Vultures in the Playground

by A. Sparrow

  “This is Boca,” he said. “The mouth of hell.”

  “I believe it,” said Archie. He pulled a life preserver out of a cubby – just in case. If the boat stalled, they were sunk. The wild currents would capture and splinter it against the bluffs, and maybe their bones as well.

  “If I was the devil,” said Melissa. “I’d vacation here. I sure would.”

  Archie gave her a queer look.

  “What? Even Satan needs a break sometimes.”

  “This place is magical,” said Hodges. “The Portuguese believed that if someone jumped in they would be transported back to Portugal.”

  “Yeah,” said Archie. “In a coffin.”

  As Archie held his breath, Hodges skirted the base of a promontory. They turned the corner into a surprisingly calm little cove with arcs of golden sand backed by coconut palms. A lively little creek tumbled out of the jungle fringe.

  There being no dock, Hodges set two anchors in a calm place and they had to clamber over the side into waist-deep water and wade onto the beach. Set back among the palms was a wooden house up on stilts with a little cook shed and outhouse behind it. It had an open porch facing the sea. The walls were made of vertical planks, warped and streaked with algae.

  “This is where you guys will be staying,” said Hodges. “A little rustic compared to what you’re used to, but it’s only for a few days. We’re a quarter mile in from the main road, so we got plenty of privacy. Plenty of warning, too. When the B team gets here they’ll set up a nice perimeter.”

  “Are you leaving us?” said Archie.

  “Heck no. Gotta stick around in case you need to scoot by sea. I’ll be sleeping on the beach under my shelter halves. I’m not leaving that baby out of my sight. Only takes a minute to fire her up. But the boat’s just one option. I hear White’s got a seaplane chartered. Ultimately, it’s your call how you get away. You’re the boss.”

  “White? Who’s White?”

  “Yeah, good one!” Hodges chuckled and bumped his fist on Archie’s shoulder. “That little shit gets no respect.”

  A vehicle rattled unseen down the track that ran beside the creek bed. Hodges squinted into the dusty weeds. “That must be your ride coming.” He glanced nervously back to his boat. “At least … I hope that’s your ride.” A black SUV emerged onto the beach. “Phew! I was worried for a sec it might be the Policia.”

  The vehicle pulled up and the driver hopped out, sporting a familiar smile.

  “Arcadio?” said Melissa. “Is that you?”

  “Si. Es me,” said Arcadio, beaming.

  “How did you get here?”

  “I fly.”

  “Those ops guys love Arcadio,” said Hodges. “He speaks every language under the sun.”

  “And the Portuguese, too,” said Arcadio.

  “Well … yeah,” said Hodges.

  Four small children appeared at the end of the track and peered at them through the fronds of a small palm.

  “Aw! Look at the cuties!” said Melissa.

  The children looked fairly healthy and their clothes were not nearly the shreds of rag he had seen hanging off kids in Burkina Faso. By Archie’s jaded standards, they were relatively well-to-do.

  “Vamanos!” said Hodges. He chucked a rock at them. The kids screamed and scattered.

  “Mr. Hodges! Don’t be mean!” said Melissa.

  “No bambinos allowed here,” said Hodges.

  “Where did they come from?” she said.

  “This their house,” said Arcadio.

  “You’re … kidding,” said Melissa, jaw dropping. “You evicted this family so we could stay here?”

  “Well … yeah,” said Hodges. “They didn’t own it. They were just tenants. We had the landlord terminate their lease. We’re paying triple what they paid.”

  “Now, that’s just not right. Archie, are you hearing this? Tell him it’s not right.”

  Archie appreciated Melissa’s concern. This displacement was going to be a severe hardship on this family. Who knew how long they had lived in this stilted bungalow in this beautiful cove? It might have been generations. But as much as he felt sorry for the kids, to intervene would compromise his identity. How would the real Agent Black respond? Would he play it cool, or cater to the whims of his purported girlfriend?

  “They were supposed to be long gone by now,” said Hodges. “Arcadio, get the landlord on the phone. Look at the crap they left all over. It’s like a fucking tornado came through. Now this is just unacceptable.” Hodges picked up a crude broom and began sweeping bits of coconut husk from the packed sand.

  “Archie?” Melissa’s eyes pierced him. “A little support would be nice right about now.”

  He walked over to the end of the track where the children had fled and peered up towards the main road. The kids had stopped halfway, but resumed their flight at the sight of Archie. Atop the incline a young couple and an old woman sat beside an array of baskets, rice sacks and rolled up mattresses.

  Melissa came up behind him. “Jesus!” she said. “That’s grandma there with all their belongings.”

  Archie waved Arcadio over and handed him a small wad of bills, unsure of how much or even if it was the proper currency. “Go see if they need some money for a taxi or a boarding house or something.”

  Archie glanced at Melissa, hoping she approved. Her face had calmed.

  “It’s the least we can do,” she said. “I almost want to let those poor people have their house back. We can sleep on the beach.”

  “Unh-unh … that ain’t happening,” said Hodges. “Bad for security.”

  “Once we’re gone, I’m sure they can come back,” said Archie. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Hodges?”

  “Fuck if I know … or care,” said Hodges. “It was a fair trade. Jesus Christ! What a bunch of bleeding hearts. What’s with you people?” Cognition flashed into Hodges’ eyes. “Ooooh, I get it. You guys … you’re method acting again. Staying in character. Holy crap. You really had me going there for a minute.”

  Melissa called up to Arcadio. “Tell them we’re sorry … and we hope to be gone soon. We’ll make sure the landlord brings them back once we leave … won’t we Mr. Hodges?”

  “Whatever you say, ma’am,” said Hodges, giving her a sly grin.

  ***

  Archie had Arcadio take them to town in his rented SUV. Hodges tried giving them some money for a case of beer.

  Archie waved him off. “It’s on me. What kind do you want?”

  “Budweiser, if you can find it … which I doubt. But any old cat piss will do.”

  Hodges insisted they bring the guns along. He and Melissa stashed them under the seats. Their presence troubled him. They may as well have been riding with cobras.

  Cocoa grew everywhere, so unlike Bioko where the industry had collapsed. The roads were nearly devoid of traffic. It was hard to believe this was the main thoroughfare. They passed a farm tractor, pulling an open trailer packed with standees. It appeared to be operating as a bus, with people getting off and on at frequent stops.

  On the outskirts of the city proper, they passed to a huge fenced compound spanning an entire peninsula. Nearly a score of towering radio transmitters jutted into the mist like middle fingers to the world.

  “What’s all this?” said Melissa.

  “Voice of America,” said Arcadio.

  “Oh really? Can you get it your radio?”

  “These one? No. They make short wave. Oh, but I think they make FM too. Let me check.” He whirled the dial until he came to an announcer speaking over a tune with an accordion and a hiccupping beat. “Is these one.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know they played music.”

  “This is the local frequency,” said Archie. “They run it as a public service for the community. Keeps them on their sunny side. But the rest of those towers broadcast in all different languages, spewing propaganda over the globe.”

  Melissa’s eyes went wide, her face blank.

 
“It’s true,” said Archie. “Pure propaganda. America the Beautiful, 24/7. I avoid it like the plague, though lately the BBC isn’t much better.”

  “Archie, don’t you see?” said Melissa. “This is how we can get your message out.”

  “What? They’re not going to interview someone like me.”

  “We have guns,” she whispered. “We can make them.”

  Archie was flabbergasted. “Make them? Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “We don’t have to load them.”

  “I don’t think it matters under the law. We’ll still go to prison … if they don’t shoot us dead first.”

  “There are mitigating circumstances. We’d be safe … safer … in government custody.”

  “Mm-maybe. Maybe not. Depends if the government is in on this or not. It’s an interesting idea, Melissa, but I don’t think it’s viable.”

  Arcadio pulled over and turned around. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

  “Fine, Arcadio. Everything’s fine,” said Archie.

  “We are in the town. Where we go now?”

  “Ministry of Health. It’s near the market.”

  “So what exactly is your plan?” said Melissa, glowering with arms folded tight.

  “We’re going to see my friend Vilfrido.”

  “Oh? What’s he do?”

  “He’s the Minister of Health.”

  Chapter 28: The Minister

  The Ministry of Health occupied a squat colonial building that looked like a converted train station. Quite possibly, that was exactly what it was. On one of his prior excursions, Archie remembered seeing the rusted remains of an engine boiler half-buried in a field like some iron dinosaur skull. And in the uplands near Bombain, he had hiked past overgrown cuts and collapsed trestles.

  The trains had probably hauled coffee and cocoa from the upland roças, and shuttled the governor and his captains of industry from the cool hill town of Trinidade to the sweltering coast. Why the Ministry would choose to base itself in a former train station was another story.

  The waiting room was cavernous and dim. Archie and Melissa sank into oversized, leather chairs. The cushions bore the impressions of a million rear ends. The arms were chafed into suede. WHO newsletters and AIDS prevention comic books with graphic instructions for how to properly wear a condom littered a low table.

  “Are you good friends with this guy?” said Melissa.

  “The Minister?” Archie sat up and sighed. “Not really. I mean, we only met once or twice, before he got the position. I’m not even sure he remembers me. But I remember him. He was one of the few people who spoke English. I didn’t speak a dang bit of Portuguese. I had no idea why they sent me to work on a Global Fund proposal.”

  “Was it funded?”

  “The proposal? Oh yeah. They got their money. Twice, actually. Once for the initial push and then for complete malaria elimination from the island.”

  “Oh, really? Does that mean I can stop taking my pills?”

  “Um, nope. Malaria’s still here and going strong. Things didn’t work out quite like they expected.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Biology,” said Archie. “Nature doesn’t sit still. The insecticides they used don’t bother the mosquitoes anymore. They’ve developed resistance. Using the same stuff on the nets and the walls probably didn’t help.”

  Melissa fished through her purse and pulled out a prescription bottle.

  “You haven’t been taking them?”

  “I missed one day. No big deal.” She popped a doxycycline and took a swig of water from the bottle Hodges had given her. “This Vilfrido guy … does he have an in with the President or something?”

  Archie shrugged. “He’s a Minister.”

  “Doesn’t necessarily mean he can get you face time with the President. Does it?”

  Archie took a deep breath. “He did it once before. This is a small country. Things are different here. Everyone knows each other. They don’t take themselves as seriously.”

  “What’s he like, this President?”

  “Um. He’s kind of reticent. Shifty eyes. Careful with words. Reminds me a little of my rich uncle—this new and used car dealer in Oklahoma who got lucky. He had the only Toyota dealership for a hundred miles in every direction. But he was a good guy. He cared about his customers.”

  “Archie, that doesn’t paint the best impression. I mean … used car dealer … really?”

  Archie sighed. “I just meant he’s the kind of guy who’s a little uncomfortable with his success and position. He’s savvy and successful, but he remembers his roots.”

  The receptionist stood and smiled, motioning elegantly with her hand. “The Minister will see you now.”

  She led them to an air-conditioned office. A prim and petite woman wearing glasses on a chain and a grey business suit sat behind a large desk, not Vilfrido. He had never seen this person before.

  “Good afternoon. I am Dr. Consuela de Carvalho.”

  “Archie Parsons.” He shook the woman’s hand limply. “And this is Melissa Wray, my assistant.”

  An awkward silence ensued.

  “Is something wrong?” Her English was clear, with a faintly British twist to her vowels.

  “Oh … it’s nothing. I was just expecting to see Vilfrido.”

  “Vilfrido Gilberto?” She smirked. “His party lost their majority in the last parliamentary election. That’s how it goes around here. It’s like musical chairs. Vilfrido is now back with the malaria control team working on IRS and bednet distribution.” She motioned to the thinly cushioned chairs lined up across from her desk. “Please have a seat. How can I help you?”

  “I don’t think we’ve met, but I’ve been here before … with the Global Fund consultancy.”

  “Hmm. Parsons, Parsons. Yes, I recognize that name from the monitoring reports. Well, I must tell you, I am very pleased to meet you. As you well know, these resources have greatly accelerated our malaria programs. I am grateful for your role in their success. But what brings you to São Tomé now? I had no idea you people would be visiting us. The monitoring and evaluation team isn’t due until September.”

  “I’m actually here on … other business.”

  “Oh? So how can I be of service?”

  “Well … I don’t know how to say this, but I was hoping to meet with Vilfrido. He had once arranged a meeting for our group with the President and I was going to ask if it might be possible to do so again.”

  “The President? Our President? You mean Fernando?”

  “Yes.”

  The Minister pondered. “If he is available, this certainly may be possible. He holds your consultancy in very high regard. He often mentions the Global Fund in his public speeches. He has a vision, that if we can rid our islands of malaria we become for Africa, what Hong Kong and Singapore are for Asia—a hub and gateway for regional trade. May I ask, why you wish to meet with him?”

  “Actually, I’d rather not say. It’s kind of a … a troubling issue, but something he really needs to know about. I guarantee he’s going to find it … disturbing. But he’ll be glad to know. I can guarantee that.”

  The Minister looked alarmed. “I am already disturbed. Does this have something to do with the funding? I have heard that EG has had their funding cut off due to their increased oil revenues.”

  “Oh no. This has nothing to do with malaria or the Global Fund. It’s … a more general issue than that. Personal. Really.”

  Her face tried to relax, but it only ended up looking puzzled. “Well … that makes me a bit more relieved. I think. Does this have anything to do with the workings of my Ministry? The Ministry of Health?”

  “Not really. Let’s just say it has more with the President’s own, personal health.”

  “Oh.” She seemed taken aback. Relief coupled with concern. “So it’s a private matter. Medical, perhaps. I’m surprised he didn’t confide in me, but … I won’t pry any further. How much time do you need with him?”
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  “Not long,” said Archie. “I don’t know. Ten minutes should do it. I just need to show him some papers and … tell him some things.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. As you might expect, he is a very busy man … and he values his private time—a difficult combination for scheduling. But if this is a personal matter … some favor he asked of you. No?” She lifted her glasses and stared. “Let me make some calls. Would you mind waiting outside?”

  He rose with Melissa and they returned to the waiting room.

  “Why didn’t you just tell her?” Melissa hissed.

  “Tell her what?”

  “What this is all about. Instead of leading her on like that. She’s got this idea that you’re helping him with some personal medical thing like … anal fissures or herpes. Something embarrassing like that.”

  Archie tipped his head from side to side. “I don’t know, I’d say that murder and assassination are pretty personal.”

  “But you should have told her. She seems nice enough. And she’s got clout. She’s a Minister for goodness sake.”

  “We’d sound like crackpots. Better he hear it directly from us, without his people vetting us and distorting the message. Who knows, if we weird them out too much, they might just throw us in jail before we even get to see him.”

  “I don’t know. I got a good feeling from her. I think she’s friends with him. She cares about his health.”

  “She is the Health Minister, after all.”

  “Yeah, but I could tell she was worried for him.”

  “I’d rather get the message to the President unfiltered, if at all possible. I mean, he could just as easily throw us in jail, but at least he’d get the straight scoop.”

  “Jail, huh?”

  “Yeah. Quite possible. But it might be a good thing. We get to tell our story to judges, lawyers … a jury, maybe. Publicity. Thick walls between us and the bad guys. Security guards.”

  “Honey. You can go to jail if you want. I have friends who went to prison and it was no picnic. And I’m talking Maryland. Can you imagine what conditions are like in a place like this? Maybe they got a special one for lily-white folks like you, but—”

  The Minister’s door opened and Dr. Carvalho stepped out. “He’s agreed to see you … tomorrow morning at nine… at his roça. It’s in the hills near Trinidade. Mirabelle can give you directions.”