The Snare

by David A Ogunde

  James nodded and looked up anxiously. He had never exposed himself like this to a stranger and was beginning to feel embarrassed.

  The prophet smiled kindly. “Your troubles are valid, but not so deep as you think. Perhaps we can rediscover an anchor.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me describe a memory to you: It is dusk. Air still hot after a heavy day's work, but the heat has lost its sting. Before you, an undisturbed African vista. Sky beautifully bruised with purples and reds as the sun sinks away. You hear singing from a small church, carried on the wind, and a ringing in your ears—your mother's voice as she sends you off to night school. She says, ‘You can do anything, James. I love you.’”

  James mouthed his departed mother’s long ago words as the prophet spoke them, and could hardly contain the sudden dampness in his eyes.

  “How could you know this?” he asked in awe.

  “I have many ears, my son, in this realm and others. It is love, you see - love from your mother, love for your family, love for the world. That is what you must have faith in; that is your guiding beacon through this life. I see,” he said after a moment. “You are thinking of your wife. Tell me.”

  James shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. She has always been my life; but I find that my faith in her has been shaken and our relationship….distant. When I began this job, she supported me, and now, out of nowhere, it’s like she’s set herself against GED and against me. She backed me into a corner, betrayed my trust. And I…” He faltered.

  “And you feel you have also betrayed hers?”

  James didn’t answer; or rather his silence answered for him.

  “My son, a man’s attentions can be easily obtained, but his love cannot. These actions for which you are feeling guilty toward your wife are not the cause of your unhappiness, for they are nothing—chaff blowing in the wind. It is the disconnect that is affecting your energy; this trust must be restored and your faith in each other’s love renewed,” prompted Profeta gently. “Just talk to her; remind her of the importance of your mission here - how you are helping the world, and how much of yourself this noble task demands. Especially with the Summit coming up, your role here is as vital as ever. Help her to see the importance of her support in this. And if she truly loves you, she will understand.”

  James clung to the prophet’s words like a lifeline and felt relief in surrendering himself fully to them. “I will, Profeta. And I thank you.”

  Profeta Ibrahim smiled and placed his hand on James’ shoulder. “It is my pleasure, James. And now, I think I’ve taken enough of your time for the evening. I trust that many of our fine guests here have yet to enjoy the pleasure of your company and conversation.”

  As if summoned by some invisible herald, Cyndi suddenly arrived beside the pair with a glass of champagne in her hand. Slipping her arm back into the crook of James’ elbow, she handed him the drink and pulled him back into the heart of the stately assembly. He looked back once, but saw no sign of the man who had known his thoughts; nor any sign of him for the rest of the evening, which he spent with a renewed wave of strength, charisma and charm. Cyndi remained by his side, a shimmering ornament and compliment to his status. He did not refuse her the glory she gained in having her way, nor did he push her away when she wordlessly attached herself as his personal escort to the hotel at night’s end. After all, the wise prophet had called these actions “chaff in the wind”—a harmless occurrence in the larger scheme of things. It wasn’t as if he was giving his heart to this woman; it wasn’t as if any of their rendezvous were meaningful. Besides, he told himself in the hotel elevator as he observed Cyndi in her diamond dress and bare feet dangling her shoes over her left shoulder, this was just a meaningless means, a part of the way to get to the end of succeeding within GED. For when he did reach his final success, it would mean that the future of the world would be safe and secure, at last.

  And that was all that truly mattered.

  Chapter 76

  A loud pounding at the door jolted James from a heavy sleep. Lethargically, he rolled to his side and pulled a pillow over his head. The pounding sounded again, this time accompanied by a shrill “Room service. I have your breakfast, sir.” James mumbled incoherently, trying to hang onto the security of his slumber.

  “James, get the door!” Cyndi’s muffled call commanded him from the bathroom suite. “I’m starving.” With a groan, James lumbered from the bed; he was reaching for his robe when the pain seized his head, causing him to clutch at his temples. The infernal pounding ensued.

  “All right already!” he shouted toward the door. “I’m coming.” Hobbling to the door, James tried to calculate how much he had had to drink the night before. He didn’t think he had gone over any personal limits; but he had also never felt as worse for wear as this. After letting the attendant in and almost tripping over an empty champagne bottle as he went to the bureau to dig out a tip, James slammed the door against the departed server and instantly held his head in regret.

  “Rough morning?” Cyndi strode from the bathroom in a scarlet silk kimono and sassy smile. She sat down to the table, uncovered her breakfast of egg whites and veggie bacon, and casually picked up the newspaper that had been placed on the tray. James excused himself to the bathroom where he steeped in the shower for a good half an hour. It wasn’t until he was almost finished dressing that he suddenly remembered the strange encounter he had had the night before with the man called “Prophet,” and the peculiar things they had talked about. It seemed so out of place and so bizarre that, by the time he had joined Cyndi (now fully dressed) at the table, he was wondering if he hadn’t just dreamed it all up.

  “You’re quiet this morning,” Cyndi said with a smirk as she passed a covered dish across the table.

  James just nodded. “I think I overdid myself at the party, last night.”

  “No,” the other mused, “you overdid it after we got back from the party.” James didn’t meet her eye, but he knew she was fishing for a reaction. She loved to hold their affair over his head, knowing that it triggered his guilt, and seemed to enjoy daring him to do something about it. He didn’t respond.

  “Well, I’ve got to run,” she said casually. “It’s Sunday and I’ve got the day off for once. Don’t want to waste it. ”She rose from her seat with the controlled poise of a prima donna and circled to his side where she lowered her head and kissed him meaningfully on the cheek. “Have a nice day off, James. I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, back at work on the 98th floor.” Then, she gathered up her coat and bag, gave him a final flirtatious glance, and went out the door.

  James remained staring at the door and picking at his breakfast for a while, unsure what to do with himself. His first impulse had been to call Sarah, but that was quickly stifled by his guilt. His thoughts wandered back to the night before, how he and the prophet had talked about Sarah. If she truly loves you, she will understand, he had said. And James had agreed, but a nervous gripping feeling in his gut now urged him to examine it again. From the bottom of his heart, James knew that Sarah did truly loved him, and yet, all the while, she was not being understanding. He thought about the fight they had had when he went home, the things she said. She was not the kind of person to make things up for attention. She really believed something was wrong, and was probably trying to save him from it. But what could she know? She spent her professional time looking at the past, not the future. She couldn’t see what he could see…But, she clearly did see something - something that was upsetting her, something that was wrong. Like a tiny itch barely scratched blazing into an insatiable need to scratch all the more, a new line of thoughts came, demanding, into the forefront of James’ mind.

  Was he following the right track?

  Was the price he was paying to stay and succeed at GED becoming too high a cost? Was he in the wrong? A flash of a memory exploded into view…he and Sarah sitting in an office in Nakambwe with their pastor. ‘Pastor Kumuyi,’ he had asked, ‘how
can one live a holy life in a worldly community?’ His guilt seemed to surge upon him tenfold as he thought of what Pastor Kumuyi would say to him now.

  ‘But, what if you are right,’ countered a strong resistance. ‘What if you are doing the right thing and just need to hold on—to persevere a little longer. Then everyone will see that you were right all along.’

  James clapped a hand to his head in an effort to dispel all the thoughts tearing him apart. He needed to get out, get away from the solitude. Perhaps, some fresh air and public bustle could help him get a hold of himself. Immediately, he brought to mind the beautiful park close to GED tower in which he had taken a lunch break or two. It was a place where he always felt comfortable and at ease, a place where the radiant sunshine seemed to burn away his tumultuous inner thoughts and simply let him be. With this coveted relief on his mind, James ordered a cab from the lobby and took the 15-minute ride into the heart of downtown Brussels. When the taxi pulled up to the curb, James paid his fare, got out of the car, and walked along the bordering pavement until he found his favorite path into the park. The air was sweet and filled with the sounds of happy children on a playground nearby. Many walkers, some with dogs, passed by on the path. The sound of splashing water came and went as he walked by several sculptured founts. James began to relax; and after a few more minutes, he came to a bench tucked against some barely trimmed verge. He sat at leisure and basked in the sunlight, closing his eyes against the cheering beams.

  Chapter 77

  “Hello, James,” came a strong, quiet voice from the shadows.

  James’ eyes flew open, and as he spun around, they fell upon a disheveled man standing at the shadowed end of the bench. He was wearing wrinkled, tan slacks and a dull, chestnut blazer with frayed cuffs. His face was clean, though in need of a shave, and, after taking in that it looked as if the man had, at least, attempted to comb his hair (though a few tufts were now misplaced), James decided off the bat that he probably wasn’t a burglar…probably.

  “Who are you?” James asked, keeping his gaze upon the man’s hands, wary of sudden movements.

  “My name is Frank. Do you mind if I take a seat?”

  “Do I know you, Frank?”

  “Let’s just say that I know you, Mr. Mode,” Frank said as he took advantage of James not denying his request and sat at the other end of the bench. “We’ve never met face to face. But I know a lot about you. For instance,” he scooted closer on the bench, making James tense up even more. “I know about your operations in Ukadan, Mote Republic, Congo, Sudan, Guinea, Liberia, and Niger, to mention a few.”

  James stared at the man; his face turned to stone to hide a sudden rush of anger, confusion, and a twinge of fear. “Who are you?” he demanded again. “How did you find me here?”

  “Look, I know this is difficult; but you can trust me? I know you work for GED; and I know what you’ve been working on because I know… I knew your predecessor. James I need to warn you—”

  James shot from his seat and dug into his pocket for his phone. Whoever this guy was, James could tell from the look of him that what he knew he wasn’t supposed to know.

  “Wait. Listen. He’s almost certainly dead, James!”

  “Who’s dead!” James held his phone in his hand ready to dial the GED security line.

  “The man who held your position before you. His name was Roland Ashante. Here.”

  Frank lifted up a phone to James’ face. There was an image on the screen of a man in a grey hoodie sitting on some kind of second-rate transportation—bus or train. The face was blurry, but James could see some distinct features. It didn’t make any sense. This was Roland? The man who had previously held his position at GED was this derelict figure hunched in some corner? No, it couldn’t be. James pushed the phone away from his face.

  “You’re making a big mistake,” Frank urged. “GED is not what you think it is.”

  “You don’t know what I think. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know your wife. I know she’s a good person and—”

  James’s hand shot out and gripped Frank’s lapels, jerking them warningly. “What did you say about my wife? She doesn’t know you! Have you been sneaking around spying on her, too? I’m calling the police right now!”

  “Mr. Mode, please. Yes, I bumped into her once in London, but with no harm intended, honest. I’m not a creep or anything. I’m just trying to tell you—”

  James released Frank’s blazer with a shove. “Just stay away from my family, and I’d better not see you again—”

  “You are in danger! Your whole family could be in danger, please!” Frank almost shouted the words and James quickly hushed him, not wanting to cause a scene.

  “You’ve got two minutes,” said James crossing his arms and glaring.

  Frank sat down on the bench, looking winded, and took a deep breath.

  “GED is not what you think it is. Its agenda is not to save the world, but only to gain control and profit for itself by taking advantage of developing countries, not just in Africa, but around the world.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We’ve helped—”

  “Just think. Remember those countries you’ve operated in. Remember the poverty you saw?”

  James couldn’t stop the tide of images that flooded into his mind against his will: poverty, sickness, child soldiers, empty classrooms, hospitals with no adequate equipment and in very poor condition, and people living in ramshackle houses. These were scenes that had gripped and clawed desperately at his heart over and over again, country after country.

  James jerked his head to dismiss the memories. “That was before we got there,” he retorted snappily. “You seem to know so much; but you obviously don’t know that now their national economic productivity is better. Gross National Products are picking up—”

  “Don’t talk like a macroeconomics moron,” interjected Frank. “Have you forgotten that the GNP of a nation is based on shallow figures? The Gross National Product can be ranked high just because one company owned by one man is racking in all the wealth. It does not indicate a fair economic state of the citizens with whom the national wealth is ‘intended’ to be shared. You know that a country can rank high on an economic freedom index while its masses pick through garbage.”

  “That’s irrelevant,” argued James. “One of GED’s purposes is to prevent monopolies and supervise the money flow so it reaches down to the people.”

  “By putting yourself in that very position!? Do you honestly think GED sapping up a nation’s money is the best answer to prevent a different corporation from sapping it up? You’re denser than I thought.”

  James fists balled up automatically in aggravation. “GED doesn’t sap up anything,” he almost growled. “We render services and collect only our loan repayment and interest. The nation keeps most of the profits which are meant to be dispersed through commerce to the people. Sure, there are corrupt leaders who are keeping their countries on the brink of bankruptcy,” he felt his face grow hot as he thought about the bribes he had been offered, and how he’d taken them at his boss’s orders. “But once we get established and the people grow in economic and political freedom, they will be able to elect better leaders.”

  “Can you stop kidding yourself?” Frank snorted. “The loans were accepted. The work began, but who enjoys the wealth in those countries? The people? No! The foreign companies, the loaning banks, and a few politicians—they get it all and they share no profits. Can’t you see? The nation’s reserves are empty! Those countries will never be able to pay back the loans. It’s a snare, James!”

  “You’re wrong. You’ve got something wrong in that twisted brain of yours. This stratagem has been proven to work. Big organizations invest billions into places like India and China and those nations are booming! Before now, generally no one had wanted to touch Africa; but now that GED has begun investing there, maybe the world would follow suit. Our involvement in these countries is helping th
em.”

  “I know that’s your motive, James. That’s why I tracked you down. Like Roland, you have a good heart; but when good causes fall into evil hands, they become evil causes. The lives of the people in these countries are not getting better, but much worse. Most of the new jobs are outsourced to foreign companies; and those few locals who are hired by the privatized foreign industrial investments often work in horrid conditions, with low pay and no job security. I know you really want to help these people; but this is not how to do it. You’re making yourself a curse to them, not a blessing.”

  James sat down, his anger drained by Frank’s plea. “How do you know so much about this?” he asked. “About me, about…what’s his name…Ro…Roland.” Unexpectedly, he stumbled over the name, as it suddenly didn’t sound as unfamiliar as before. He didn’t know any one named Roland, and yet, something about the name was beginning to itch at him.

  “Yes, poor Roland,” Frank answered. “I’m sorry; I don’t have the time to tell you all about that now, James. But I know you can sense that what I’m saying is not entirely false. I can see it in your eyes. Perhaps, deep in your logic you have come to the same conclusions, but have not allowed yourself to admit them, let alone examine them; but they are there. That’s why you need to be careful now. There is no place for a conscience in these games.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Frank sighed as he rose from the bench. “Roland, your predecessor, saw the truth and acted on his conscience. And where is he now?”

  “Fired, obviously.”

  “No,” Frank shook his head. “I’m afraid much worse than that.”

  Chapter 78

  “James?”

  “Hm?” James looked up to see Cyndi leaning against his desk. He flinched at finding her face so close to his; he hadn’t even noticed her come in.