by A. Sparrow
White strolled past the restaurant, glancing through gaps in the curtains covering the floor to ceiling glass wall. A white man sat at a table with a black man and woman. He pulled out his phone and checked the photo had sent him. The white man bore a superficial resemblance to Black, particularly around the eyes. It had to be Parsons. White could see now why the consortium had targeted him.
The black man was their Equatoguinean driver, Arcadio, an employee of the consortium. His presence disturbed White. He was not supposed to be fraternizing with his charges, particularly since he knew there to be a kill order out on them both. Maybe Parsons had insisted he join them in the way some from the North assuaged their guilt through such token gestures, providing meals to the black-skins who serve them, feigning collegiality. Hopefully, Arcadio knew enough to get out of the way once the killing started. Maybe his presence would provide a useful diversion—a red herring of sorts.
White watched them laughing, joking. Very good. He liked his targets happy and relaxed. They were more vulnerable that way. It would have been like shooting fish in a barrel, if he had only brought a gun.
He found a love seat in the walkway outside the restaurant, picked up a brochure some guest had left behind and pretended to read it. He was screened by a curtain, but through its chiffon he could keep the trio in blurry view. Like a hawk hovering from a height, await his chance to swoop in for the kill.
***
Arcadio shuffled back to the table looking a bit hang dog.
“Hey buddy, what’s wrong?” said Melissa. “Everything alright … at home?”
“Is nothing,” said Arcadio. He avoided eye contact with either of them.
“Why don’t I order us some dessert, cheer everyone up?” said Archie. He called the waiter over and got three orders of Black Forest cake. It arrived as little brownie-sized squares, dense and dry, its frosting crisp and cracked.
“Hmm. Might make a better hockey puck,” said Melissa.
“A bunch of these and some mortar would make a good wall,” said Archie.
“I will eat, if you no like,” said Arcadio. “I like it. I am not so fussy.”
“You know, here we are in a cocoa growing country and I bet you all the dang cocoa in this cake probably comes from Brazil.”
“Get out! After all those coca plantations we passed through?”
“Cocoa,” corrected Archie. “Or you can say cacao. Coca is something completely different.”
“Did I really say coca?” said Melissa, smacking her forehead. “Oh, look! They had ice cream on the menu! I should have ordered that instead.”
“Only if you like it crunchy,” said Archie. “Ice cream and the developing tropics don’t get along. Too many power failures and freeze/thaw cycles.”
“We should probably get a move on … if we’re still going to do this,” said Melissa. “We do want to do this still, don’t we?”
“Sure. Let’s give it a shot. Even if we don’t get on this flight, we can try again tomorrow.”
“You should give me your passport and let me check in for both of us,” said Melissa. “Stay in the car till boarding time.”
“What for?”
“I’m less conspicuous. Those guys, Arch. They’re out there, watching.”
“Oh, I don’t need to worry about them. Remember, I’m Agent Black.”
“Yeah, you’re Agent Black, alright.”
“Waiter! Check please?” said Archie, rubbing two fingers together. “Arcadio, can you go get the car?”
“Of course. Give me ten minute and come out to front.”
Archie waited till Arcadio left the restaurant. “Hey Melissa,” he whispered. “Do you think we should ditch Arcadio?”
“Huh?”
“Send him back to Hodges. We could sneak out the back and take a cab.”
Melissa gave him an incredulous look. “What for?”
“Just thought it would be good to make our break with these people.”
“But he’s got my suitcase.”
“I’ll buy you new clothes.”
“Where? Cape Verde?”
“How about Paris?”
Melissa shook her head and looked away. “He already knows we’re going to the airport. We’re not fooling anybody. If we leave him now, it’ll just raise their hackles.”
“Yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just want to be rid of all this … the sooner the better.”
“Don’t be rash. Just let it happen. Why ripple the pond if we don’t have to?”
“I’d better use the bathroom before we head out.” said Archie. “You?”
“I’m fine,” said Melissa. “I might check out the gift shop again. Might be my last chance for souvenirs.”
“Meet you outside,” said Archie.
***
The driver’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull when he saw White sitting in the nook outside the restaurant. He kept glancing back as he headed towards the lobby.
White hissed at him. “Keep your eyes straight, Arcadio you fook, or you’ll blow my cover.”
The couple settled their bill and rose from the table. White buried his nose in a pamphlet, pretending to be enthralled by the instruction manual for a wireless modem.
They paid no notice to him as they left the restaurant. He let them pass, noting with practiced disinterest where they parted ways, the girl cutting across the lobby to the little gift shop, while Parsons went into the men’s room.
White knew an opportunity for murder when he saw it. A hotel wasn’t the most optimal venue in terms of body disposal, but at least this one was quiet and minimally secured.
Yes, there would be a big commotion and investigation, but he would be long gone. It would not preclude him from taking out the other targets, including the big fish. A hubbub centered about the hotel might even facilitate his work by creating a diversion.
On second thought, headquarters would be more impressed if he could make them vanish without traces, a trick with which the real Agent Black had made his name. ‘The Black Hole,’ some called the phenomenon. Maybe it didn’t have to happen at the hotel. Maybe he could charm/cajole/bully them into accompanying him someplace where he could accomplish the deed silent and clean.
He put down the pamphlet, rose and stretched, slipping his hand in his pocket to retrieve his little knife. The blade was plenty long enough to slip between the fourth and fifth cervical vertebra and sever a brain’s connection to its vitals.
He had practiced on corpses, left hand pressing, feeling for the bony protrusions on the back of a neck, fingers parting, a quick, forceful jab between them with the right hand, and that would be that. Wipe the blade, pocket it, and off we go.
The victim wouldn’t bleed much. No significant veins or arteries nicked and his heart wouldn’t be pumping for very long. And the hotel was so dead, there was little chance of any collateral damage. Headquarters would be impressed.
He ambled towards the men’s room, twirling the knife in his fingers.
***
The Miramar’s washroom dazzled Archie. The sinks gleamed. Every faucet provided water at the advertised temperature and every valve turned on and off without a drip. The floor harbored no puddles, the tiles straight and true. It could have passed for a Ritz-Carlton stateside if not for the little brown crab in the corner, trying and failing to climb the wall.
He stepped into a stall with an actual door and a working latch. The toilet smelled of lavender, not urine. Unlike many he had encountered south of the Sahara, its seat remained affixed, with nary a crack and of thick enough plastic to not warp under his weight as he sat, pants bunched below his knees. He did not even mind that they touched the floor. It was that pristine.
The washroom door whooshed open. Through the narrow space between door and post, Archie watched a man wash his hands, look about and wash his hands some more. The man kept looking up and staring at the stalls through the mirror. Archie recognized those eyebrows. It was the guy from the beige sedan.
He came straight to Archie’s stall and wiggled the door.
“Occupied!” Archie blurted.
“So sorry.”
He entered the stall to Archie’s left. He sat but kept his pants up.
“Lovely day for an assassination, eh mate?”
The statement startled Archie, until he remembered what Melissa had told him about the men at the airport. This guy must be a member of the B team.
“That’s a rather unprofessional thing to say … don’t you think?”
“Say what?” The man chuckled. “What do you know of my profession?”
“Obviously, you’re … you’re one of my support crew … right?”
The man chuckled some more and slid his foot into Archie’s side of the partition. “Support? Listen mate. I support no one. I’m an independent operator.”
“Excuse me, but … some privacy would be nice.”
“You’re right. The loo is not the best place for shop talk. Why don’t you come out to my car? We can go somewhere and clarify a few things. I’ll buy you a pint.”
“Um … that’s kind of you, but … there’s no need. Do what you need to do … just give me a little more space, okay? I mean, did you really have to follow me into the stalls?”
“So, so sorry. Just getting to know you, mate. While I still can.”
“Archie?” Melissa called out from the lobby. “Everything okay in there?”
“F-fine! I’ll be out in a minute.”
Archie sat and waited, hoping the man would get up and leave—for naught.
“Awful quiet in there. Having some trouble, are we mate? Is my presence disturbing your bowels?”
“Goll dang! Now that’s just too much. You’d better leave right now.”
“Oh? Or else?”
“I’ll call … I’ll report you.”
“Oh yes? To whom? We both know you’ll do nothing of the sort. We know exactly who you are Mr. Parsons. The jig is up.”
An icicle impaled Archie’s core.
“So why don’t come along. You and your little girlfriend. Come and join me in my car. We’ll go have a beer, have a little chat, set some things straight, set some parameters and then you can be on your way.”
Archie lifted his hand slowly to the latch, undoing it without making as much as a scrape or click. He figured he could dash for the lobby, grab Melissa and run.
“How about it, mate? A bit of parley would do us both good.”
“Um … sure,” said Archie. He made his move in one quick flurry, pulled his trousers up, pulled open the door and sprang off the toilet. But his pants slipped back down. He tripped and skidded across the tile on his knees.
The door to the adjoining stall flew open and man burst out after him. He flicked his wrist. A tiny blade materialized out of nowhere.
Archie yanked up his pants and stumbled to his feet. The man shoved him down and leaped onto his back, knocking the breath out of him. He ripped down Archie’s collar and manipulated his vertebrae with his thumb. A knife point pricked the back of his neck. He mustered all his strength and squirmed out from under the blade. It clicked and scratched against the tile.
The washroom door swung open. Melissa bounded in, feet wide, fist extended, her other hand wielding her souvenir carving like a club. The man released Archie’s collar and lunged at her with the knife. Leg already swinging, her shoe struck his wrist and knocked the blade free. She planted her swing leg, brought up the other knee and smashed the guy in the face. The force knocked him off Archie’s back. Blood poured from his nostrils.
As Archie scuttled away, Melissa poised to strike again, lifting and cocking her leg. The man grabbed it before she could kick and hauled her down. The carving slipped from her grip and drummed against the tile. Archie snatched it and raised it high, clubbing him over one ear as he stretched to retrieve his knife. The carving snapped. The smiling head of the matron flew off and bounced off the back wall. The man’s arms gave way. He crumpled.
Archie hauled Melissa to her feet with one hand, holding up his undone pants with the other.
The man scrambled to his feet and attacked again, flailing his fists, but he was woozy and disoriented. His blow glanced off Archie’s jaw and struck his shoulder. Melissa whipped a small bottle from her purse, shoved it in the man’s face and sprayed. He screamed and clasped his hands over his eyes.
Archie grabbed Melissa’s hand.
“Run!”
Chapter 35: Voice of America
Archie tore through the lobby, Melissa in tow, her wrist clasped in his grip, jerking her along like some clumsy square dancer. When the doorman saw them approach, he seemed torn between stopping them and getting the hell out of the way. But when he saw Archie’s flapping belt buckle, he grinned, probably assuming this was an adulterous couple on the run from a jealous husband. He swung the door open wide.
Archie’s eyes stung from the substance she had sprayed on his attacker. Tears welled profusely and blurred his vision.
“What was that shit you sprayed on him?”
“Insecticide,” she said.
Arcadio pulled the SUV forward. His eyes looked worried. Archie hesitated.
“Melissa. He’s one of them! They know. They know who we are now.”
“Don’t worry. Arcadio’s cool. I’m sure he’d never do anything to hurt us.”
“But, he works for—”
“Archie, I trust him. I’m getting in the car. Come on.”
“Melissa!”
“Trust me. I know people.”
Archie wiped his cheek on his shirt sleeve and glanced back towards the lobby with dread. The doorman stood straight and calm looking back at Archie. There was no sign of the man who accosted him. He took a deep breath and climbed in beside Melissa.
Arcadio didn’t dally. He tore out of the drive. “Where we should go?”
“Not to Boca. Mr. Hodges knows now, too,” said Archie.
“Yes. He know,” said Arcadio. “Where we go?”
“We can’t go to the airport either. Those guys … they’re not working for you anymore, Archie. There’s no way they let us pass.”
“Yeah,” said Archie, grimly. “You’re probably right?”
“So where? Where we should go?” said Arcadio, stopped at an intersection.
“Keep driving. Anywhere. Just keep driving.”
“So what do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“We can go to Bombain,” said Arcadio.
“Where’s that?”
“High in the hills. They won’t find you so fast … as here.”
“Arcadio, why are you helping us?”
“It is my choice. I make some bad choice. Before. Now I make some better choice. In my heart, it feels good to help you.”
“What do you think Arch? Should we go to Bombain?”
“I don’t know. There are so few roads up there. Too easy to trap us.”
“There are many footpaths. People in the villages can show you. They will not talk.”
“So what do you think, Arch?”
Archie remembered the slip of paper President de Marazul had given him. He fished around his pocket. “I … I’ve got the President’s number. He said if we ran into trouble—”
“What are you waiting for? Call him.”
Archie noticed some dark drips on the car seat. Her blouse was torn and bloody.
“Jeez, Melissa. You’re bleeding.”
“I’m okay. He just nicked my side.”
“Where the heck did you learn to fight like that?”
“I have skills, Arch. Skills I never told you about.”
“You think?”
Melissa pursed her lips and brooded. She started to say something, caught herself and started again. “I’m not really just your neighbor, Arch. I used to work for … well, not these people … but people who work with them.”
“Okay,” said Archie. “You always struck me as a mite over-qualified for cat-sitting.
But I figured … high unemployment rate … or maybe she’s a slacker.”
“I was unemployed when I took that job. It was just … piecework.”
“So … I suppose it was no accident that I ended up hiring you.” Archie scrunched his brow. “Y-you weren’t sent to … assassinate me? Were you?”
“Oh God no! I don’t do that sort of thing.” She took a long, slow breath. “I used to work for the CIA, Arch. I lied. This isn’t my first time in Africa. I went to Kenya and Tanzania after the embassy bombings to … sniff around. Not that I was ever terribly good at that sort of thing. I went through all the training, but I washed out early. Got my burn notice. Settled down in the Bay Area. I was thinking of going to law school when, somehow, these people found me, signed me up for a little consultancy. They pay good money. All they wanted was for me to watch you for a time, figure out your travel patterns, go through your things while you were away. I’ve read your e-mail. You really need a better password than ‘Anopheles.’ So I know who you know, how pathetic your social life is, how much you hate asparagus and your little issues with athlete’s foot. I would sit there all day with your kitties and go through your files. But … when I learned exactly what was that you did, I started feeling bad, doing what I was doing. I admire, you Archie. All these people you help … in all these countries. For peanuts.”
“Really? I thought HVI compensated pretty well, considering.”
“Maybe by NGO standards, but you have no clue what these bastards in industry are making, do you?”
“You knew all along? That they wanted to kill me?”
“No! Not at all. I had no idea why they wanted to mess with someone of your ilk. It wasn’t until I got word that you were dead, and then right after you called me from Monrovia. Then I knew something was wrong. I knew then, that they had fucked up.”
“Now you tell me? Now?”
“I didn’t want you to know,” she said, her voice going small. “I wanted you to still like me.”
Archie patted his pockets. “Christ, I don’t even have a phone with me. Do you?”
“No. I left it with Hodges. Didn’t feel safe using it.”
A cell phone appeared over Arcadio’s shoulder. “Use mine,” he said.
Archie looked at Melissa.
“Nothing to lose now,” she said.
He took Arcadio’s phone and punched in the number. He looked up at her.
“It’s ringing.”
A man answered in Portuguese.