Caught In a Cold War Trap

by Miller Caldwell

I shook his hand. His information was invaluable and I looked forward to my return trip more than the mundane assignment before me. It seemed strange. Hand over a box of chocolates and return. Why not post them from Accra? Perhaps it was so that I might get to know the Russian Spaniard, Lorenzo? Perhaps chocolates in the post might never reach the recipient. Maybe they would have melted long ago had not Igor kept them in his fridge. I could not answer my own questions.

  I must have walked for fifteen minutes as the metal tower grew larger by each step. The sweat no sooner left me than it dried instantly, and soon I needed some water. I drank as if taking my last drink ever and quickly finished my bottle.

  As I approached I saw a few trucks and several stationary jeeps. There were four buildings. But first, there was a security gate. I approached. I wondered if it was best to speak French or Spanish, but first I extended my hand and exchanged an Islamic greeting with the man on duty.

  ‘I’ve come to speak to Senor Lorenzo Desoto.’

  ‘Ah…Senor Desoto. Yes, he be here.’

  I smiled at him and nodded, indicating I knew he would be here. ‘Where do I go find him, please?’

  He pointed at the second hut from the left. ‘He dey work in dat room.’

  I shook his hand warmly and proceed past the makeshift security gate. I approached the wooden door of the hut and knocked three times.

  ‘Come in,’ a voice said and immediately I detected a southern Russian accent in his Spanish tongue. I entered and found a slightly nervous, underweight man with a well-bronzed face and greying hair which may have been red at one time. It seemed the heat did not suit him.

  ‘Good morning, my name is Robert Harvie,’ I said in Spanish, then proffered the parcel and explained that I had met Alfonso in Accra, that I was his messenger delivering this present.

  Lorenzo relaxed but no smile came to his lips. He took the box and laid it on his table. He eyed me knowing I, like him, spoke Spanish with a different European accent. I could see the moment was becoming uncomfortable for him. Then he began to question me.

  ‘How do you know Alfonso?’

  ‘I met him at the Osu beach, near Accra.’

  ‘How exactly did you meet?’ he asked. His manner reminded me of an irritated school teacher.

  ‘Well, it’s an interesting story,’ I began. ‘I studied Spanish when I was at school and university. As I lay on the beach I overheard two men speaking Spanish. I presumed they were from the cargo ships at either Tema, along the coast, or further away at Sekondi-Takoradi.’ That did not end his enquiry and he sat back to hear more.

  ‘So I was glad to practice my Spanish with them in Accra of all places. One of them turned out to be Alfonso. He asked why I was in Ghana I told him I was going to see the whole country. I said I was first heading to Tamale, then to Navrongo and up to Upper Volta. That was when he told me he had a friend called Lorenzo Desoto and he would arrange for me to bring you something. He came to where I was staying at a rest house in Accra with this box, and so now I am here, to present you with his gift.’

  He seemed to accept my lie, which I found uncomfortably easy to deliver. After a few moments, his smile reappeared. ‘You speak Spanish well.’

  His shoulders relaxed. Tension left him.

  ‘I saw a tower on my approach. What’s the work here?’ I asked, hoping to change the subject.

  He stood up and walked over to the window, lowering the slanted louvers at an angle for a view through the mosquito netting. ‘Come over here and see.’

  ‘Over there, Mr Harvie, you see they are drilling?’ he asked.

  I kept my Spanish simple. ‘Drilling,’ I repeated in surprise.

  ‘Yes, for oil.’

  ‘So, there is oil under the sand here?’

  ‘There’s oil in Libya and only the desert lies between us. We are hopeful.’

  He returned to his desk and brought out a map of West Africa. ‘See Libya here? Sandema here,’ his finger ran between the two points. ‘Sand and oil, nothing more, nothing less.’

  ‘Aha,’ I said, hoping I showed sufficient enthusiasm for his project. He returned to his desk after closing the glass louvers and increased the speed of the ceiling fan en route. He began to unpack the box. Inside was a tin of Quality Street chocolates. He took out a knife and cut around the sellotape, freeing the lid. I saw his eyes light up at the sight of chocolates. He lifted one. He felt it. ‘I think I’d better put them in the fridge for an hour or two.’

  There was no need to inform him of my chocolate allergy. I agreed they would be better chilled. To change the subject I asked a favour. ‘I’d appreciate refilling my water bottle,’ I said.

  ‘Yaw,’ he shouted and before I understood why the door opened.

  ‘Yaw, take this box and put it in the fridge. And can you take my friend’s water bottle and refresh it?’ he asked his steward.

  ‘Yes master, I go do this,’ he said and left as soon as he had appeared.

  ‘So, where are you heading now, can I ask?’

  A true answer was not in my mind. Fortunately, I knew the names of some of the towns nearby. ‘I’ll stay in Navrongo tonight. I know a teacher there.’

  ‘Navrongo, that’s not too far.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’ll get a lorry from Sandema. I have an American friend, a mathematics teacher there.’

  Yaw entered the room once more with two new bottles of water for me. I thanked him profusely.

  ‘Then my driver can take you to Navrongo.’

  ‘That would be great,’ I said smiling at his thoughtfulness. Then I wondered how I would get back to Sandema, the plane and home.

  ‘Well, enjoy your chocolates. I’ll be on my way.’

  ‘Sorry about them. Perhaps I can give you a few. They might even have started to set already.’

  ‘No, that’s alright. Best to have them solid and enjoy all of them.’

  He was having none of it. He went out of the room but kept the door open. He returned with a brown paper bag with four wrapped chocolates inside.

  ‘Enjoy them.’

  ‘I certainly will. I’ll have them in the car and enjoy the journey more.’ There was no need for a lengthy explanation about my allergy—I recalled Igor’s words to deliver and depart.

  Lorenzo went to the door and shouted for his car. ‘Well Mr Harvie, it has been a pleasure meeting you. Perhaps we can meet again?’

  ‘One thing I meant to ask you Senor Desoto. Do you still speak much Russian?’

  ‘Could you detect I am Russian?’

  ‘I thought you had a slight Russian accent. But you are working with the Spanish?’

  ‘It pays to be bilingual doesn’t it, Mr Harvie?’

  Before I could ask more questions of this most enigmatic man, he announced the car was waiting outside. He proffered his hand and I shook it firmly.

  I had got used to sitting in the back of cars, as all Europeans and wealthy Ghanaians did to show they were the car’s owner, even if they weren’t. In no time at all, I had passed Amadu, who was resting beside his plane. I was glad he did not see me. I saw the lorry park in the village and told the driver to stop there. I told him I’d like to go on one of the wooden lorries to Navrongo. To travel like a native, I said. It would impress my teacher friend.

  ‘Ah, you mean the tro-tro?’

  ‘Yes, that’s the name I’ve heard people call it.’

  ‘Tro-tro—it means tuppence, tuppence. It’s the cheap way to travel. You will find yourself squashed between several market women,’ he said as he stopped at the entrance to the lorry park.

  I thanked him and he offered to stay with me till the lorry came, but I assured him that was not necessary. As he drove off I made my way into Sandema town. As I passed a family outside their home, lighting a fire to boil water, I stopped and took out from my pocket the bag with the four wrapper covered chocolates. I approached the children and gave them each one. Their smiles were gigantic, as was their mother’s in showing her appreciation.

  Then
I made my way back towards Amadu and his plane. It was such a reassuring sight and I was pleased when the wheels left the ground and Sandema and even Navrongo disappeared from sight. I looked at the land far below with a hint of satisfaction. My cover seemed secure. Yet it had been such a simple task. Delivering Quality Street from someone I knew only by description.

  Once we landed I thanked Amadu and gave him some cedis for all his efforts in assisting me. As it was still only 3.30 p.m. I made my way back to the office, but of course, only Peace was there to greet me.

  ‘How did you enjoy Sandema?’ she asked.

  ‘It seemed hotter than here and that’s saying something.’

  She laughed. ‘What were you doing there?’ she enquired, curiosity in her eyes.

  ‘Delivering chocolates. That’s about it.’

  She looked glum. ‘There’s rarely a box of chocolates in this office.’

  ‘Perhaps I can address that. Is the boss…’ I cut short the sentence and finished it with a shaking finger to my lips.

  Peace nodded. ‘Obliterated, as usual.’

  Chapter 13

  Nkansa’s true Colours

  The next morning Igor Utechin sought me out first thing.

  ‘Robert, how did it go?’

  ‘Quite well, I think.’

  ‘Were you offered any chocolates?’

  ‘Yes, I was,’ I said.

  ‘You didn’t eat any did you?’ he asked taking me by surprise.

  ‘No, I told you I was allergic to chocolate. But as they were so soft; he put them in the fridge.’

  A smile came over Utechin’s face. I was unsure why, but he seemed pleased that I had not taken one. Over-concerned I thought. He knew I had an allergy to them.

  ‘He did offer me some when I was leaving, but I thought it best to tell him I’d have them in the car on my way back.’

  ‘And did you? Or did you give them to the driver?’ he asked in haste.

  ‘Of course not. I told you they make me ill. I actually gave them to a family with four children. You can imagine how pleased and surprised they were. They couldn’t get the wrappers off quickly enough,’ I said recalling the moment with great satisfaction—but Utechin seemed out of sorts. I turned to head towards my desk after he failed to ask any more questions. He seemed deep in thought. Perhaps his hangover was particularly bad.

  He followed me into my office.

  ‘Robert, you are in charge for the time being. I’ll be in hospital for tests for a couple of days.’

  ‘Nothing serious I hope?’

  ‘Time will tell young man. Time will tell.’

  Around mid-day, there was knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ I shouted looking up. ‘Ah Mr Nkansa, what can I do for you this morning?’

  He looked humble, holding his hat in both hands on his lap when he sat down.

  ‘It be our pay. We’ve not had a rise for a while.’

  ‘I see. Well that’s a matter for Mr Utechin, when he comes back from hospital.’

  Nkansa looked around the room furtively. I had never seen him in my room before. I awaited his response, my pen tapping my knee out of his sight.

  ‘Mr Utechin, he’s an ill man.’

  ‘Yes, I can see dat.’

  Another pause—but this time I saw him fight for his words.

  ‘Will you…er… take over from Mr Utechin?’ he asked, looking at me directly

  ‘That’s a bit premature, surely?’

  ‘I don’t tink so, or I would not have asked.’

  ‘Okay, you have asked a decent question. The answer is that I really don’t know. If I left then the powers that be could appoint someone from here, I am sure. But we are not at that stage, I assure you.’

  Mr Nkansa nodded for a moment. He had exhausted that topic.

  ‘A pay rise then?’ he asked with tilt of his head.

  ‘Is this just you asking, or on behalf of your workmates?’

  ‘We have formed a union. I am the secretary and I speak for the members.’

  I held my chin in my hand. ‘I see. And how many members do you have?’

  ‘We have five at present, but more will

  join.’

  ‘Five? That’s not even half the workforce. But I am sympathetic. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. When Mr Utechin returns, it will be the first point on my agenda. I promise to let you know how we will proceed with your request. Is that fair?’

  He pondered my suggestion. Then I saw a slight nod of his head.

  ‘Yes, that be fair,’ he said moving the chair back before standing up.

  ‘Just a moment Mr Nkansa. You were a Nkrumah supporter. Are you still of that view?’

  ‘Nkrumah, for all his faults was de first black African leader. He is the flame which lights our continent. You can’t take that away from him.’

  ‘You are right—I can’t and don’t want to. But he is no longer leader. Things move on, we have to adjust.’

  ‘We move on yes, but don’t forget the past. Nkrumah brought the Russians here. They helped us stand on our own two feet after independence. The British drifted away.’

  I nodded—he spoke the truth, as I knew it to be.

  ‘Even today, I see Russia as my friend. I am happy to work under Mr Utechin.’

  ‘Then I suspect he will hear your proposition fairly.’

  Nkansah rightly took that as the end of our encounter. He offered his hand.

  ‘By the way, when you were in Sandema, did you see Mr Desoto?’

  ‘Er…yes, I met him?’ I said wondering how he knew about Desoto.

  ‘Did he take the chocolates?’

  My mind was in turmoil. Why did Utechin quiz me so intently about the chocolates, and now Mr Nkansa? Were they in some plot together?

  ‘Yes, he took them,’ I said, watching to gauge his response.

  It was a smile.

  ‘Fine,’ he said and left without a further word.

  Chapter 14

  I Must Leave Tamale

  Two days later I saw a car drive up outside the office. As the passenger’s door opened the first thing I saw was a walking stick. Utechin followed and stood with its aid. Then I saw Peace go out to support him and bring him into the building. She returned to the car and took the day’s edition of the Ghanaian Times newspaper from the back seat. I waited until he was settled in his office chair before I went to inquire after his health.

  His back was to me as I entered. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked in Russian.

  He turned around with no hint of a smile. His hand was shaking and then he thumped the table. ‘We’ve got to get you to Accra as soon as possible, Robert.’

  ‘Why?’ I blurted. ‘What’s the rush?’

  He grabbed the Ghanaian Times and threw it at me.

  I picked it up. The headline struck me to my core.

  FOUR CHILDREN DEAD

  POISONED BY SWEETS IN SANDEMA

  I read on with shaking hands and total disbelief. “A white man gave some chocolates to them,” said their grieving mother. My hands still shook and a lump formed in my throat. My description had been given to the police who were also looking into a death at an oil company compound, where a Senor Lorenzo Desoto had also died in similar circumstances, from poisoning. The authorities had requested additional police from Kumasi to be drafted in to solve the five murders. There was a fear that there might be more deaths waiting to be uncovered.

  ‘But…but…I had no idea the chocolates were poisonous. They looked like ordinary Quality Street Sweets. The police must know that, I should tell them,’ I said with indignation as the implication of being a mass murderer hit home.

  ‘You are involved in five murders Robert – four of them of children – but the country is behind you. That is why we must get you to Accra and the Russian embassy as soon as possible.’

  I felt a coolness come over me despite the rising heat. I had been used to kill a man, and that had resulted in four further deaths. Of children.

  ‘Bu
t why kill Lorenzo?’ I asked in bewilderment.

  ‘He was a spy who defected. He had to pay the price. You did a good job there. It was just unfortunate that you gave those chocolates to the children. Now get packed—you must leave this afternoon. Understand?’

  Understand I did but I thought that if I had only been told the contents of the tin I would never have given those chocolates to the children. On the other hand, if I knew the sweets had been tampered with, I might never have gone to Sandema. Sweets? Of course, Utechin knew I was allergic to chocolate. So did Chazov in London. It came back clearly to me now.

  ‘Peace, get Amadu over here quick,’ Utechin shouted and I felt no urge to inquire further of his health.

  I returned to my house in haste and packed up everything I could take. I left a box of tissues and a novel, The Parrot’s Tale, which I had read. Goodness knows whose hands it would find itself in, but I hoped they would enjoy it as much as I had.

  Utechin’s occasional driver came to collect me and my two bags and drove me the short distance to the airport. I recognised the aeroplane and then saw Amadu appear from the other side of his aircraft.

  ‘A longer flight this time,’ he said with a grin.

  I knew he had been told of the need to get me out of Tamale as soon as possible. Perhaps he did not know why.

  ‘Yes, Accra. Another smooth flight?’

  ‘I hope so. Built-up areas, more air traffic. We’ve got to go over the Kwahu ridge too. Need some height for that. But for you, some spectacular Ghanaian jungle to admire.’

  A few minutes later we were taxiing along the runway once more. Then thumbs up again and the race along the runway began.

  Only when the wheels left the ground and tucked themselves into the body of the plane could I start to physically relax. My body went limp. My mind was however in overdrive. To some, I would just seem foolish getting into this mess, but I knew others would be on my tail, seeking a mass murderer.

  I wondered what could I expect from the Russian embassy? I thought I would be able to see Morag more—I realised she would be in Accra in a week or two. A letter to her that night would be a priority. But how much could I tell her? God, what a mess I was in.