Gold Trap

by Lilly Maytree

  Maybe he didn’t know those people.

  They could have been following both of them, and he was walking into a trap this very minute. Tom could simply be talking like any other tourist conversing with local people. He might even be asking if they had seen the Professor when his plane stopped here to refuel. Without the slightest idea who those people were. All she needed was the assurance (another sign!) so that she could believe that. Meg suddenly wanted desperately to believe that.

  Then, almost at the very moment she had inwardly sent up that desperate little prayer, Tom reached into his vest pocket, took out a folded paper, and handed it to the girl. Meg felt her heart sink. As if she might even faint right there on the spot. Because she knew exactly what that paper was. She had no doubt about it.

  It was the deed to the goldmine.

  Gold Trap

  15

  The Last Straw

  “There are so many ways of accounting for death about here—leopard, canoe capsize, elephants, etc.—that even if I were traced—well, nothing could be done then, anyhow…”

  Mary Kingsley

  Some people could live out their entire lives without ever knowing their limits. But Megan knew she was at the absolute end of hers. Not only were her senses of right and wrong, and good and evil not functioning properly, but she had the most insatiable desire simply to turn and run.

  It was at that moment that the waiter walked by with their meal. Only it wasn’t chicken at all. It seemed to be two plates of chopped vegetables on top of rice, and a banana. Two minutes ago, she would have complained. But instead, she motioned the young man closer and whispered, “Excuse me, but…could you tell me where the police station is? I need to know how to get there from here.”

  “Don’t tell, missy. There will be questions, I will get the sack, and I have two wives to support. I swear on my life, there are no bush pagans in Ghana, anymore.”

  “Oh, I’m not going to tell about your bush pagans.” Her head was pounding now, and she could hardly hear anything. Someone had put some coins into an ancient jukebox, and it was blaring. “I’ve simply had some trouble and I need help.”

  “Where is your husband?”

  “He is not my husband!”

  One of his eyebrows shot up in mild surprise, and the meal nearly slipped from his tray. “I thought all Americans were Christians!”

  “Oh, never mind. I’ll just ask someone else!” Meg turned and left the place as quickly as she could because she couldn’t stand a minute more of any of it. She shot a quick look over her shoulder at the bar, but, to her horror, the skycap was no longer there. A feeling of panic set in. Who cared where she was headed anymore? She just needed to get away.

  After that, it felt as if she were a child who was lost, again. She began to run down the crowded street in such a state of fear that it took two blocks before she suddenly felt as if she were going to drop dead. Literally. Then, as happens at such times of stress, she automatically fell back on the most rudimentary principles of her upbringing. She must do the right thing. At all cost. Immediately.

  “Excuse me,” she spoke to the nearest passerby on the street. “Could you tell me where the police station is?”

  It was a pleasantly plump older woman dressed in a bright canary-colored toga with a matching bandanna wound round her head. “The police? Why you standing right in front…” She was interrupted by the most enormous clap of thunder Meg had ever heard in her life, and they both ducked out of reflex. “Oooo – lawd! Here, it come!”

  There was another and another, and then a deluge of warm rain poured down with the force of a giant shower having suddenly been turned on. People huddled beneath canopies and into buildings, and within minutes the road was turned into a running, muddy torrent.

  The old woman laughed delightedly and then pulled Meg into the overhang of the building they were standing in front of, as if she were in too much of a daze to look after herself. “This is it – right here where we are.” She gently pushed Meg through the crowded doorway and inside. “Go in there, now, and tell the man your troubles.”

  Meg was thinking how she never in her life had seen such a crowd at a police station before she realized most of the people gathered there were seeking shelter and not all on official business. She finally found her way to an old wooden counter with two uniformed men behind it, and behind them a door over which the word “Commissioner” had been painted in black letters on the bare wall. There was a line (or rather a cluster) of people in front of the officer nearest her, so Meg made her way past them to the other man, who seemed busy with paperwork.

  “Excuse me,” she interrupted him, “I’m afraid I’ve gotten myself into some trouble and…”

  The man was tall, extremely dark skinned, and slender. “All these people,” he said, without looking up at her. “Have troubles. The commissioner is a busy man. If you want him to hear you…you must wait.”

  “But somebody is—”

  “Wait.” He still didn’t look up at her. “If you want you can sit.”

  The bench along the wall was already occupied to capacity, so, Meg meandered over to wait at the end of the line. There were several women and a few men arguing with the other officer, and just as she neared them, he held up both hands and spoke above the din.

  “One at a time, please. You,”—he pointed to a middle aged woman who seemed to be the senior member of the group—”say what happened so I may write it down for the commissioner.”

  “We were only going to a party,” the woman explained.

  “A drum party?” the officer interrogated.

  “No, sah. It is my brother’s birthday, and my father has called all of us home. We were waiting on the train and that monkey-beard porter…”

  “Do not call names, please.”

  “That porter tipped over our food box, and he should pay something for it.”

  “He said you had illegal goods in your food box, mama. We will have to inspect it.”

  “Then we will miss the train!” she protested.

  “The food box, please.”

  One of the men moved away from the crowd to retrieve a large wooden crate against the wall. There were three small girls seated on top of it, all with spotlessly clean togas and slicked back hair. The man shuffled them and their bundles off and pulled the crate by one end to the front desk.

  Meg realized it would take at least half an hour to go through the contents, and turned to see if any spaces had been vacated along the bench. Still packed. She decided to move where she could at least lean against the cool brick wall, and went to stand next to the girls. That’s when she noticed the smallest girl was carrying a coffee can along with her things.

  Meg’s head was still pounding, she felt shaky, and she realized she hadn’t had anything but a few sips of the ginger ale before she left the cafe. She wondered if Tom would come looking for her, and then chided herself for the thought after what she had seen. Even though she had begun to feel more comfortable with him than without him, she realized it could not be right. One simply couldn’t continue to keep company with someone who was so deceitful that you had no idea they were being deceitful. But, in spite of everything, it gave her a melancholy feeling to think of that. Oh, the depths to which she’d sunk!

  She sighed, looked down at the three shiny black heads beside her, and caught a direct view into the coffee can. There, half wrapped in a piece of cloth, was the unmistakable form of a human hand. Everything blurred. The last thing Meg was aware of was the sound of rain still pounding against the metal roof like gravel, and the cool sensation of the cement floor as she slid down onto it.

  ****

  Someone called for the commissioner, and she was only half-aware of being carried off somewhere, and the voices around her blended into a pleasant hum before she drifted off completely. Whether it was a few minutes, or a few hours before she came to herself, she had no idea. A cool wet cloth was moving soothingly over her face and forehead, and she recognize
d the distinctive smell of leather and Old Spice.

  “Tom, I…” She opened her eyes in time to catch a perfect vision of her man in the rain, his hair all wet and glistening, and he was watching her with the most tender look of concern. She raised herself up on one elbow, then, only to have a shooting pain behind her eyes force her down, again. But not before she got a good glimpse at where she was. “Oh, Tom…how could you?” she moaned.

  They were in jail.

  “Take it easy, priss, you’re not in trouble. This was the only handy place to lay you down in. It’s raining torrents outside. What did you run off like that for? Just when I was beginning to trust you.”

  “How did you…find me?”

  “You asked the waiter where the police station was.” He reached over to rinse the cloth in a bowl of cool water that was on the floor. Meg noticed then that his hair really was wet (it had been no vision), and he was nearly as drenched as she was. “But I would have ended up here eventually even without his help. There’s no consulate in Akosombo, so the police station is the next logical place.” He pressed the renewed cloth against her forehead, again, and then moved it around to the back of her neck.

  Meg should have refused anything from him but she couldn’t help it. She had never had such a pounding headache in her life. “You…you knew those people!” She managed to accuse.

  “I know a lot of people around here. It’s where I pick up the boat to Yeji.”

  “But I saw you…give them the deed!” For heaven’s sake, was she going to start crying, again? What a disturbing influence this man had over her!

  “I didn’t give anyone the deed. All I did was show it to Miriam, here, since she knows this country like the back of her hand. There’s no exact location on the thing. It’s just listed as one of a series of mines belonging to…”

  Megan was up on her elbow, again, but she paid for it with another shooting pain and had to drop back down. She hadn’t noticed they weren’t the only ones in the cell.

  “Lay still, now Meg.” Tom insisted. “Before you…”

  “She’s the stewardess! The one on my plane out of Paris!”

  “It’s no crime to work part-time for the airlines, Miss Jennings,” said the familiar voice. “Especially if it provides access to the many places a person might need to go.”

  “Well that…that part-time skycap of yours is a kidnapper!” said Meg. “Where’s the commissioner? I want to file a complaint!”

  “No, you don’t,” said Tom.

  “Yes, I do!” insisted Meg. “I want to see the commissioner!”

  “And who is hollering for the commissioner?” Boomed a low, authoritative voice from the open iron doorway.

  Meg put a hand against the cloth that was now back on her forehead, as she eased up on her elbow, again. “I am.” She insisted to the middle-aged man in uniform, with a bright silver badge on his chest to prove his identity. “I want to file kidnapping charges against a Mr….” She looked over at the stewardess. The lovely young woman was wearing jeans and a multi-colored blouse instead of an airline uniform and her long braided tresses were pulled back into a ponytail that fell nearly to her waist. “I don’t even know his name!”

  “What is she talking about?” The commissioner asked.

  “She means Sol Horn,” said Miriam.

  “Sol Horn!” The expression he cast Meg was incredulous. “His father is one of the most respected spiritual leaders in this vicinity.”

  “By spiritual leader he means the local witchdoctor.” Miriam informed her. “He’s no skycap, either. Matter of fact, I was just talking with him about how he happened to be in Akosombo when he was scheduled to work the tour all the way from St. Louis.”

  “Disrespecting the old customs is not a sign of maturity and independence, Miriam,” said the commissioner.

  “I’m sorry, Father.”

  “Father!” gasped Meg.

  “I thought she might have heard something about this gold scam,” said Tom. “Or, at least help us sort out how Pop got himself involved.”

  “It’s part of a smuggling operation to get gold out of the country and bypass all the expensive government regulations. Solomon’s at the center of it, all right, but, so far, I haven’t been able to catch him doing anything illegal. There’s a stakeout set up for tomorrow, though, because we got a tip they’re going to try to move a big shipment out during a drum party.” Miriam hopped down from the stool where she’d been sitting and headed for the door. “We’ll know more when we actually talk to the professor. But in the meantime, I’ll see what else I can find out.”

  As she passed by the commissioner, she slipped the gun from his holster in one smooth motion and tucked it into the waistband at the back of her pants. But rather than being alarmed, the imposing man simply reached out and snatched it back before planting a resounding smack on her backside. She squealed, but kept on going.

  “Why won’t she just settle down and raise children?” he implored Tom and returned the weapon to his holster. “And now I have to get back to that mob out there.”

  “We’ll be out of here in a bit,” said Tom.

  “Take your time. Nobody is waiting to get in here.”

  “What about my charges?” asked Meg.

  “You want my advice?” He spoke to Tom rather than Meg. “Put her in a taxi and take her to the nearest…”

  “I demand justice!”

  “Megan.” Tom warned.

  “Come back in three days, and I’ll give it to you,” said the commissioner.

  “Three days! Somebody could be dead in three days. What do you say to that?”

  “I have no intentions of listening to the hysterical rantings of some wild young woman with a touch of heatstroke. I have enough wild women in my life.”

  “Heatstroke…” Meg snatched the cloth from her forehead and threw it at Tom.

  “Shall you be needing a backup for this situation?” the commissioner teased.

  “I think I can handle it.” Tom got to his feet. He had been sitting on the edge of Meg’s cot.

  The commissioner walked away laughing.

  “I’m not going,” said Meg.

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You can’t make me.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  “Where’s my bag? I’m going to call my father!” Meg struggled to stand and gave him a shove with every ounce of strength she had left…and promptly fell in a heap onto the floor.

  Gold Trap

  16

  Fever

  “I was fearfully tired, and my legs shivered under me after the falls and emotions of the previous part of the day…”

  Mary Kingsley

  Meg dreamed she was back home. Not the charming little cottage she had rented on the coast of Scotland that was waiting for her return. Or even her own lovely apartment on the edge of the park across from the school where she’d taught for so many years. It was home much farther back than that. She was on the old Glory B., her father’s tugboat, and its calm, steady engine was thumping beneath her comfortable bunk with the familiar peace and security of her early youth.

  Mom must be baking an apple pie in the galley, her special recipe with just the right balance of cinnamon and nutmeg, and the slightest hint of lemon. Meg was hungry, and she struggled her way through dreamy sleep and opened her eyes. Why, this wasn’t the Glory B., at all. But she was definitely on some kind of a boat…and it was underway! There was a curtain of mosquito netting tied above her, and the little she could glimpse through a nearby porthole showed the flat smooth waters of the lake with a bit of its tropic fringe in the far distance.

  A sense of apprehension invaded her. This was not where she should be. This was not the Volta Hotel. Nor was it the local medical clinic, if anyone had been truly concerned about her health. She stirred uncomfortably, still fighting a dull throb in her head, though not half so intense as before, and tried to sit up. Only to feel a reassuring hand on her shoulder to lend assistance.

&n
bsp; “It’s all right, priss,” Tom said quietly. “Everything’s all right.”

  “But this isn’t the Volta Hotel, and you promised!”

  “Now, don’t look at me like that, Meg. It was my only choice.” Tom sat in a chair pulled next to the bed. He’d changed clothes and was wearing a light denim shirt that made the blue of his eyes most striking in contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin. On a small nightstand between them rested a half-eaten piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. Next to that lay an old edition of Safari by Martin Johnson he had obviously been reading. “I couldn’t leave you alone in Akosombo in this condition. I’d go crazy.”

  “Well, I’m not far from crazy, myself!” She noticed she now wore her own teal-colored pajamas, and gasped. “What…” She pulled the cotton sheet (the only cover on the bed) up to her chin and threw him an accusing glare.

  “You were soaking wet when I brought you in here,” he replied. “But don’t look so worried. The nurse did all that.”

  “What nurse?”

  “The ship’s nurse. A highly capable woman who takes care of any emergencies that might come up on the circuit from Akosombo to Yapei. Name’s Judith Banuko. Used to work for the Peace Corps.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In the dining salon eating dinner, no doubt. You’ve been sleeping for almost four hours.”

  “And where have you been this whole time?”

  “Right in this chair, miss priss.” He was clearly beginning to lose patience. “What kind of person do you think I am?”

  “That’s just the trouble, Tom Anderson, I have no idea what kind of a person you are. Keeping company with people like Sol Horn.” She reached for his unfinished pie and took a bite…it tasted heavenly.

  “He was talking with Miriam before I even got there. He’s never been one of my favorite people, and he knows it. Probably why he didn’t stay long.”