The Abduction of Smith and Smith

by Rashad Harrison

  “I plan to be with you and the boy . . . as long as you’ll let me,” said Sebastian.

  • • •

  There was screaming everywhere. The chants in their language—Sonya couldn’t understand. The merchant unlocked a chest and revealed his weapons cache. He grabbed a rifle for himself, another for Sebastian, and handed a pistol to Sonya. He tossed a pistol to Mary, who easily caught it.

  “The Grebo,” he said. “They don’t respect paper treaties. They view us as the aggressors. Every so often, they raid the town and we have to beat them back.”

  A window was broken. Wood was smashed. A passing torch illuminated the curtain like an orange-red flag. It was as if the entire tribe was waiting for them.

  “Come out, Vanderhoven. Face us.”

  Sebastian peeked through the curtain. “There’s too many of them. We’ll have to sneak out back.”

  “They’ll just break down the door and take everything. Everything I worked for. I can’t let that happen.”

  Sebastian looked around. “What do you have in here that’s flammable?”

  “Kerosene. Maybe a bit of gunpowder.”

  “We’ll throw it out the window, create a diversion, and slip out the back.” Sebastian positioned himself by the window with the barrel. “Robert, go with them out the back. I’ll roll the barrel out and shoot it. The explosion should give us enough time to escape.”

  Robert did as Sebastian instructed and led everyone out the back into the darkness. She heard the faint screams and an explosion that gave her a jolt. She looked back and saw the blue-gray cloud, visible even at night, forming over the merchant’s home. They ran farther into the darkness until the sound of their breath and footsteps were the only thing they heard.

  • • •

  Sebastian clawed up the hillside, struggling to lift himself. As usual, it was intolerably humid; sweat and condensation on his hands, his brow, and his rifle. Every wet breath seemed like a prelude to drowning. He reached the top of the bluff that overlooked the village. He stayed low, belly in the dirt, as he surveyed the area, watching the dense brush for any signs of movement. He readied his rifle. They would be coming soon. He tried to focus, but the predatory ritual triggered fearful memories of those anxious nights before a battle, the quiet jitters that plagued his regiment as they observed a tranquil clearing from the woods and waited for the sound of the Rebel cry.

  He saw movement in the trees. A bird flew away from the treetops. They were here. There was a long silence after that bird’s flight—and then there were screams. The attack had begun. Sebastian steadied his rifle and picked them off one by one. He thought he had gotten them all, then gunfire came from the woods. Where the hell did they get guns like that?

  He fired blindly in the direction of the gunfire. Two screaming men emerged firing at him. He tried to take them down but they were too fast. He rolled and slid down the muddy hill. One of them drew a knife and followed him down. The blade almost cut his shoulder—but it caught the wrist. Immediately he was aware of how small the wound was. Sebastian knocked the knife out of the assailant’s hand, grabbed it, and then plunged it into his belly. It was not until the frenzied anger left the native’s face, and death took it over, that Sebastian realized that he was just a boy of twelve or thirteen. He still held the knife in the boy as his knees buckled. Sebastian withdrew the knife and eased him down. He held the boy until the life left his eyes.

  Sebastian heard someone behind him. He turned. All he saw was a flash of light, then complete darkness.

  • • •

  Sonya came back to town looking for Sebastian. They were already clearing out the bodies of the natives. It was as if he had performed one last disappearing act, rendering his audience speechless.

  70

  Cuba

  Jupiter arrived in Cuba, where most of the fighting was. Wherever there was chaos to be exploited, Barrett would be close by. He tried to ingratiate himself with the locals, but he soon found he was in danger. There was a revolution going on. The angry slaves, now turned infuriated rebels, fighting for their freedom from Spain and the sugar plantations, had caused the white population to panic. There was a lot of fear and distrust to go around, and now the American Negro was on a strange island, an island in upheaval, looking for a white man who sold weapons.

  “Look around,” he was told on more than one occasion. “Choose one.”

  He did look around, and he saw plenty of the kinds of crimes that Barrett was guilty of. He thought Barrett was a special case, but now he wasn’t so sure. He spent some time in Havana getting his next plan together. How would he get to Liberia? He was closer now than ever before, but that would take money. He didn’t have any. He had been a fool to come, thinking he could change the world again. But he felt he needed to do it if he was to ever look his son in the face and not be ashamed. He had tried to rid the world of a bad man. Was he removing a bad man from the world, or just one from his life? When would it end? He could go on this self-righteous path until the end of time, and the world would still not be free of bad men, men like Barrett or worse than him. In the end it would amount to nothing more than a killing spree. Somewhere he had gotten it wrong. It wasn’t about ridding the world of bad men. The path that he needed was one that he had never tried before: becoming the best man that he could be, not just for his sake, but for his son’s sake as well.

  He gathered his things. He had to get the hell off this island. Two men appeared. A third one stepped behind him and put a knife to his throat. They had other plans: they intended for him to stay a while longer.

  • • •

  He awoke on a raft. The sound of the river. The sounds of the jungle. The night sky. Two of his captors hovered over him. Negro—mulato—like him. The other one steered. He was going to ask questions: where, who, why? But he knew these were not the types of men who liked interrogations. Besides, his Spanish was not that good.

  The longer the trip took, the more certain he became that he was going to die. What did these men want, and if they were willing to tell him, was it something that he wanted to hear?

  Then he looked closer at one of his captors: his collar; the buttons; it was the kind of coat worn by a sea captain.

  • • •

  They docked the raft and blindfolded Jupiter. They led him through the shallow water at the shore, then a muddy bank and into the dense jungle.

  “What does he want with this one?” one of them asked in Spanish.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said the other one. “He asks, we get.”

  They slowed to a standstill. Jupiter heard a voice from in front of him, not one of the men he was with. One of his captors responded. The sound of a door opening. They let Jupiter take a step closer, then he felt a strong shove to the back and he fell, rolling, tumbling down.

  When he stopped rolling, he took the blindfold off. Complete darkness. A match was struck. A torch was lit.

  “You’ve come a long way to see me, Jupiter,” said Barrett. “I knew you’d find me, son.” He sat in a simple, modest chair, but it still invoked the throne of a mad king. “I’m so glad you’re here. We need each other now more than ever.”

  “I haven’t come here for that,” said Jupiter.

  “I know. You think you’ve come here to kill me, but really it’s to join forces. There are things—limitations—since I’ve been here, that I have encountered as a white man. Limitations that you still encounter as a Negro, but the two of us together,” he interlaced his fingers, “the two of us together can be a force to be reckoned with.”

  “I don’t see how I can be any help to you,” said Jupiter.

  “Some of the Negroes buy my guns, some of them don’t. But some of the plantation owners and the government have discovered who has been arming the rebels—not all, but some, including me. They’re hunting us down.”

  “Something tells me t
hat you’ll survive. You’re still doing well for yourself. Not your usual operation, but still ruling with an iron fist.”

  Jupiter tried to stand. Barrett came over to assist him.

  “It only appears that I am in charge,” Barrett whispered to Jupiter. “I am really a prisoner. Get me out of here.”

  Jupiter stepped back in shock, but also to look into Barrett’s eyes.

  “Barrett, if what you say is true, then there is nothing that I can do for you. You may be safer here than you are out there with the Cuban government looking for you. And I know for a fact that there is someone who would love to know your whereabouts.”

  Barrett’s eyes grew large. “My, how you have come up in the world, Jupiter Smith.”

  “No,” Jupiter said. “I’m down at the same level. So if you’re a prisoner, what does that make me?”

  “When they heard that you were asking around looking for me, they assumed it was to free me, and they could hold the two of us for ransom. So it seems that, once again, the two of us are in the same boat.” Barrett smiled.

  “Not exactly.” Jupiter called to the guards. A door opened above him. “Listen,” he said in Spanish. “I am not a friend of his. I haven’t come here to rescue him. I came here to talk to him. I’ve done so—now I am leaving.”

  “I have a ship waiting for me at the eastern port. The Liverpool. I will take you to your family. I’ve sold a lot of guns since I came here, Jupiter. I have more than money, I have gold. Help me, and I’ll show you where I’ve hidden it,” Barrett said.

  “I don’t want your gold,” said Jupiter. Just then he saw a glimmer in Barrett’s eyes. Most of the signs of his previous fear and terror had vanished.

  “Of course you want my gold,” said Barrett. “You want the gold of my charity, the remuneration of my allegiance, the lucre of my validation and approval. Set me free, and I will spread a tale so grand and heroic from these Caribbean isles to the Isle of Nantucket. Every inn, every saloon, will be filled with the retellings of all you have accomplished on our extraordinary voyage. Let me go, and I promise that in the company of white men, both high and low, that when the subject of the Negro and his limitations surfaces, as it inevitably will, I will knight you as the exception, and name you so. And talk of your intrepidness, your courage, your resolve, and above all your humbling, awe-inspiring intellect. When people are confronted with fine specimens from your race, they may be impressed but ultimately they will say, ‘He may be something, but nay, he is no Jupiter.’ I promise you this: I’ll scream from the mountains, and whisper it in the brothels, and in your lifetime you will see its effects. One day you may be crossing a street, and the dark shadow that follows you—the one that causes white folks to eye you suspiciously, or bold ones to spit at your feet—will be no more. You will pass a white man, and I promise you he will tip his hat to you, and then you shall be confronted with your own legend—”

  “I’ll take it from here, Jupiter,” said a voice in the shadows.

  “Good-bye, Barrett. The two of you have some catching up to do.”

  “Who is that?” said Barrett. “Show yourself.”

  Jupiter turned to leave.

  “Are you sure you don’t want a part of this?” asked the man in the shadows.

  “I’m certain. You don’t have to do this. You can let him rot here,” said Jupiter.

  “I can’t. I have already paid our friends their money. I guess you did more growing on those waters than I did.”

  Jupiter did not respond. He looked at them—the man in the shadows, and Barrett—then walked into the jungle. “Who are you?” he heard behind him.

  “You shall learn soon enough.”

  71

  Cuba. A few weeks earlier . . .

  Jupiter stared at the disfigured face. “May I help you?” Jupiter asked a bit too politely. The burns made him uncomfortable.

  “You don’t recognize me, Jupiter?”

  He knew the voice. “Singleton.”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you survive?”

  “Drifted on wood for days—God knows how long—until I was picked up by a whaler. I think you went through a similar experience.”

  “If you have all the answers, what do you want with me?”

  “I need to find Barrett.”

  “I wish I knew where he was. I haven’t seen him since the last time you did.”

  Singleton made an expression that could have been interpreted as a smirk. He revealed a dossier, revealed some papers, and then read aloud. “Captain’s log. Picked up a Negro and a white man. Castaways. The white man had already died of starvation and possible complications of syphilis. The Negro was very weak. Took days to recuperate. Upon recuperation spoke of being set adrift by a Captain Barrett. Claimed to be on his way to Liberia, to find his wife Sonya and son. Informed him that we were not headed to Africa. He insisted on being let off at the nearest port. I insisted that he was not well enough. However, upon docking in the harbor, he slipped off into the night.”

  Jupiter was speechless.

  “Impressive, no? My employer, the same man who hired Barrett, also owns the insurer of the ship that picked you up. It’s a small world, controlled by a small group of people.”

  Jupiter thought of the longitude and latitude lines on a map; they quickly metamorphosed into puppet strings. “What do you want?”

  “I want to trade information for information. You tell me where Barrett is, and I will bring you to your wife and child. My employer has a ship headed there very soon. It seems that the people of Sierra Leone and Liberia are in desperate need of weapons to hold back the natives. Just tell me where Barrett is, and you can be on your way.”

  “Can we be honest with each other? You seem to have all the answers, or at least you work for a man that has all the answers, and yet you come to me. What is this really about? You already know where Barrett is. Can we stop playing this game?”

  “By all means.”

  “You want me to help you kill Barrett?”

  “Yes. Is that so wrong?”

  “I am not a mercenary. When I meet my son, I want to do it with clean hands.”

  “It’s a little too late for that, isn’t it, Jupiter? I am trying to help you.”

  “I don’t need your help. I already knew that my family was alive. The same way you sensed that Barrett was living—because of your hatred for him—I knew they were alive because my love told me so. I will find them without your help.”

  Singleton ran his hand across his stiff, scarred brow. “I am trying to be civil with you, Jupiter, but you don’t seem to understand. I told you I know where your family is, exactly. You see the difference? If you upset me, I can make things happen to them. I can make things happen to you right now. Before you can even get to them. Do you see now what I am offering? Help me and they live, don’t and they die.”

  “One thing that I learned from your employer is that the confident do not have to threaten; their reach is felt with every breath, as every hair rises on the back of your neck. They have no need to threaten. Threats are for desperate men. Clinkscales is not a desperate man. He has already sold his guns. The world is as he sees it, whether Barrett lives or dies. Besides, as far as he is concerned, it was you who failed—not Barrett.”

  “So you have learned about my employer?” said Singleton.

  “Somewhat.”

  “We’ve had a number of men get close to Barrett, but with all the turmoil going on there, people are easily corrupted. Money is in short supply.”

  “They must have really wanted Barrett to hunt him down so.”

  “Certainly,” said Singleton.

  “What kind of man would ask another man to do these things?”

  Singleton leaned forward. “The kind of man that could make a fortune selling guns to both sides of the war, then play the bond marke
ts, seizing advantage after said war causes much upheaval. That’s the kind of man we are dealing with. Scruples are in short supply with him. But I’ve said too much.”

  “It wasn’t the first time that Barrett had let down my employer. He can be surprisingly merciful at times. He’s being quite kind by merely eliminating Barrett.”

  “Aren’t you asking me to ‘eliminate’ Barrett?”

  “Yes. But you would do it at his service.”

  “But, why? If this Clinkscales is as powerful as you say, then he can get in and out of Cuba as he pleases. Find Barrett himself.”

  “He’s tried that,” said Singleton.

  “And he failed?”

  “Clinkscales does not fail—he just defers success to a later date. He sent a man there to find Barrett, promising a bounty to any man who could give him information on Barrett’s location. That man has since disappeared, along with the money.”

  “Ran off with it?” asked Jupiter.

  “Died for it. Everything is flipped in Cuba. If Barrett is making a play there, then it is probably on the side of the Negro peasants, the rebels. Clinkscales hasn’t been able to retrieve much information from the Cuban aristocracy. He plays in many circles, but unfortunately a circle of slaves is not one of them. His influence lies mainly within the Cuban aristocracy and no one has seen hide or tail of Barrett, which leads him to believe that Barrett is making a play to arm the rebels.”

  “And that’s where I come in . . .”

  Singleton nodded. “You have the right relationship with him, the right amount of knowledge of the language—”

  “The right color,” Jupiter added.

  “Well, it’s finally come in handy, has it not?”

  “Why me? I’m sure there are plenty of desperate Negroes on the island who can speak Spanish a helluva lot better than I can, and get hold of Barrett a helluva lot faster than I can.”