by A. Sparrow
Melissa smirked. “Not a chance, buster. I told you, I’m part of this now. Whether you like it or not.”
Chapter 14: Control
Gus Henson had been crunching numbers for his tax deductions when the latches on the control room door clicked. His heart lurched. He minimized the open window and tucked it into an encrypted folder, hoping the auto-save would retain his latest entries. Keeping personal data on a company drive breached protocol, but what choice did he have? Since his twin boys had been born, he had no time to work on such things at home.
Harry Andersen entered the room with a couple of visitors in tow. Gus reached over and clicked open the main surveillance program, letting it spread across a field spanning three HD monitors. Thumbnail views from a thousand security cams spiraled in a vortex around the leftmost flanking screen. Close-up views of corridors and storage yards cycled through the center. Text-based alerts and message traffic scrolled down the screen on the right. Satisfied that nothing urgent required his attention, Gus settled back in his chair and watched Harry do his thing.
Harry was running the visitors through the deluxe dog and pony show. His guests looked quite spiffy in their traditional African attire, a departure from the khakis and blue blazers favored by Xtraktiv’s usual Houston-based clientele. They had to be Nigerian. Gabonese execs spoke French and favored Italian suits.
Harry came through spewing his standard spiel. “This is our primary situation room, the command and control center for all security operations. Most of its basic functions are automated but we have a man on duty twenty-four hours to keep an eye on anomalies.” He nodded towards Gus.
Harry had a habit of never introducing Gus to any visitors by name. That was perfectly fine with Gus. It wasn’t rude. It was discreet. The guests probably valued their anonymity as much as Gus valued his.
Gus brushed some cookie crumbs off his lap and rose from his chair, nodding and bowing. He hoped that token greeting sufficed and that they wouldn’t want to shake his hand. He always screwed up that three part African handshake with the finger snap at the end. He could hardly snap his own fingers, never mind a stranger’s.
He took his cue from Harry and sprang into his own pitch. “And how are you gentlemen doing today? What we have here is our main surveillance console. Of course this is a redundant system. We have security on-site as well, but we find it handy to have a second pair of eyes. It makes for a more robust system and helps with the validation and troubleshooting. All of this comes to us by satellite. We have our own geostationary birds over every stretch of the tropics from Brunei to Ecuador.”
The Nigerians looked sleepy-eyed and bored. They had probably flown twenty hours direct from Lagos and had been dragged straight from the airport into this facility tour. Each had high level clearance tags dangling from their collars, indicating that they had been fully vetted and cleared. They were top dollar clients for sure, no mere oil company hacks.
“Go ahead and click around. These are all touch screens. Each thumbnail is labeled with the facility location. You might be particularly interested in the cluster on the lower left corner. Those come from our Niger delta facilities.”
Gus showed them how to pan and zoom and let them have a go. One of the men leaned in and maximized a window for a security cam watching over a recreation area at an ExxonMobil facility in Calabar. He chuckled and said something to his colleague in Hausa, pointing to someone they recognized among a group of young men kicking around a football.
“How goes things? Busy?” said Harry.
“Not particularly. I mean, there are some ops going on, but no action till tomorrow at the earliest.”
“You heard from Agent Black?”
“Nuh-uh. Not yet.”
“Dang, that make’s two checkpoints he’s missed.”
“Not unusual for him. There are rumors that he’s with a girl.”
“Jesus. Who does this guy think he is, James Bond?”
“No worries. All the secondary sources indicate that he’s right on schedule. Might just be him trying to maintain some deep cover. He’s certainly keeping a behavior profile consistent with an NGO geek—cheap meals, cheap secondary hotels. He’s even watching his bar tab.”
Harry inhaled through his teeth. “I don’t know. This would never fly in Malaysia. Seems mighty unprofessional. But then again, this whole Africa thing is new for me. You all must know better, I suppose.”
“Like I said, no worries. This is how Black works. He’ll contact us when he needs to. Believe me, it’s better this way. He leaves fewer traces.”
“It’s just … unorthodox, to say the least. Reminds me of how the Soviets used to operate. Rogue agents. Kind of a get ‘er done approach. Worry about the mess later.”
“No messes. Not with Black,” said Gus. “And so far so good. He’s right where he’s supposed to be at about the time he was expected. Too bad it’s his farewell tour. This guy, he gets things done.”
“Unlike White.”
“Pfft. Agent White. What a head case. I hear they’re trying to replace him. But talent’s hard to find. Lots of competition these days. REDfour. Xe.”
“You should jump back in the ring, Gus. I hear you’ve still got the chops.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll tell Linda you said that. You can deal with the blowback.”
Harry grinned. “No one told her to go and have twins. Well, listen. Keep an eye on our man. Give me a heads up if things go haywire.”
“Not a chance,” said Gus. “This op is wired.”
Harry’s eyes fluttered. “I sure hope you’re right. And … um … just so you know, I should tell you that we’ve sent some assets out to Paga … just in case things get ugly.”
“Assets? You mean the B team? Does Black know about this? You know he likes to work alone.”
“No need to tell him. They’ll lay low until needed. We just sent them for damage control. Just in case.”
“Jesus, Harry! You mean you didn’t tell him? That’s a good way to get someone killed. This ain’t White we’re talking about here. If Black notices any strange operatives in the area, he might take them out.”
“Not a problem. Like a said, they’re laying low. It’s just a teeny-tiny response team. For insurance, only. If Black gets the job done, then it’s just a junket for joloff and beer for them. No harm done. Nothing linking them to Xtraktiv. As far as the Ghanaian government knows, they’re just a bunch of diesel mechanics.”
“Well Jeez. Thanks for letting me know, I guess. We’ll see about this time tomorrow if the shit hits the fan or not.”
“So you know for a fact he’s aiming for that first mission window?”
Gus shrugged. “We don’t know crap. I mean, I see no reason why not. Both he and the target are on track.”
“I just wish he’d phone home.” Harry bit his lip. “Maybe it’s technical. Why don’t you ship him a new sat phone in the next transfer? The shop’s got crypto working on the Iridiums.”
“Will do.”
Harry clapped his hands. “Gentlemen. How about some tea? We have quite the well-stocked mess.”
“Mess?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I meant to say cafeteria. I mix up my terminology sometimes.”
“Tea would be lovely,” said the taller of the two Nigerians.
Chapter 15: Paga
Archie booked a room at the Bziga on the second floor, one floor down from Melissa’s. The young porter, startled by Archie’s lack of luggage, insisted on carrying the briefcase up for him. Archie tipped him much too generously.
The room seemed nice enough, a bit worn at the edges, but clean and cozy apart from the sulfurous vapors emanating from the bathroom drains. He pulled the curtains aside to a view of a scrubby hillside with a dirt road snaking up to a radio tower. The sun was starting to settle in low over the trees. It was that time of day when the brutal edges of the heat began to wear and the atmosphere approached bearable.
He decided a quick walk before his shower woul
d help him gather his wits. He went back down to the lobby and dropped his key on the counter. He never made it out the door.
The car that had brought him to the Gariba Lodge was parked in front. The driver leaned against a post and chatted with the gate guard.
Archie reversed course and retrieved his key. How did they know he was here? Were they watching and following him?
He went back to the room and relieved his mini bar of a Guinness stout and a tiny bottle of cheap whiskey, not caring for a change how much the hotel would gouge him.
With an empty stomach, it didn’t take long for the alcohol to wrap its soothing fingers around his brain. He went in the bathroom and turned on the water heater, surprised to find it worked, and that the pressure was strong. He would have to make a note of this place, in case he ever came through Tamale again. For interior Ghana, the place was a jewel.
He soaped up under the heavy stream, noting a reduction in his paunch—from all those long walks and skipped lunches, no doubt. He shampooed gingerly around the tender spot where his head wound had scabbed over, picking bits of dried blood from his hair.
A knock at the door made him lurch. He slipped on the slick tile, nearly tumbling out of the stall. He braced himself against a corner. Visions returned of the dead man in the Robertsfield washroom.
“Just a minute!” He rinsed off quickly, toweled off and put on the clean clothes he had taken from the Gariba Lodge.
“That you, Melissa?” There was no answer. “Hello?”
Silence. He wondered if he should even open the door. He glanced out the back window, wishing this room had a balcony exit like at the Gariba.
Another knock came. Lighter. Sharper.
“Yes? Who’s there?”
“It’s me, Melissa.”
“Jeez Melissa! Why didn’t you answer me the first time?”
“Because it wasn’t me. There was some other guy at the door.”
“Some other guy?” Archie undid the latch and threw open the door. He blinked at Melissa and gazed down the hall. “What other guy?”
“Think it was your driver. He gave me this note.” Melissa handed him a slip of paper. Archie unfolded it. It bore the numbers ‘545’ scrawled in pencil.
“What the hell is this supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know. A room number, maybe?”
“This hotel only has three floors.”
“Maybe it’s a time?”
He glanced at his wrist, finding only a pale, hairy band flanked by a ruddy tan. “What time is it now?”
“It’s a little after 6.”
“Could be a pick up time for tomorrow morning. We’re gonna have to leave for Navrongo earlier, then. By five at the latest.”
Melissa shrugged. “I’m game. I’m still stuck on Baltimore time, so I’ll be wide awake by two. I’m ready to crash now, but I was thinking we should eat first. I heard there’s a place down the road that—”
“No, we’re not leaving the hotel. We have to eat here.”
Melissa twisted her face in disgust. “Have you seen the food in this place?”
“I’m sorry, but they less they see of me the better. We can’t let them find out the truth about me just yet.”
She sighed. “Fine. I suppose I can order some soup. Maybe some bread. How badly could they screw that up?”
***
The soup was over-salted and laden with gobs of fat; the bread tainted with a moldy aftertaste. Whatever the Bziga offered in physical comforts, it lost points with restaurant fare that would make a prison cafeteria seem haute cuisine.
Melissa dunked her bread and ate without complaint. “Hey Arch. You ever have the French onion soup at the Chameleon Café?”
“Can’t say I ever have,” said Archie, as he scoped the other guests. They all looked pretty ordinary—a few Europeans in pastel shirts, locals in business suits—but he just knew that one of them had to be a spy.
“Oh, it’s the best. But you know … a few more vegetables, some melted cheese and this soup might actually be edible.”
“Melissa, I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be this bad.”
“Yeah, well. Next time dinner’s on me. But I get to pick the place.”
“If there is a next time.”
“What do you mean?”
Archie leaned back in his chair. “Well. I was just thinking … there’s no need for you to go up north with me. I mean, I’ve enjoyed your company and all but, why don’t you stay down here? Do some sight-seeing. There’s a national park not far from here. I forget the name, but it’s supposed to be really nice. When you’ve had your fill, you can you can head back to Accra. See some slave castles at Cape Coast. Head home, when you’re ready. I promise, I’ll keep in touch.”
Melissa’s face went rigid. “No way. I’m coming north with you.”
“Yeah, but the thing is, I’ve got this multi-entry visa for Burkina Faso. I was thinking, after I warn this guy I could just slip over the border. Book a flight to Paris. You know. Lay low for a while.”
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Archie. I’ve had just about enough of this constantly trying to ditch me. Will you give it a rest? I’m coming with you till we get this thing done. Afterwards, you can do whatever you want. I don’t care. Go to fucking Paris … without me. I just wish you would appreciate some of what I’m doing for you.”
“Melissa, I do appreciate all the support you’ve given my by coming out here. I mean, I’m glad to have your company. It’s just so unnecessary to … to put us both at risk.”
“Fine. Go to France. I’ll take care of this.”
Archie tittered. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
“Then get it into your thick skull that we’re in this together. You try to shoo me away one more time and I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh yes I will and I’m fully capable. Just try me. I taught RAD back in DC.”
He sighed and took a bite of stale cake. “I don’t get you, Melissa.”
“What’s not to get?”
“You’re my cat-sitter, for Christ’s sake. My own wife would have never flown out here to help me. I mean, not even when things were good between us.”
“Help is what I do. I’ve always been … helpful.”
“Yeah, but … this ain’t exactly like checking my mail or watering my geraniums. This is way beyond that.”
A flicker of worry crossed Melissa’s face, but shifted into a wistful expression.
“You know, Arch. I always wanted to come to Africa. Ever since I was a little girl. I’ve saved up for years for an adventure that never happens. I get my chance and now you want to stifle it? Is it any wonder I’m resentful?”
“This is not a vacation, Melissa. This all is some serious business we’re dealing with.”
“I realize that.” She twirled a piece of candied mango on her fork. “Doesn’t mean we can’t have fun while we’re at it. Now shut up and eat your dessert.”
***
Archie needed no alarm to get him up the next morning. He didn’t bother taking another shower. He just rinsed his face in the sink.
His original set of clothes had finally dried. He crammed them into the briefcase, stuffing socks and underwear into the foam cutouts that had held the pistols.
Downstairs, he had to rouse the desk clerk from a deep slumber on one of the couches in the lobby.
“I need a cab. No. Make that two. Is it a problem this early? I should have arranged it the night before.”
“Is no problem,” said the man, his eyes heavy, voice raspy. “I will call.”
Melissa came bounding down the stairs with her suitcase, beaming and excited.
“Shucks. You beat me.”
“I didn’t sleep a whole heck of a lot.”
“Really? I did great. It was short but sweet.”
“Two taxis will come,” said the clerk, as he prepared an invoice for check-out.
“Two? Why two?” said Meliss
a.
“I’m thinking, we should travel separately … in case something happens.”
Melissa squinted and blinked. “We’d be safer traveling together. No?”
“Having two cabs give us more options.”
“I think you’re over-thinking this, Arch.”
“Just … humor me. There’s a method to my madness.”
Two taxis pulled up in front, one right after the other. To Archie’s relief, there was no sign of the driver from Xtraktiv. They could make a clean getaway. As Melissa loaded her suitcase into the trunk, Archie took her cabbie aside.
“You know this little town called Paga … on the border?” he whispered.
“Yes, I know.”
“There’s a restaurant by the crocodile pond. The Chicken Palace.”
“I know this place.”
“Take my friend there and wait. I’ll join you by lunchtime.”
He turned and nodded at Melissa, who had settled into the back of the car with her travel pillow.
“Archie. This is weird. They probably think I’m your mistress.”
“Don’t worry about it. I know what I’m doing. I think.”
He got into the second cab and the pair of them pulled away down the long drive leading up to the hotel from the main road, turning north towards the airport and Bolgatonga beyond.
The landscape loomed grey under these earliest stirrings of dawn. For an hour and a half, Archie rode alone with his thoughts, watching the color return to the tree-studded savanna and millet fields, plunging through verdant strips sheathing the rivers. Hardly any traffic shared the road at this hour—just a few tractor-trailers heading south for the coast.
Archie daydreamed of France. He pictured himself checking into some modest guest house in the countryside, resting his mind, getting his spirit back under him enough to deal with recouping his identity.
As they approached the outskirts of Bolgatonga, Melissa’s cab pulled into a service station.
“No need to follow. Just keep on going,” said Archie. But the driver stayed on the tail of the other cab
“I said no—”
“I need petrol,” said the driver.
“Oh. Okay.”
Melissa hopped out and trotted over to the attached convenience store.
Archie’s phone went off, triggering a spurt of panic.
The caller ID was blocked. Reluctantly, he answered.