The Snare

by David A Ogunde

  “Do you need something?” Cyndi was glowering at him with an annoyed look on her face. James felt embarrassed. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at her.

  “No, sorry. I just…uh…you look very nice today.” James tried to avert his eyes, but could not look away from her ensnaring glare.

  “Of course, I do,” she stated coolly. “That’s part of my job description. Can’t go fishing with just one kind of bait, can we?”

  “We’re going fishing?”

  She sighed and set her tablet aside, then leaned forward slightly—her pumps almost brushing against his trouser cuffs.

  “Look. You and I both know how the world works. The plan we’re offering to the government leaders of the Ukadan Republic today can seem…a little intimidating at first. We’ll need to make sure our approach is professional, yet comfortable; and sprinkled with the right amount of charm.”

  “You think it’s going to take a lot to convince them? The plan seems an obvious win to me.”

  “That’s because you can see the big picture. But some people like to get picky about the particulars.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as the condition that, while under our loan, all of the country’s project contracts must be given only to engineering and construction companies owned by our allies.”

  “But that’s only for their own financial protection. And it guarantees that the work they are paying for is getting done with efficiency and quality.”

  “My,” Cyndi cocked her head and shot him a feigned smile. “You are a fast learner, aren’t you?”

  “Something to drink, ma’am?” A young, pretty server had come to stand beside them; her uniform, like Cyndi’s dress, altogether too tight for her underfed frame.

  “I’ll have my usual morning blend,” Cyndi replied without looking at her. “And make sure it’s sealed in a non-clear cup. I don’t want to have to look at it.”

  “Of course, Ms. Pale. And for you, sir?” She turned her attentive eyes to James.

  “I’ll have some coffee. And a roll if you’ve got it, please.”

  “Certainly.” She walked the few yards to the kitchenette at the back of the plane, and the sound of a quiet blender soon faintly touched their ears.

  “The bottom line is this, James,” Cyndi jumped back into their conversation. “And it is the most crucial in all our contracts.”

  James gave her his full attention, steadily watching her serious expression as she relayed GED’s “First Commandment.”

  “The loaned money must always remain in our subsidiary banks.” She paused to let the statement sink in before elaborating. “Whatever the country buys—technology, airplanes, school supplies, or in the Ukadan Republic’s case, equipment and infrastructure for extracting, refining, and shipping their new oil—need to be purchased from our subsidiaries and allies, who will place that money into GED subsidiary banks. Figures will get moved around from place to place, numbers will change from account to account. But, essentially, no money will ever leave the GED pool. And why is that necessary?”

  She raised a thin brow over one of her olive-hued eyes, and James understood the cue. The question was not rhetorical.

  Ahem. He cleared his throat to extract himself from the green sea of her pointed gaze. “Keeping the loaned money within the GED sphere is beneficial to all parties involved. It ensures that it’s exclusively our subsidiaries and allies that will be making money on this new oil deposit, which, in turn, guarantees that the money will be used to further our agenda to bring peace and help to the nations. And it safeguards the money from falling into the hands of those trying to sabotage world peace—like radicals and terrorists.”

  Cyndi sat back in her seat with a sly chuckle. “Oh, yes James. Maximos was right about you. Your understanding of this company and your faith in it are sure to take you faaaar.” She lingered on the last word and let it fade out as she dipped back into her computer screen, a secret smile still playing on her lips. James couldn’t decide what exactly was so amusing. But feeling pleased that his answer had, at least, brought a smile instead of a frown to her face, he contented himself with not worrying about it and began to butter his breakfast roll which had just arrived. After a moment, he peeked back over at Cyndi to see if she was still smiling. It was really a pleasant smile after all; he noticed this, and made her look like a real person instead of the aloof, sarcastic snow queen locked in the frigid tower of corporate entities that she came off as.

  To his subconscious dismay, the mask of reserve was back in place and being affected in a rather negative way as she sipped with disdain the blended concoction the server had brought her.

  Too bad, he thought, taking a drink of his own gourmet coffee. His breakfast was delicious. He’d have to remember to ask the server what brand of coffee this was. Maybe Sarah could find it at the store…Sarah! James literally jerked in his seat as he suddenly remembered that he hadn’t gotten around to calling his wife last night. She had no idea he was now on a plane headed for Africa nor that he was likely to be gone several more days than were originally planned. Quickly, he stood to his feet, causing the table to jolt. Cyndi looked up in alarm.

  “What’s going on?”

  “Sorry. I just remembered that I wanted to make a private call real quick.” James looked around the fuselage and realized the bizjet wasn’t that big. There was nowhere he could sit that would put him completely out of earshot.

  “There’s a private phone in the closet next to the privy in the back,” Cyndi stated somewhat smugly. “You can talk to your wife in there.”

  “Thanks.” James’ answer came out gruffer than usual. How did she know he was going to call Sarah? Had she been expecting it? Had she been waiting to see how long it would be before he remembered? Was she hoping he would forget?

  A flood of confusing thoughts followed James into the private compartment—anger, guilt, embarrassment, worry, and a few he couldn’t identify. Cyndi shouldn’t play around like that. She knows family is important to me…but it is my fault. I’m the one who forgot to call Sarah, and it’s not Cyndi’s job to remind me of my personal responsibilities. She’s already got enough on her plate.

  Briefly snatching a memory of Cyndi’s green, weight-filled eyes from the crevices of his mind, James examined it for a moment before he pushed it aside and called his wife.

  Chapter 35

  The private jet landed before sunset on a dusty air strip outside of the Ukadan Republic’s largest town, Bikama. No sooner had the plane door opened than a rush of dry, hot air surrounded the passengers and crew. Cyndi hurried James and herself through the heat and dust-infused atmosphere toward the only car sitting near the runway. It was a luxurious car…once. For it seemed to be, at least, four decades behind the times as far as automobiles go. Still, underneath the coat of dust, James could tell it was well cared for and probably reserved with pride for visiting guests of their caliber. The thought pleased James and—along with the large, genuine smile and greeting of their driver who had gotten out to open the doors for them—made him feel heartily welcomed, as none other but West African hospitality can do.

  After confirming to the chauffer that they were comfortably settled and asking (on Cyndi’s part) to turn up the air conditioning, the pair of GED delegates were whisked off along a red-dirt road toward Bikama, which lay about five miles away. Cyndi, as usual, used that time buried in her laptop—clacking away at incredible speeds and remaining oblivious to the immediate world around them. James, on the other hand, lapsed into his habitual observation mode, surveying the passing countryside bathed in the setting sun’s fading orange glow with interest and hints of nostalgia for his own country. Immediately, he noticed with mortification small fields lining the road. This time of the year, the fields in Africa should have been lush with growing corns or grains. But whether by blight or drought or a merciless mix of both, these patches of land yielded not the necessary bounty, but only the remains of stillbirth crops. Dried husk
s and lifeless stems bending to the ground in defeat spoke of a loss and desperation for the local people which James felt in his heart in no small measure.

  His compassion was stirred up twice as much when, a moment later, they passed through the first signs of residential life—which was hard pressed to be called “life” at all. Dilapidated shacks built from mostly cast-away plastic, spoiled wood, and holey tarps increasingly dotted the roadsides. James watched as, at one point, men with a few goats, two women with colorful bundles on their heads, and a handful of children with a dirty, flat soccer ball moved themselves out of the road to let the car pass. As they got nearer the town, the scene only seemed to worsen. Many people sat along the street, holding out their frail hands to entreat to give those who had nothing to give. Some were blind. Others looked sick. And several had disfigured or missing limbs entirely. Those who were able all watched the car as it passed, begging with their eyes and their hands not just for money, but for help—for relief from the situation in which life had so unfairly put them. But it was the children who stirred up the deepest emotion in James. For he could not help but see his own daughter, Tolu, vicariously on the faces of many young, despairing persons they passed. Many looked like orphans, with no guardians to watch over or care for them. Some were holding trinkets or plastic bags filled with supposedly sanitary water to sell. Without his consent, his mind began to imagine Tolu in this place— a young girl who would not have the chance to know the joys of being a child, whose pain, suffering and sadness would define her existence. Hope would be an illusion, and love would be unaffordable when held up to the cost of losing someone close…

  Before he even realized what he was doing, James rolled down his window and put his hand in his pocket—coming up with a fistful of coins. Cyndi looked up briefly at his strange movements, but made no comment beyond her pursed lips and slight shaking of her head as she dove back into her screen. But James didn’t care what she was thinking. As he passed the money out into the small, innocent hands, the joy that filled the faces of those children blessed his soul. The car moved on, but he continued to look back—watching the children jumping up and down with joy— until they were completely out of sight. When he turned back around, James could almost hear Cyndi roll her eyes at his antics. But he shrugged it off. How could she understand? How could she see?…Not that she would see…Not that she would ever allow herself to see…

  But maybe it wasn’t fair to give her so little credit. After all, she did work to promote GED’s vision—to bring peace and prosperity to the world. She may not look like she was interested in giving a few dollars to someone needy; but she was here to offer help on a larger scale. With this loan from GED, the Ukadan Republic’s government would be able to make jobs for people who were otherwise jobless, stimulate the economy, and increase money flow for the entire nation. The thought made James feel immensely better. He was happy to help the few children outside his window; but he knew giving even 100 of them a few bucks was not really going to help anything. It was the economic system that needed to be saved; and that was exactly what he and Cyndi were here to do.

  Chapter 36

  “John! Kate! Where are you?” Commissioner Pierre Moreau was quite out of his usual stoic nature as he practically sprinted down the underground hallway searching the archival rooms for his friends. For the last week or so, they had been burying themselves down here under books, stones, and scrolls, eating little and sleeping even less. Though thankful for the refuge the museum had provided for them, the pair’s adventurous spirit was keeping them very ill at ease. They were not used to being secluded from the world; and the walls of their asylum were beginning to feel more like the walls of a prison. Eager to have the mystery of the tablets solved—so they could find out who was after them and get finished with this whole business— they had spent every waking moment (which ended up being a lot since they had trouble sleeping due to the circumstances) combing the archives for clues as to the origin, purpose, and language of the tablets. It seemed like an altogether impossible task. But necessity is a great motivator, and they had kept at it with determination.

  Pierre had been meeting with them as often as he could to keep them informed of the progress of the lab results and inquire as to their finds. But he was still the British Museum Commissioner and had a daily job to perform. This left John and Kate alone for most of the time; and though they didn’t mind each other’s company, they weren’t very comfortable with the lack of anyone else’s. But they continued to put on a good face and express their gratefulness for all of Pierre’s help—all the while waiting for the day when they would be able to walk out from their hiding place and be free to roam the world once more.

  Pierre knew this about his friends, and felt the greatest sympathy for their strange plight. He was, therefore, puzzled that his attempts to find them now were proving much more difficult than he had planned for. Usually, Kate and John were upon him the moment he stepped into the hallway, asking for news or telling about theirs (of which there never was very much). The commissioner continued poking his head into every door and calling until at last he reached the final room and jubilantly spied the back of Kate’s head through a half-empty bookshelf.

  “Kate! John!” He practically wheezed as he entered the state-of-the-art, low-oxygen, soundproof room. “The validation results are in! The tablets are—”He paused abruptly and scanned the room as if making sure no one else was present.

  “What! What are they?” John and Kate had bolted to his side—Kate still holding a clay cuneiform tablet from Syria in her cotton-gloved hand.

  “They’re real! That is to say…,” Pierre straightened his jacket to regain some semblance of the kind of professional he prided himself on being. “That is to say, they are 100% genuine artifacts.”

  Kate’s face froze in shock while John’s jaw dropped to the floor. In all their time waiting for the results to come back, they had not pinpointed what exactly they had wanted those results to be. If the tablets were fake, and subsequently worthless, it would have made their struggles in vain. But it also would have made things much easier to get back on track as far as their normal lives went. If they were real…the effects this could have on the world were unimaginable. Hence, upon hearing the news of the three stones’ positive authenticity, the pair of scientists had no choice but to revert to a state of shock or risk their minds to the torrents of suddenly reformed facts which threatened to carry them into insanity.

  “Well, say something.” Pierre looked at the pair with concern; apparently his elation of the verification was not shared in equal parts among the three of them.

  Kate, salvaging her mental capacity by returning her focus to the mystery of the tablets themselves rather than the monumental waves their existence would make, reverted to her scholarly self and asked with caution, “And the results of their date…Do we know what ancient period it came from?”

  “I believe we do,” Pierre answered. “But you’d better come with me. This is not the ideal place for discussing such matters.”

  He waited a moment for John and Kate to put away the items they had been studying and set the room to rights before leading them through the underground hallways toward the labs. Bringing them to a halt before a door labeled “Lab 3E-Authorized Persons Only,” the commissioner took a card key from his pocket and inserted it into a slot in the door. There was a quick beep of acceptance, and Pierre turned the heavy steel handle. Looking back at his friends for a moment, he silently communicated the enormity of the decision to bring them in here. Not only must this room be sealed in trust, but the consequence of entering it was to leave behind all that one knew in order to give place to what really was.

  Kate and John glanced at each other and made a quick decision: There was no way they were going to walk away now. They were going to see this through together—all three of them. Soundlessly nodding their assent to Pierre, they impulsively grasped each other’s hand and followed their friend through the doorway and pa
st the point of no return.

  Chapter 37

  The lab was larger than expected: well-lit and neatly arranged with counters full of expensive equipment, examining tables, cleaning instruments, several humming computers and…

  “May I introduce Sarah Mode,” Pierre stated politely. “Our new senior researcher and,” he added as a distinct aside, “another trustworthy compatriot for our task.” A clever and kind-looking woman in a long lab coat immediately looked up from her work on a table and smiled warmly at the visitors.

  “You must be John and Kate.” She shook their hands in turn. “I’ve heard a lot about you two.”

  “All good, I hope,” replied John.

  “Nothing but,” Sarah assured, her bright, brown eyes gleaming at the pair.

  “Alright,” Pierre cut in, “let’s not wear ourselves out with the niceties. Sarah, what have you got to show us?”

  “This way.” Sarah led them to the table she had been working at, where the two and a half stone tablets lay under an examining lamp. They had been professionally cleaned and polished; and the glowing light now upon them created an effect that made John and Kate pause to marvel over their impossible beauty. The clear, glassy surface of each tablet almost acted like a protective cover over the deep, liquid-like black substance of its center, which was flecked with minute, shining red particles that reminded them of small, metallic party confetti. It was positively an enigma of elements. Looking up the wall above the stones, Kate observed three high-definition photographs of the below counterparts displayed on medium-sized screens. The images were good, but held nothing compared to the impact the real ones made when gazed upon. It seemed almost as if the appearance of the tablets could be copied; but their soul—for lack of a better word—could certainly not be.