by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 9
"I think we'll check out, Sol. Daniel Bakare's too busy to see us."
Gabriel was back at the Holiday Inn Express after meeting Craig Donovan. Solomon was still busy on the laptop, "You're too impatient, Femi."
"I know."
"What's troubling you?"
"Delay troubles me, Sol. Slow decision-making doesn't suit me. And I'm feeling something else."
"What?"
"A feeling people are ganging up on us, telling us lies, stringing us along, doing things behind our backs."
Gabriel lay on the bed, head on the pillow, arms behind his head, shoes on, staring at the ceiling. From the table in the corner, Solomon watched and waited. "You worried about the guys down the road using the arrest warrant, Femi?"
"Nope. But they might if they thought not acting would cause a diplomatic upset with Nigeria," He was silent for a few minutes. Then: "Are we scaring the shit out of them, Sol? I reckon they know everything about Bill Larsen. I reckon they're watching us with their own fucking Predator drone circling around. That would explain them seeing Bill's British flag on the roof. If the Americans know then the Brits sure as hell know. Everyone knows. But why the hell don't they just come clean and support us? We're doing their work for them." Gabriel sighed deeply.
"What are you doing, Sol? You been on that fucking computer all day."
"Organising Birmingham. Checking things. Replying to emails and stuff like I always do. Sorting venues???."
"What emails?"
"Like this one from a Kenyan journalist writing about African poverty. Like the one before from a guy in Cape Town who follows everything you do and say. He's a big fan, Femi. He's a Catholic priest for fuck's sake but he wants you to go and see him in Cape Town. He wants to know when you're planning on going there. You got thousands like him out there. You've got an African Women's Rights group that want you to speak at a conference in Cairo Then there's the Pan African Education for All Forum. They want an article written. You want to write it or shall I? You want me to stop replying to these people?"
"No, keep going, Sol."
Gabriel shut his eyes but they were moved behind their lids. "Can you keep going, Sol?"
"Sure."
"What about Carla? She still bothering you to marry her? Settle down?"
Carla was Solomon's girlfriend of ten years or more, a teacher, now working in Ghana. "I'm too fucking busy dealing with your fan mail."
"But is it all worth it, Sol?"
Solomon swung around. "Fuck sake, man. Shut the fuck up will you. Snap out of it. Just because Daniel fucking Bakare is busy today. We got a lot more we can do. Jesus, I just got the names of the guys who will fly over to discuss Plan B. You don't get much higher than that. If the US keeps dragging its feet, then we go for Plan B. Isn't that what we agreed?" Then he swung back to the laptop,
Gabriel sat up, eyes wide open and grinned at the back of Solomon's head. "We could always bring some women with us, Sol. You and Carla in one bed, me and someone else in the other."
"Very funny."
"Maybe I'll call that one from LA. What was her name?"
"Florence."
"That's it. Why do you remember things like that and I don't, Sol?"
"Because I manage the administration. Anyway, she had too big an arse."
"How do you know, Sol?"
"I saw her standing on the fucking balcony."
"And how do you know that, Sol?"
"Because I also manage security. I'm the eyes and ears."
"If you've got all that responsibility then what am I, Sol?"
"You're only the fucking salesman."
"Calm down, Sol. Don't get mad."
Gabriel stood up, pulled off his shoes and threw them into the corner.
"Let's check out, Sol. I want to go to London now. If Bakare decides he wants to meet tonight, then fuck him. If he's serious, he can come and see us. We could be in London in the morning."
He went to stand by the window. It was raining, street lights were coming on reflecting off the wet road. Traffic was passing by, people rushing to and fro. Behind him he heard Solomon talking. "And why do you feel someone is telling lies, stringing us along, doing things behind our backs? Who you got in mind?"
"David Kaplan," Gabriel said still looking down into the street.
"Any others you don't trust?"
"Probably."
Solomon suddenly shut down the lap top and turned around. "Your meeting with Craig Donovan go OK? You haven't told me. Why the fuck do I need to ask?"
"Sorry, Sol. He's ex CIA. Retired. Interesting guy. He's still connected with some top military guys. We're trusting Mark Dobson so I suppose we trust Donovan."
"So, what'll he do for us?"
"Pull strings."
"Meanwhile, do we check out?"
Solomon never got an answer because the phone lying next to him buzzed. "Yes?"
"It's Daniel, That you, Solomon?"
"Yeh, you want Gabriel?"
"Is he mad as hell with me?"
"He's mad with me, too." Solomon handed the phone over.
"Hey, Gabriel, Sorry, man. One of those days. You free now?"
"I'd given up, Daniel. We're moving out."
"But we need to talk. I was with Douglas Martin, the Defence Secretary all afternoon."
"Any music for my ears?"
"Not on the phone, Gabriel."
"You want us to come over to the White House?"
"Ha. Where are you?"
"Holiday Inn Express. It's cheap."
"Can we meet in half an hour?"
"Any later and we'll be gone."