“I’m glad,” Jack said.
Once in Jack’s building, Jack had to struggle with Laurie’s suitcase up the cluttered stairs. After a series of exaggerated grunts and groans, Laurie asked him if he wanted her to carry it. Jack told her that her punishment for packing such a heavy bag was to listen to him complain.
Eventually, he got it outside his door. He fumbled for his key, got it into the cylinder and turned. He heard the dead bolt snap back.
“Hmmm,” he commented. “I don’t remember double-locking the door.” He turned the key again to release the latch bolt and pushed open the door. Because of the darkness, he preceded Laurie into the apartment to flip on the light. Laurie followed and collided with him because he’d stopped suddenly.
“Go ahead, turn it on,” a voice said.
Jack complied. The silhouettes he’d glimpsed a moment before were now men dressed in long, dark coats. They were seated on Jack’s sofa, facing into the room.
“Oh my God!” Laurie said. “It’s them!”
Franco and Angelo had made themselves at home, just as they had at Laurie’s. They’d even helped themselves to beers. The half-empty bottles were on the coffee table, along with a handgun and its attached silencer. A straight-backed chair had been brought into the center of the room to face the couch.
“I assume you are Dr. Jack Stapleton,” Franco said.
Jack nodded, as his mind began to go over ways of handling the situation. He knew the front door behind him was still ajar. He berated himself for not being more suspicious to have found it double-locked. The problem was he’d gone out so quickly, he couldn’t remember which locks he’d secured.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Franco admonished as if reading Jack’s mind. “We won’t be staying long. And if we’d known that Dr. Montgomery was going to be here, we could have saved ourselves a trip to her place, not to mention the effort of going over the same message twice.”
“What is it you people are afraid we might learn that makes you want to come and threaten us?” Jack asked.
Franco smiled and looked at Angelo. “Can you believe this guy? He thinks we made all this effort to get in here to answer questions.”
“No respect,” Angelo said.
“Doc, how about getting another chair for the lady,” Franco said to Jack. “Then we can have our little talk, and we’ll be on our way.”
Jack didn’t move. He was thinking about the gun on the coffee table and wondering which of the men was still armed. As he tried to gauge their strength, he noticed that both were on the thin side. He figured they were most likely out of shape.
“Excuse me, Doc,” Franco said. “Are you with us or what?”
Before Jack could answer, there was a commotion behind him and someone roughly bumped him to the side. Another person shouted: “Nobody move!”
Jack recovered from his momentary confusion to comprehend that three African-Americans had leaped into the room, each armed with machine pistols. The guns were trained unwaveringly on Franco and Angelo. These newcomers were all dressed in basketball gear, and Jack quickly recognized them. It was Flash, David, and Spit, all of whom were still sweating from activity on the playground.
Franco and Angelo were taken completely unawares. They simply sat there, eyes wide. Since they were accustomed to being on the other side of lethal weapons, they knew enough not to move.
For a moment there was frozen silence. Then Warren strutted in. “Man, Doc, keeping you alive has become a full-time job, you know what I’m saying? And I’m going to have to tell you, you’re dragging down the neighborhood, bringing in this kind of white trash.”
Warren took the machine pistol away from Spit and told Spit to frisk the visitors. Wordlessly, Spit relieved Angelo of his Walther auto pistol. After frisking Franco, he collected the gun from the coffee table.
Jack noisily let out a breath of air. “Warren, old sport, I don’t know how you manage to drop in on such a timely basis in my life, but it’s appreciated.”
“These scumbags were seen casing this place earlier tonight,” Warren explained. “It’s as if they think they’re invisible, despite their expensive threads and that big, black, shiny Cadillac. It’s kind of a joke.”
Jack rubbed his hands together in appreciation of the sudden change of power. He asked Angelo and Franco their names but got cold stares in return.
“That one is Angelo Facciolo,” Laurie said, while pointing toward her nemesis.
“Spit, get their wallets,” Warren ordered.
Spit complied and read out their names and addresses. “Uh-oh, what’s this?” he questioned when he opened the wallet containing the Ozone Park police badge. He held it up for Warren to see.
“They’re not police officers,” Warren said with a wave of dismissal. “Don’t worry.”
“Laurie,” Jack said. “I think it’s time to give Lou a call. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to talk with these gentlemen. And tell him to bring the paddy wagon in case he’d like to invite them to stay the night at the city’s expense.”
Laurie disappeared into the kitchen.
Jack walked over to Angelo and towered above him.
“Stand up,” Jack said.
Angelo got to his feet and glowered insolently at Jack. To everyone’s surprise, especially Angelo, Jack sucker punched him as hard as he could in the face. There was a crunching sound as Angelo was knocked backward over the sofa to land in a heap on the floor.
Jack winced, cursed, and grabbed his hand. Then he shook it up and down. “Jeez,” he complained. “I’ve never hit anybody like that. It hurts!”
“Hold up,” Warren warned Jack. “I don’t like beatin’ on these dog turds. It’s not my style.”
“I’m all done,” Jack said, still shaking his injured hand. “You see, that dog turd on the other side of the couch beat up on Laurie earlier this evening after they broke into her apartment. I’m sure you noticed her face.”
Angelo pushed himself up to a sitting position. His nose angled to the right. Jack invited him to come back around the couch and sit down. Angelo moved slowly, while cupping his hand beneath his nose to catch the dripping blood.
“Now, before the police get here,” Jack said to the two men, “I’d like to ask you guys again about what you’re afraid Laurie and I might learn. What is going on with this Franconi nonsense?”
Angelo and Franco stared at Jack as if he weren’t there. Jack persisted and asked what they knew about Franconi’s liver, but the men remained stone silent.
Laurie returned from the kitchen. “I got Lou,” she reported. “He’s on his way, and I have to say he’s excited, especially about the Vido Delbario tip.”
An hour later, Jack found himself comfortably ensconced in Esteban Ndeme’s apartment along with Laurie and Warren.
“Sure, I’ll have another beer,” Jack said in response to Esteban’s offer. Jack was feeling a pleasant buzz from his first beer and progressively euphoric that the evening had worked out so auspiciously after such a bad start.
Lou had arrived at Jack’s with several patrolmen less than twenty minutes after Laurie’s call. He’d been ecstatic to take Angelo and Franco downtown to book them on breaking and entering, possession of unauthorized firearms, assault and battery, extortion, and impersonation of a police officer. His hope was to hold them long enough to get some real information out of them about New York City organized crime, particularly the Lucia organization.
Lou had been disturbed by the threats Laurie and Jack had received, so when Jack mentioned that he and Laurie were thinking of going out of town for a week or so, Lou was all for it. Lou was concerned enough that in the interim, he’d assigned a guard for Laurie and Jack. To make the job easier, Jack and Laurie agreed to stay together.
At Jack’s urging, Warren had taken him and Laurie to the Mercado Market and to meet Esteban Ndeme. As Warren had intimated, Esteban was an amiable and gracious man. He was close to Jack’s age of forty-two, but his body type wa
s the opposite of Jack’s. Where Jack was stocky, Esteban was slender. Even his facial features seemed delicate. His skin was a deep, rich brown, many shades darker than Warren’s. But his most noticeable physical trait was his high-domed forehead. He’d lost his hair in the front so that his hairline ran from ear to ear over the top of his head.
As soon as he’d learned Jack was considering a trip to Equatorial Guinea, he’d invited Jack, Laurie, and Warren back to his apartment.
Teodora Ndeme had turned out to be as congenial as her husband. After the group had been in the apartment for only a short time, she’d insisted everyone stay for dinner.
With savory aromas drifting from the kitchen, Jack sat back contentedly with a second beer. “What brought you and Teodora to New York City?” he asked Esteban.
“We had to flee our country,” Esteban said. He went on to describe the the reign of terror of the ruthless dictator Nguema that forced a third of the population, including all of Spanish descent, to leave. “Fifty thousand people were murdered,” Esteban said. “It was terrible. We were lucky to get out. I was a schoolteacher trained in Spain and therefore suspect.”
“Things have changed, I hope,” Jack said.
“Oh, yes,” Esteban said. “A coup in 1979 has changed a lot. But it is a poor country, although there is some talk of offshore oil, as was discovered off Gabon. Gabon is now the wealthiest country in the region.”
“Have you been back?” Jack asked.
“Several times,” Esteban said. “The last time, a few years ago,” Esteban said. “Teodora and I still have family there. Teodora’s brother even has a small hotel on the mainland in a town called Bata.”
“I’ve heard of Bata,” Jack said. “I understand it has an airport.”
“The only one on the mainland,” Esteban said. “It was built in the eighties for a Central African Congress. Of course, the country couldn’t afford it, but that is another story.”
“Have you heard of a company called GenSys?” Jack asked.
“Most definitely,” Esteban said. “It is the major source of foreign currency for the government, especially since cocoa and coffee prices have fallen.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jack said. “I’ve also heard GenSys has a primate farm. Do you know if that is in Bata?”
“No, it is in the south,” Esteban said. “They built it in the jungle near an old deserted Spanish town called Cogo. They have rebuilt much of the town for their people from America and Europe, and they have built a new town for local people who work for them. They employ many Equatoguinean people.”
“Do you know if GenSys built a hospital?” Jack asked.
“Yes, they did,” Esteban said. “They built a hospital and laboratory on the old town square facing the town hall.”
“How do you know so much about it?” Jack asked.
“Because my cousin used to work there,” Esteban said. “But he quit when the soldiers executed one of his friends for hunting. A lot of people like GenSys because they pay well, but others don’t like GenSys because they have too much power with the government.”
“Because of money,” Jack said.
“Yes, of course,” Esteban said. “They pay a lot of money to the ministers. They even pay part of the army.”
“That’s cozy,” Laurie commented.
“If we were to go to Bata, would we be able to visit Cogo?” Jack asked.
“I suppose,” Esteban said. “After the Spanish left twenty-five years ago, the road to Cogo was abandoned and became impassable, but GenSys has rebuilt it so the trucks can go back and forth. But you’d have to hire a car.”
“Is that possible?” Jack asked.
“If you have money, anything is possible in Equatorial Guinea,” Esteban said. “When are you planning to go? Because it’s best to go in the dry season.”
“When’s that?” Jack asked.
“February and March,” Esteban said.
“That’s convenient,” Jack said. “Because Laurie and I are thinking of going tomorrow night.”
“What?” Warren spoke for the first time since they’d arrived at Esteban’s apartment. He’d not been privy to Jack and Lou’s conversation. “I thought me and Natalie were going out on the town with you guys this weekend. I’ve already told Natalie.”
“Ohhhh!” Jack commented. “I forgot about that.”
“Hey, man, you gotta wait ’til after Saturday night, otherwise I’m in deep shit, you know what I’m saying. I told you how much she’s been ragging on me to see you guys.”
In his euphoric mood Jack had another suggestion. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you and Natalie come along with Laurie and me to Equatorial Guinea? It will be our treat.”
Laurie blinked. She wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly.
“Man, what are you talking about?” Warren said. “You’re out’a your friggin’ mind. You’re talking about Africa.”
“Yeah, Africa,” Jack said. “If Laurie and I have to go, we might as well make it as fun as possible. In fact, Esteban, why don’t you and your wife come, too? We’ll make it a party.”
“Are you serious?” Esteban asked.
Laurie’s expression was equally as incredulous.
“Sure, I’m serious,” Jack said. “The best way to visit a country is to go with someone who used to live there. That’s no secret. But tell me, do we all need visas?”
“Yes, but the Equatorial Guinean Embassy is here in New York,” Esteban said. “Two pictures, twenty-five dollars, and a letter from a bank saying you’re not poor gets you a visa.”
“How do you get to Equatorial Guinea?” Jack asked.
“For Bata the easiest is through Paris,” Esteban said. “From Paris there is daily service to Douala, Cameroon. From Douala there’s daily service to Bata. You can go through Madrid, too, but that’s only twice a week to Malabo on Bioko.”
“Sounds like Paris wins out,” Jack said gaily.
“Teodora!” Esteban called out to his wife in the kitchen. “You’d better come in here.”
“You’re crazy, man,” Warren said to Jack. “I knew it the first day you walked out on that basketball court. But, you know something, I’m beginning to like it.”
CHAPTER 17
March 7, 1997
6:15 A.M.
Cogo, Equatorial Guinea
Kevin’s alarm went off at six-fifteen. It was still completely dark outside. Emerging from his mosquito net, he turned on the light to find his robe and slippers. A cottony feeling in his mouth and a mild bitemporal headache reminded him of the wine he’d drunk the night before. With a shaky hand he took a long drink of the water he had at his bedside. Thus fortified, he set out on shaky legs to knock on his guest rooms’ doors.
The previous night, he and the women had decided that it made sense for Melanie and Candace to spend the night. Kevin had plenty of room, and they all agreed being together would make the departure in the morning far easier and probably elicit less attention. Consequently, at about eleven P.M., amid lots of laughter and gaiety, Kevin had driven the women to their respective quarters to collect their overnight necessities, a change of clothes, and the food they’d gotten from the commissary.
While the women had been packing, Kevin had made a quick detour to his lab to get the locator, the directional beacon, a flashlight, and the contour map.
On each guest room door, Kevin had to knock twice. Once quite softly, and when there was no response, he rapped more vigorously until he heard a response. He sensed the women were hungover, especially after it took them significantly longer than they planned to show up in the kitchen. Both of them poured themselves a mug of coffee and drank the first cup without conversation.
After breakfast they all revived significantly. In fact, as they emerged from Kevin’s house they felt exhilarated, as if they were setting off on a holiday. The weather was as good as could be expected in that part of the world. Dawn was breaking and the pink and silver sky was generally clear overhead. To the sou
th, there was a line of small puffy clouds. On the horizon to the west, there were ominous purple storm clouds, but they were way out over the ocean and would most likely stay there for the day.
As they walked toward the waterfront, they were enthralled by the profusion of bird life. There were blue turacos, parrots, weaverbirds, African fish eagles, and a kind of African blackbird. The air was filled with their color and shrieks.
The town seemed deserted. There were no pedestrians or vehicles, and the homes were still shuttered against the night. The only person they saw was a local mopping the floor in the Chickee Hut Bar.
They walked out on the impressive pier GenSys had built. It was twenty feet wide and six feet high. The roughhewn planks were wet from the humid night air. At the end of the pier, there was a wooden ramp that led down to a floating dock. The dock seemed to be mysteriously suspended; the surface of the perfectly calm water was hidden by a layer of mist that extended as far as the eye could see.
As the women had promised, there was a motorized thirty-foot-long pirogue languidly moored to the end of the dock. Long ago, it had been painted red with a white interior, but the paint had faded or had been scraped off in large areas. A thatched roof supported by wooden poles extended over three-quarters of the boat’s length. Under the shelter were benches. The motor was an antique Ev-inrude outboard. Tethered to the stern was a small canoe with four narrow benches extending from gunwale to gunwale.
“Not bad, eh?” Melanie said, as she grabbed the mooring line and pulled the boat to the dock.
“It’s bigger than I expected,” Kevin said. “As long as the motor keeps going, we should be fine. I wouldn’t want to paddle it very far.”
“Worst-case scenario we float back,” Melanie said undaunted. “After all, we are going upriver.”
They got the gear and food aboard. While Melanie continued to stand on the pier, Kevin made his way to the stern to examine the motor. It was self-explanatory with instructions written in English. He put the throttle on start and pulled the cord. To his utter surprise, the engine started. He motioned for Melanie to hop in, shifted the motor into forward, and they were off.