabella controlled her sobs enough to look up at her husband. “You can tell her.”
Danny’s jaw tightened. “Ariella’s gone missing during the night. Bella’s convinced someone kidnapped her.”
Ariella. She had rocked ten-month-old Ariella to sleep yesterday afternoon—perhaps the best part of her trip so far. And the little girl was supposed to go home with Danny and Isabella. To calm her sudden surge of emotion, Hadassah breathed deep. Her mind became focused. “I’m so sorry, Bella.”
Isabella groaned. Her eyes looked as if they’d burst from their sockets if she cried any harder. “What can we do?”
The look of fear on her placid friend’s face cemented Hadassah’s resolve.
Danny shook. “I’m going to call the Minister of Justice again.”
“Go along, Miss Haddy. You kids’ll only make it worse for them.” The administrator reached out to grab her arm, but Hadassah bowed and ducked out the side door.
The van held only three of the eight other teens who came to work at the orphanage. Maybe she had time to make the phone call. She pulled out her cell, walked down the long, dusty driveway and dialed the number before she could change her mind.
“Haddy, are you okay?” The sound of Dad’s voice, filled with all the concern she could imagine, almost distracted her.
“I’m fine, Dad, but Bella’s not. Can you put Mom on the phone?”
“Okay.” Dad sounded confused, almost hurt as he handed the phone over.
“Is this about Danny and Bella’s baby?” Even in the middle of the night Mom sounded professional.
Hadassah explained what she knew then dove into her plan. “They want to take the team to town to give Danny and Bella space. I’m going to find out what I can while I’m there.”
She could hear Dad in the background. “Don’t let her do that, Eva. Give me the phone and let me talk to her.”
Hadassah could imagine Mom’s hand rising in a request for silence. The silence might have lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like hours.
“Don’t put yourself in jeopardy, sweetie.” Mom’s tone was as matter-of-fact as always. “That’s the last thing Danny and Bella need right now.”
“I can do this, Mom. You’ve trained me well.”
Dad’s protest in the background became muffled by the unmistakable sound of Mom’s hand covering the phone.
“I’ll be in touch, Mom.” She hoped they heard. “I’ve gotta get on this van with the team. I love you. Tell Dad I love him.”
“Wait. Keep your phone on and text me as soon as you’re in town. We love you, too.”
“I love you, Hadassah,” she heard Dad say before she disconnected.
Most of the kids in the van gossiped and cliqued the whole way over, as if grappling for coping strategies. Hadassah slipped her headphones on and scrolled through her iPod to a mix which would quiet her mind while she stared out the window. Where was the Capitol district with the Minister’s office? Someone had pointed it out last week. Why hadn’t she paid more attention?
The van driver dropped them off on United Nations Drive at the Water Side Market which meant she had quite a walk before she got to any of the government buildings. She waited until the van left and her friends dispersed by twos and threes before seeking out the Minister of Justice’s office.
Pictures of the Minister of Justice lined the walls of the foyer: The Minister with numerous dignitaries, as well as a few victories of justice plastered across headlines and framed in gilt.
“I’m sorry, Minister Rhodes is out of the office,” the secretary informed her without looking up from her paperwork.
“Any idea when he’ll be back?” Hadassah couldn’t believe her boldness.
The woman waved her hand dismissively toward her. “Xavier takes his coffee at this hour. You may lodge an inquiry and he can see you in a few days.”
This can’t wait a few days. But instead of growing frustrated, Hadassah flashed a quick smile and looked for a picture of the Minister to imprint in her memory.
As she stepped out onto the street again, her phone buzzed with a text. Mom. She opened the message and saw a picture of a thin-faced man.
His name’s Augustus Lavo. Pirate. Somali. Last seen in Monrovia. Spoke w/ a friend @ embassy. Trying 2 contact Min. of Justice about him. No success. B careful.
Hadassah made her way toward the Water Side Market, avoiding all the places where she saw the kids from her youth group.
“’XCUSE ME, MISS, ’XCUSE me!” the child gasped as he tugged at Hadassah’s shirt.
The boy in mismatched sneakers had been following her throughout the market for five minutes begging for money. His attire, an oversized shirt of a hip-hop star who was famous several decades ago and shorts he tugged back to his waist, clamored for a hand-out. All the while, Hadassah slipped through the crowds from one market stall to another to steal a closer look at two men sitting beside the rail of the outdoor café. If only she could hear what the men were saying. Neither the phone nor the iPod Yitzak gave her would pick up their voices among the throng of the market. The mini transmitter would help, but this sat unactivated at the bottom of her pocket. She pondered how to get a bug close to these men.
“’Xcuse me, miss!” the boy continued. “Just one dollar, please. Just one dollar.”
One American dollar would go far in Liberia even though it was weak against most of the other currencies in the world. But she had converted all of her money at the airp
ort when she arrived two weeks ago. And she wasn’t supposed to give the boy any of it. Yet every glance at the child’s face forced Mom’s admonishment, “Never give them money,” further from her mind.
She reached into her pocket, but instead of pulling out money, she rubbed the tiny transmitter between her fingers. As the boy tugged her shirt for the umpteenth time, her plan fell into place.
She reached her hand into her other pocket and took out the pack of gum, glancing at the boy and smiling. Crouching down, she extended a stick of gum toward him. “Would you like a piece?”
His saucer eyes stared at the gum as he nodded. They both popped pieces into their mouths at the same time.
“Would you do a job for your money?”
The boy grinned as if he was glad for the employment. “Most anything, Miss!”
She took the gum from her mouth and stuffed the tiny transmitter inside, just like Yitzak had instructed when she was back in New York.
“Run this over to the café and stick it to the rail near those two men, but don’t let them know what you’re doing. If no one sees you do it, I’ll give you twice as much as an American dollar.” It was an awful risk, but so was this entire plan.
The boy was invisible. He was so good, she pulled out the equivalent of three dollars before turning on the receiver in her iPod.
“Will your buyers be paying Babylonian silver for the package?” she heard the scrawny, thin-faced man ask the Minister of Justice who sat across the table from him.
The Minister leaned across the café table and frowned at his companion. She hardly heard his whisper. “Enough for you to afford my silence.”
The boy appeared again, his hand outstretched and his grin wider than before. Hadassah slinked behind a clothing stall before giving him money—she didn’t want the men at the café to notice—then she slipped back through the crowds from market stall to market stall. While she adjusted the volume, her little employee had run off with his wages.
She edged to a closer stall, allowing her youth to mask her as she gained a clear view of the men. Unlike most kids from her youth group, she liked looking young, and knew various tricks to escape notice or mask emotion. She rehearsed Mom’s favorite maxim in her head, Blend in, keep a secret, slip away unnoticed.
Here in Africa, thousands of miles from New York City, blending in and masking emotion required more effort. Especially in this heat. Only a handful of light-skinned faces dappled the market stalls, and no one sweat as much as she did. She scanned her surroundings.
That’s when she caught the glance of a young man not much older than she was. He looked Chinese, but with his spiked hair dyed blonde at the tips, super sleek sunglasses, and earphones in, he could have been a member of her youth group. Except unlike the members of her youth group, he looked like someone she could talk to. But he disappeared again, following a black man who was too light-skinned to be from Liberia. Americans. She was almost sure of it, but she had no time to find out.
As she waited for the Minister’s conversation to get even more interesting, Hadassah pulled up Mom’s text to view that photo again. There was no doubt. This thin-faced man sitting at the café was Augustus Lavo.
“My workers are looking for a larger cut this time.” Mr. Lavo squirmed in his silk suit as if he sweat rivers beneath the fabric, as if he knew how ridiculous it looked on him. “I hope there’s enough for me after I pay everyone.”
“There will be plenty. Enough for you to afford immunity, too.” Xavier Rhodes, the Minister of Justice sneered. Hadassah imagined he had been a rugby star before his days in politics. “Tell your peons: if they want pay, they work for it. Hold on, it’s my phone again.” He looked at the face of his phone and smiled.
Mr. Lavo gave a snide grin. “Good news?”
“Pictures of my daughter. She has her violin recital this afternoon.”
“Sorry I’ll miss that.”
Minister Rhodes lowered his voice to a growl. “If you want your life as well as your immunity, I suggest never mentioning my daughter.” He hissed as his phone rang. “It’s those missionaries from the orphanage again. Whoever gave them my cell phone number is going to pay big.”
She had been practicing her doe-in-the-headlights expression so everyone in the market would presume she was a tourist. While perfecting the look, she stood at a market stall beside the café. Inspecting a small wooden elephant, she eavesdropped on the Minister of Justice growling into his cell phone. He mopped his forehead and sipped iced coffee. His companion stared at the melting ice at the bottom of his glass and rolled his eyes at the Minister’s tirade.
“What would I want with it—eh? I have four already. I think you have it... Oh, yes, I do... What would I have to gain from a missing baby?”
The baby’s a girl, not an ‘it,’ Hadassah wanted to say, but she hid her thoughts behind the veil of tourist as she primed her phone’s camera and discretely snapped pictures of the Minister with the other man.
“Do you know how hard this government has worked these past five years to raise this nation up from the dust?” the Minister continued. He paused and stared at his coffee as if it was to blame and then at his sneering companion. “Do you know how hard I’ve worked to make this country what it is today? Do you think we’d just throw it all away? Tell me—how do you know it didn’t walk off when no one was watching? ... Maybe it crawled off, then... Fine, I’ll set an inquiry this afternoon... Of course I care. I especially care about Liberia’s children. ... I said I would set an inquiry... I’ve had enough of your conjectures. One more word out of you and I’ll have my office reopen investigations into your...” he pulled the phone from his ear and looked at the face of it. “They think they come with better ideas to save our country. If they helped our country with more of their American dollars, maybe I’d listen to their tirades.”
“Don’t they know it’s all about the highest bidder?” the smaller man whispered in a low voice Hadassah barely heard.
Minister Rhodes’s face turned the color of ripe pomegranate as he stared at Mr. Lavo.
“Don’t they know children disappear all the time over here?” Mr. Lavo squirmed again in his black silk suit.
“I’d keep those Somali lips shut if I were you,” Minister Rhodes snapped back. He leaned in close again. “Unless you wish to tell me how your men nabbed a crawler. Especially one bound for the US by the end of the week. Newborns or walkers. We’re going to have to return it before you leave in the morning and one of your men will have to take the fall. This is the last time we meet in public, Mr. Lavo. Oh, and your rate for my silence just increased. Insolence!” He hissed. “Incompetence. Idiocy. I’ve had more than I can stand.” He flagged the waiter. “Hey, Steven, my check please!”
Mr. Lavo leaned in close to the Minister. “I wouldn’t insult me again, little Minister of Justice.” All the timidness had left his voice.
Xavier Rhodes turned on the man as if he was a cobra about to strike. “Do you want to say that again?”
“I have a direct line to Vladimir Therion.”
The Minister of Justice loosened his fist as his stare turned to one of horror. “I have a direct line to him as well, so your threat won’t work. You just do what you need to do. Our conversation is over.”
Hadassah set the wooden elephant down on the table at the stall. There was no sign of her little employee, but as many as fifteen other kids crowded around her with outstretched hands.
Chapter 3: The Chase
THRUSTING HER SHAKING hand into her pocket, Hadassah took out the pack of gum and began to hand out pieces to the kids until no more was left. How did I not anticipate this? she wondered as they closed in around her. She was supposed to come to Liberia to love on these kids, but all she wanted right now was for them to go away. She held up her hands as if to reclaim her personal space. “I don’t have any more. I’ll come back later with more.”
The crowd of children looked up at her with distrustful faces and dispersed again.
Dwntwn, saw 2 men talking: 1—poss kidnppr—Lavo. 2—Min of Justice. I plan to follow 1.
She set her phone to vibrate and could just see Mr. Lavo ahead of her, worming through the crowds. As she weaved her way closer to him, her phone vibrated with a returning text. Mom.
Follow 1. Keep distance 100 feet or more. Hide face if poss. Wait 4 nxt txt.
She couldn’t wait. She had to call her. “Is Dad mad at me?”
“No, sweetie, he was just scared. He’s on the phone with Danny at the moment. Stay safe and don’t do anything unless I tell you to. Now, go buy a scarf to cover your face.”
As Hadassah threaded through the lunch hour crowds after Mr. Lavo, she glanced to her left and right for a vendor who sold scarves. Then she spied the perfect booth. What did Mom say? Oh, yeah. Make sure to barter.
“This?” She used a thick Yorkshire accent to mask her American one.
“Fifty,” the vendor told her.
“Forty?” Hadassah suggested.
“Forty-five.”
Hadassah grew nervous. Mr. Lavo was out of sight. She reached into her pocket for the money, but none of the bills were there—all of them lifted from her. Must have been one of the street kids. Frustration rose as she realized she’d never be able to catch up to Lavo. At least the kids had left her phone. Then she remembered the stash of money she always kept in her sock. She sighed, reached down to pull out her last wad of bills and handed two of them to the vendor.
“One more,” the lady told her.
“Forgive me.” Hadassah replied while she scanned the market again. She spied Lavo but would have to move fast. She handed the lady another bill and slipped away into the crowd.
Walking briskly along, she twirled her hair into a French twist with one hand while she pushed her hairpin through with the other. She wrapped the scarf loosely about her head and face without missing a step.
Her phone buzzed with another text.