Authors: David DeBatto
He hoped she was right.
The resort catered to American and European hunters, but had been prepared to accommodate Gabrielle Duquette’s antifur, pro-PETA
sensibilities. Sykes saw blank spots on the walls of the lobby and banquet hall where animal trophies had been removed—it
was, after all, a hunting lodge. He saw one of the kitchen staff shoo a small child out the door, the child attracted by the
aromas of stewing meat, curry, and lemon grass—there was nothing intrinsically wrong about that, but it seemed to him that
the cook had acted a bit too roughly, too rudely. When the food was served, the children from the airport performed on a stage,
singing songs and playing music with a “bamboo orchestra” that used truncated bamboo shoots of varying lengths and widths,
which, when bounced on the stage, produced both a rhythmic pulse and musical notes. After the meal (a repast that struck Sykes
as insensitive, given that they were in the middle of a famine), Nketia made a speech thanking the beautiful Gabrielle Duquette
for coming and for calling the world’s attention to the plight of the Ligerian people.
Sykes had heard speeches before, so he decided to have a look around. Something was wrong. Off. Didn’t add up. Standing at
the door at the back of the kitchen, he noticed the same children who’d been singing on the stage, a few moments before, being
herded by a pair of armed men into a waiting passenger van. This was a job for armed men? When one child reached out a hand
beseechingly, the soldier slapped it away and pushed the child forward with the barrel of his gun. They were still hungry?
As far as Sykes could tell, the only children who were actually being fed were the two seated to either side of Gabrielle,
each child with a nanny standing in attendance, but the nannies, Sykes noticed, had long, painted fingernails and looked more
like prostitutes, frankly, than childcare providers.
People weren’t who they said they were. It was a setup. But for what? His biggest fear was an abduction, that John Dari had
lured Gabrielle here, using people she knew, or thought she knew, and that he planned to use her to get the attention he needed,
the way his abductors had used Daniel Pearl to get attention. If you could seize the world stage, killing a journalist, think
what you could do if you abducted an actress who already had the world’s attention?
Sykes excused himself, saying he needed to use the bathroom, found a stall and locked the door. Using his CIM, he logged onto
SIPERNET and plugged in the name Hubert Nketia. In the rush to arrange for transportation, he hadn’t had time, and he’d trusted
Gabrielle’s judgment. Finally a file downloaded. What he read partially confirmed his suspicions, though it looked less like
an abduction than a scam. They were still in danger.
According to his handheld, a man named Hubert Nketia had been arrested in Brooklyn in 1986 for running a long-distance telephone
scam, selling stolen calling-card numbers to foreign nationals. In 1991, the same man, Hubert Nketia, had been arrested for
credit theft, again heading a ring of criminals who this time pulled the unshredded carbon copies from credit card transactions
out of wastebaskets to get the numbers and then cloned the plastic—his people had worked as housekeepers in various hotels
in New York City. When the photograph finally downloaded, Sykes saw that it was the same man, albeit younger looking, not
as gray. Nketia had been extradited, sent back to Liger to serve his time in prison. It probably wouldn’t be terribly difficult
for a man with money to buy his way out of a Ligerian prison.
He saved the files to memory. He was 99 percent certain he knew what sort of scam this was. When he returned to the banquet,
Gabrielle told him she was going to discuss business with her friend in private, and that he could wait in the lobby if he
wanted. He told her he thought it would be a good idea if he accompanied her—a very good idea. She reluctantly agreed.
They adjourned to what Nketia said was the presidential suite, where cocktails awaited. A barman with a suspicious bulge beneath
his vest asked Sykes if he wanted anything. Sykes declined, carrying Gabrielle’s Zero case and staying close to his pack,
unsnapping the snaps as inconspicuously as possible in case he had to reach his weapons in a hurry. Nketia poured champagne.
“This is a grand thing that you are doing, Gabby,” he said to her, raising his glass in a toast. “It is unfortunate that in
Liger today, we can do more good in private than we can do in public, but that is how it is. The good you do today will have
a lasting effect for years to come. The children whose lives you will save will be forever in your debt.”
In his pocket, Sykes pressed a button on his SATphone. He’d set it up, in the bathroom, to play a sample ring tone. His phone
chirped in his pocket. He took it out quickly, apologizing, and “answered” it, pretending to listen for a few moments.
“Excuse me, Gabby…”
“Not right now,” she said.
“I think you’d better take this…”
“Tell whoever it is that I’ll call him back,” she commanded.
“It’s Wayne Gretzky,” Sykes said. “He’s out of backfat and he needs you to send him loonies.”
She looked at him like he had a monkey growing out of his forehead. She was Canadian. He’d read that in
People
magazine. He didn’t know much Canadian slang, but what he knew, he’d used, trusting that Nketia wouldn’t understand. Sykes
looked Gabrielle Duquette in the eye, unblinking, to stress the gravity of what he was saying. When she took the phone from
him, she heard a message for her that he’d recorded in the bathroom, dialing his own number and retrieving the message he’d
left in his own voice mail before handing her the phone.
“Gabby, you’re not going to like what I have to tell you,” his message said. “You should probably nod and argue and say things
like ‘yes’ and ‘no’ and ‘uh-huh’ to pretend you’re actually talking to somebody. This isn’t what it appears to be. I have
a handheld computer on me with wireless satellite access to a database called SIPERNET that our intelligence agencies use
to exchange information.”
“Oh really?” Duquette said out loud. “That’s interesting. I thought you were out of that business.”
“I’m recording this message in the bathroom. I just researched Hubert Nketia. He was arrested twice in New York for scams,
one involving stolen calling-card numbers and another involving stolen credit cards. He was deported in 1992, but I’m guessing
he bribed his way out of prison once he was sent back to Liger. His photograph came up as well. There isn’t any doubt, Gabby.
I can show you if you give me a chance. This man is a con man and a convicted criminal. Okay?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, catching Dan’s eye. She looked upset, as if she were about to cry, then instantly changed her expression.
She was an accomplished actress.
“I know you think he’s a cuddly old fart and he’s your kid’s godfather, but that’s part of the game, gaining your confidence.
That’s why it’s called a con. Now let me tell you what I think and you just nod if I’m right. I think you have money in your
case. Probably a lot of money. Nod if I’m correct.”
She nodded, looking at Nketia and smiling apologetically for having to take the call. She looked at Dan, with an expression
of surprise.
“Smile once in a while. Remember that they still think you think this is a happy occasion. Did Nketia tell you he needed you
to bring money to Liger and that you had to do it in person?”
“Yup, uh-huh,” she nodded, smiling brightly.
“Did he tell you that if you gave him the money in cash, he’d use it to bribe a government official to release an even larger
amount of money? Or maybe food or something like that?”
She looked shocked, her eyes widening, as she nodded again.
“Uh-huh,” she replied.
“This is called a ‘Nigerian scam,’ but Nigerians aren’t the only ones who do it. It’s done in person, in chain letters, or
on the Internet—it works like this. They get somebody with a good heart and money, like you, and they tell them they can help
somebody else. Usually the con says there’s money in a bank, maybe an inheritance, but the bank manager won’t allow them to
withdraw it unless they pay a fee or bribe him, something like that. So the well-meaning person gives the con man the money,
and they never see him again. How much money is in the case—is it over a million dollars?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, still in shock.
“Is it over two?”
She nodded again.
“Uh-huh,” she said cheerfully.
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll be the director. What I’m looking for is a sudden sickness, somewhere between Debra Winger
in
Terms of Endearment
and that guy who had a snake burst out of his stomach in
Alien.
Your character’s motivation is, you don’t want to be killed. Okay? I will take you and your Zero case to the bathroom, once
you get sick, and we’ll leave from there. The women’s room has a window. Okay?”
“Okey-dokey,” she said. “I wish you’d said something earlier.”
Sykes made a weak expression.
“I’m sure you would have if you could have,” she said. “Thanks, Wayne—you’re an angel. Bye-bye.”
She hung up the phone, handed it to Dan, making contact with his fingers as she did, then returned to her seat.
There were four men in the room, not counting Nketia and including the bartender. Unfortunately, Nketia had brought one of
the children with him, a little girl who was probably two or three years old, with big pleading eyes and a sweet soft smile.
He said they’d decided at the orphanage to name the girl Gabrielle. Wasn’t that nice? The girl’s presence made shooting up
the room and stepping over the bodies on their way out problematic.
“Now tell me,” Gabrielle said. “This man who you say will help you release the relief funds for the food—you’re sure that
he can be trusted?”
“Oh yes, yes,” Nketia said, gesturing with his hands. “He is my brother-in-law. If he were to do anything, my sister would
not come to his bed for a year, and he is far too fond of her to allow that.” Nketia laughed. “He will spread your gift around
to the appropriate people. That is just the way business is done here in Liger sometimes. There is no avoiding it. Now, unfortunately,
the hotel has been very kind to allow us to use their facilities, but I’m afraid—what’s wrong?”
Gabrielle was holding her gut, her eyes bulging.
“Oh, my God,” she said painfully. She raised a hand in the air, feeling her stomach with the other. “I think it’s nothing.
It’s… Oh, Lord, please…”
She looked absolutely green. Her performance was remarkable as she sickened and fell to her knees, grasping the coffee table
for balance. Sykes helped her to her feet. She said she had to go to the bathroom.
“My medicine,” she said to Sykes. “It’s in my case—would you bring it, please? I apologize. These things happen suddenly sometimes.
Dan, could you assist me?”
Nketia gestured to one of his men to help her. Sykes took her other arm and threw it over his shoulder, and together, the
two men helped Gabrielle Duquette to the bathroom. Sykes grabbed his backpack on the way.
Once inside the bathroom, he grabbed the other man by the hair and pounded his head against the wall. The man slumped to the
floor, unconscious.
“Oh, my God,” Gabrielle said, stepping back from the unconscious body. Sykes locked the bathroom door.
“He’ll be all right when he wakes up,” Sykes said, even though he didn’t know that to be true. He kept his voice to a whisper,
wary that someone was on the other side of the bathroom door. “Maybe a slight memory loss, but that’s in our favor, too. Make
some sick sounds while I open the window.”
Behind him he heard a retching sound that was utterly realistic.
“Are you all right, Gabrielle?” someone on the other side of the door called out. “Would you like me to call a doctor?”
“I’ll be out in a minute,” she called back. “I think it might have been food poisoning. Can you give me ten minutes?”
They were out the window in one.
In front of the Safari Inn, beneath a broad, thatched portico, two limos waited. A single driver leaned against the fender
of one of them, smoking a cigarette. Sykes told him Hubert wanted to have a word with him. When the driver was gone, Sykes
disabled one of the limos by ripping out the ignition wires, then started the other, with Gabrielle in the backseat. He stepped
on the gas when he saw two men in his rearview mirror, pointing rifles at them from the portico and firing. The bullets bounced
harmlessly off the rear window.
“Well that’s good news,” he said. “I was sort of hoping these were bulletproof.”
“I don’t know why you had to hurt that man,” she said.
“Why?” Sykes said. “Seriously? Because he would have killed us both in a heartbeat, that’s why. It’s not like in the movies,
where the good guy always has to wait for the bad guy to draw first. The only reason they didn’t just kill us and take the
money right away was they probably thought they could get more out of you down the road.”
They drove for ten minutes in silence. Sykes was afraid that Nketia was going to call ahead to have somebody meet them and
rob them, so he took a side road, guided by Scott DeLuca on his SATphone and by the map that Scott downloaded to his CIM.
“Is that the thing you know that I don’t?” Gabrielle Duquette said at length. “About killing people? You’re not really retired,
are you?”
“No, Gabby, I’m not,” he said.
“So you lied to me, then,” she asked.
“Yes,” Sykes said. “I did.”
The limo was running on fumes by the time they reached the airport, pulling onto the tarmac and stopping next to the helicopter
hangar. They’d ridden the rest of the way in silence. When Sykes inquired about the whereabouts of his pilot, he was told
by a mechanic that Captain MacArthur had been arrested, for treason, the mechanic believed. Gabrielle Duquette waited for
him by the chopper.
“Just tell me one thing,” she asked him, “because I have to know. Are you on my side?”
“Are you kidding me?” he said. “The daughter of Princess Leia and Han Solo? How could I not be? Unfortunately, I have more
bad news, I’m afraid. MacArthur shan’t return.”