The Snare

by David A Ogunde

  “Please!” the girl said loudly through the window. Sarah immediately recognized her long tangled hair. “Please, get us out of here, for Christ’s sake! They’re going to see us!”

  Normally, it took Sarah a lot of time to analyze things before making an unprecedented choice. But feeling goaded by the urgent looks on the faces of the girl and her companion—a thin guy of about the same age—the pity within her suddenly demanded action. Sarah unlocked the doors and let the pair jump in the back, hoping that it wouldn’t turn out to be a stupid decision.

  “Go, go!” the girl pleaded as soon as the door was snapped shut.

  Sarah looked in the rear-view mirror to check the traffic and saw the two officers from before determinedly moving down the pavement in their direction. She pulled out smoothly and looked back, having already decided that if they began to run after them she was going to stop right then and there. But the officers gave no indication they had seen the kids get in and didn’t rush to pursue. She hit the gas and drove off.

  They went down several blocks in silence, all the while Sarah’s thoughts becoming more and more frantic. What if her passengers were wanted for arrest? What if she was aiding and abetting a crime?

  All pity from the past moments promptly dried up, and Sarah scanned the street for a place to pull over; she had to get them out.

  “Where can I drop you?” she asked in a casual manner, not wanting to alert them to her sudden bout of uncertainty.

  “Mile End, if you don’t mind.” The girl pulled some thick strands of her brown locks from her face as she settled deeper into her seat. “Nice ride, by the way.”

  “Thanks. Er, that’s…a little bit out of my way. Could we snag a taxi for you?” She pulled into an open car park by the curb.

  “Naw. Can’t afford it.”

  Sarah turned to get a good look at her passengers. Besides wearing worn-out clothing that was too big for them, they also looked thin in the face and tired around the eyes. And so young! As her eyes continued to take in their appearance, Sarah detected a measure of vulnerability—especially in the young man—hiding behind their smudged, street-tough faces; but there was intelligence, too, prowling behind their eyes.

  Slowly, her fears melted and dripped away as a new sensation rose to the dais of her consciousness.

  “What are your names?” Sarah asked.

  “I’m Sammy,” said the girl confidently. “And that’s Kaz. He’s a little shy.”

  “I’m not.” The guy shoved Sammy’s arm before glancing at Sarah. His face quickly turned pink, and he looked away. Sarah just smiled kindly. She guessed Kaz to be around twenty-one or twenty-two years old—still a boy to her, but a man to himself. His black hair was cropped short, but looked uneven in many places. Sarah wondered if Sammy had cut it herself. A tide of questions began to rise within her—who were they? Where did they come from? Where were their families?—but she held them in for now, promising herself to ask them later if the opportunity came around. But for now…

  “Nice to meet you, Sammy. Kaz. My name is Sarah. You look like you could use some lunch. Care to join me?”

  “Oh!” Sammy seemed taken off guard by the offer. “We usually don’t—”

  “I’ll pay,” amended Sarah, inwardly surprised at hearing the offer herself. Just a moment ago she was determined to get them on their way, and now she was giving them an incentive to stick around. It didn’t make much sense to her mind; but in her heart, she felt it was the right decision to make. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but something about the hidden struggle she surmised these kids lived with had called out to her—invoking her compassion and seeming to sympathize with her own challenging plight.

  *

  The noise of the busy café waxed and waned throughout the background as the three new acquaintances helped themselves to a healthy round of hot tea, bacon baps, and fries. Sammy and Kaz finished theirs so quickly that Sarah suggested they each have a piece of tart, several varieties of which were being displayed in a case by the entrance. The two’s delighted faces at her offer filled Sarah with more joy than she seemed to have felt in a while; and by the time they came back to the table, she was determined to reach out a little more.

  “Here,” she said, sliding a napkin across the surface to Sammy. “Here’s my cell phone number, in case you need anything: Help, prayers, or just some good company.”

  Though her mouth was full of tart, Sammy’s eyes laughed at the joke. She finished chewing and wiped her hands on her own napkin before stealing Kaz’s and scooping up Sarah’s pen still lying on the table.

  She made a few loopy scribbles. “Here’s mine.” She pushed the paper toward Sarah, but stopped in mid-air as if suddenly being wrangled in by second thoughts.

  “Why do you want to help us? What exactly were you doing in GED this morning? You’re not a spy, are you?”

  Kaz’s face suddenly froze, his eyes scrutinizing.

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” Sarah assured hastily. “I’m a Christian, and I…well feel like the Lord—”

  “The Lord?” Sammy chuffed. “Look Sarah, thanks for the meal and all but we’re not interested in becoming some church’s charity case—‘Feed ‘em, Clothe ‘em, Convert ‘em.’ No way!”

  “That’s not my intention.” Sarah spoke with a new firmness. “I’m just trying to say that, for some reason, I keep having this feeling...like maybe our ‘chance’ encounter was more than just a coincidence, and I’d really like to make the most of it.”

  “Well,” Sammy replied, letting her guard down a little. “I like you, Sarah. But we’ve just never really had any positive experiences with, you know, Christians. I mean, if you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of radicals and —”

  “It may come as a surprise to you,” Sarah moved to parry the argument, “but Jesus was a radical, too. He was a protestor and revolutionary who was very interested in exposing the wrongs that the religious ‘government’ was committing. I think He understands perfectly how you feel, and, to take it a step further, perhaps even gifted you with the ability to perceive what others don’t see.”

  Sammy and Kaz just looked at her in silence, mulling over her words. She took the opportunity to continue.

  “But, if you don’t mind my saying so, getting tangled up with the police and landing yourself a criminal record at such young ages is not usually recommended as the best way to be heard.”

  Sammy straightened herself up a little, making her appear taller. “I’m twenty-four years old, and I’ve made it this far without any legal trouble…mostly. Besides, what about the Suffragettes? The only way they could be heard was by getting locked up all the time, drawing attention to their cause.”

  “Yes, but this is not 1903,” Sarah replied kindly, taking care to hide from her face her surprise at hearing Sammy was twenty-four—she looked closer to sixteen. “And nowadays, there are many more platforms, mediums, and legal ways to get your voice out there.”

  Sammy rolled her eyes. (She may not be a teenager, but she still sure does act like one Sarah thought amusedly to herself.) “What ways? You mean like getting a fancy-smancy suit, a job, and becoming a respectable person whose weak opinions don’t need to be voiced because everyone else around you thinks the same thing because that’s what the society has programed into our media?” She stopped to take a breath. “Or do you mean to actually go to work for predators like GED? Take their blood money as you try and make your way up to the top and grab the ear of someone who’ll listen? Like that could ever happen. You can’t even work for scum like that for five minutes without having to compromise yourself and sell your soul.”

  “Now, just a minute.” Sarah’s amusement transformed into defense as Sammy’s words came just a little too close to home.

  “A job is not what defines you. There are millions of people who work for companies whose leaders may use the profits to support things which some employees might not agree with. But that doesn’t mean working there and helping to bring in tha
t money puts the employees in the same box as the company decision-makers. You know the Bible has—”

  Sammy shot her a look of impatience.

  “Just hear me out quick while you’re finishing your dessert,” Sarah stated. “The Bible has many examples of people who were chosen by God to work for employers that used their profits in ways that God certainly didn’t agree with; and it was their being there which did often change the direction of the company…or kingdom, I should say.”

  “So?” Sammy said as she shoveled in the last bites of her tart.

  “So, I’m just saying it’s better not to judge a person based on who they work for. We’ve all been through so much and have stories to tell and reasons for our choices. Sometimes, yes, people’s reasons are gain, or position, or even things more sinister. Sometimes, they are based on logic, or on wanting to do what we judge as good. And sometimes people make employment decisions because they feel it’s where God has led them to be—because they trust He has a plan and has given them the desire and ability to carry it out.”

  Sarah looked at the youths to gauge their understanding of her thoughts, but found that their attention had been lost. Sammy was staring at a poster above her head and Kaz was swishing his tart around on his plate. She simply sighed, and let it go. Perhaps, she was more talking to reassure herself than anything, anyway. But not wanting to end their time together in a state of doldrums, she reached back to the topic to that was sure to perk them up.

  “So, what exactly were you protesting about at GED this morning?”

  Chapter 59

  The next half hour flew by like a few minutes as Sammy drew from the infinite well of her opinions and—what she believed to be—facts. Kaz stayed silent and half attentive. (He must have to hear these things all the time, Sarah thought.) But his quiet persona looked relatively content as he played with a trinket he had pulled from his pocket. At one point, Sarah asked to see it. After a moment’s hesitation, Kaz handed her a mini rendition of Big Ben. It was heavier than it looked, and scuffed and scratched in several places; but the overall detail of the cast metal seemed to be in order—the clock’s miniature hands faithfully resting to show a perpetual 11 o‘clock. She passed it back with a grateful smile and watched him tuck it back in his coat as Sammy, seeming to be keen on providing as much information as she could about anything, switched her topic flawlessly.

  “Kaz is always picking up bits and pieces of things to put in his collection. But he’s kept that trinket in his pocket since he found it several weeks ago in a gutter. Haven’t you?”

  “I like it,” Kaz muttered to his hands, a rosy tinge creeping up his cheekbones again.

  Sammy chatted a little bit more, though steering clear of specific mentions of where or how they lived. Sarah thought the girl could’ve talked for the rest of the day if she hadn’t been interrupted by the buzz of her vibrating phone. When Sammy pulled the sleek black device out of her pocket, Sarah was surprised to see it was a somewhat newer model, and in good condition—completely contradictory to the appearance of its master, and completely unfathomable that she could have afforded to buy it. But Sarah decided not to pry.

  “Drat!” Sammy exclaimed as she read the text message that just came in. “Kaz, Margo blew another mode—I mean,” she glanced around as if she were some sort of secret agent about to divulge sensitive information, “she needs us to pick up some more stuff.”

  She rose from the table quickly, Kaz in perfect sync with her movement.

  “Thanks for all your help, and for the lunch, Sarah,” said Sammy as she stuffed the napkin with Sarah’s number into one of her over-sized coat pockets. “It was nice to meet you, but we’ve got to run.”

  Sarah offered to give them a lift, but Sammy insisted they were quite close to where they needed to go and assured her they could get back to Mile End on their own. After a quick “Ta” from the plucky girl and small wave from Kaz, the strange pair left the café and headed swiftly down the pavement.

  Sarah watched them for a moment, filled with curiosity and amusement, before rising herself, paying the bill, and making her way to the shiny BMW in a side-street car park.

  She had just placed her hand on the door handle when a low, urgent voice hissed out to her.

  “Mrs. Mode! Wait! I need to speak with you.”

  Startled, Sarah looked up to find a portly-shaped man wearing a disheveled suit and an eccentric look making his way toward her.

  “Sorry, I don’t know you,” quipped Sarah as she yanked the door open and hurried to get inside the car before he got to her; she’d already filled her quota of strange meetings for the day. She was making to slam the door shut when the stranger, seeing her intention to flee, suddenly shouted, “James! It’s about James!”

  Sarah flung her door open with reactionary force. (Thankfully, the car next to hers had been parked crookedly and escaped any damages that otherwise might have occurred.)

  “What did you say?” she demanded as she sprang from the car.

  “James Mode.” The man heaved to catch his breath as he walked to the BMW and stopped. He pulled out a soiled kerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. Now up close, Sarah could see deeply-creased haggard lines around his mouth and puffy purplish bags under his eyes.

  “What about my husband?” She eyed the man skeptically.

  “I know he works for GED and I know you were there this morning—”

  “Are you following me!?”

  “Mrs. Mode, please listen! I’m a journalist and I have these documents I have to show you. I think James’ life could be in danger, and maybe yours, too.”

  Sarah’s heart skipped as the memory of her dream flashed across her mind.

  “What do you mean?” Her voice rose in response to her rising fear. “What danger? Who are you?”

  “Shhh. Please, Mrs. Mode, we can’t talk about it here; it’s not safe. Is there a place we can meet? Where I can explain and show you—”

  “I work at the British Museum,” Sarah dropped cautiously. A public place where there’re security guards and plenty of people.

  “Good. I’ll contact you there.” His eyes began to dart around the car park in a twitchy manner while he took a step or two back. “I’ve got to go now. Stayed too long already. Oh, please, don’t go to the police with this, yet. I’m afraid at this point they won’t be of much help and would only make things worse.”

  With that, he scurried back around the corner where he came from, leaving Sarah standing in bewilderment as she worked to process all the emotions and thoughts that were rushing through her—wondering what in the world had just happened and what she was going to do about it.

  Climbing back into the car, she noticed her hands were slightly shaking on the wheel; and she couldn’t help but recall a portion of the conversation she had had with Sammy. Originally, she hadn’t put much stock in the young woman’s words, but now they haunted her fiercely …

  “Is GED really as bad as you say?”

  “Worse! But it's hard to prove anything because they're so aggressive with any leaks. Almost no information gets out. Or if it does, it disappears, along with the one who leaked it.”

  Chapter 60

  “So you’re saying I should let them buy me off? Let them get away with stealing from their own citizens?”

  James, clearly upset, paced back and forth across the soft, carpeted floor of Cyndi’s office. Cyndi, sitting daintily at her desk, was watching him attentively while weaving together a response that would satisfy him, calm him down, and get him back on track.

  James continued his rant. “First the Minister actually brought me into a vault, a room stacked with money that rightfully belongs to the people, and offered a pile of it to me! They tried to buy me off, to bribe me to accept their bogus report concerning their use of the country’s money! I mean, it was a downright lie.

  “Now I knew that their paying off the GED capital loan had been currently suspended, and that the new loans I offered were just fo
r paying interest. I was on the verge of approving, but when I dug a little deeper, I saw that instead of using the majority of the profits from their oil sales to pay back the loans, the government officials had been funneling most of that money to themselves and diverting the funds meant for health care, education, and essential social services toward paying the loan! It’s a complete reversal of the purpose for GED’s involvement. The point of our furnishing loans is to give a country more breathing room to take proper care of its impoverished citizens while maximizing their resource extraction so they can pay off the loan. But what these officials are doing is shackling their country in debt, poverty, and neglect indefinitely, while they continue to siphon off as much as they can in personal gains.

  “When I showed them what I had discovered, they handed me that atrocity of a report and offered their bribe for accepting it as ‘official.’ I just couldn’t. I couldn’t stand there and watch their smiling faces, knowing they are basically stealing that money from their people.”

  “I understand, James,” Cyndi purred from behind her desk, “and I commend you for maintaining your professionalism in the matter. But you must approve them for the loan, and as soon as possible.”

  “How can I approve of them letting millions of people die in poverty just so they can dine on lobster?”

  “It’s not our job to tell them how to run their county, James,” said Cyndi gently. “I know it’s hard, but you need to detach yourself from the emotional side of this and focus on the bigger picture. We need to keep the Republic of Mote inside our sphere by approving the new loans. If we don’t, and we lose them, we won’t have any ability to help the country anyway. Let that be your driving force.”

  “But can’t we do something now? Can’t we add conditions to the contract that require them to use their money more responsibly?”