SEVENTY-SIX

July 6

News of Sana’s escape from death was all over the media within half an hour. The UNESCO Conference was immediately adjourned until the following day. In Sowah’s office, no one was getting any work done. Emma and her colleagues were glued to their phones and the lounge TV. Radio discussions were exploding with theories about who might have been responsible for the assassination attempt. Sana’s decoy had been struck not in the head as had probably been intended, but in the back. Fortunately, he had been wearing a bulletproof vest and would survive just fine.

Emma’s phone rang and her heart jumped when she saw it was Derek calling from the US.

“How are you?” she said. “It’s great to hear from you and you sound much better.”

“I am doing better, thanks. And you, Emma? How’s life?”

“No complaints really.”

“I wanted to share something with you,” Derek said. “Do you have a moment?”

“Yes, of course. Let me move to somewhere quieter.” Emma went to the waiting area where there were no clients at the moment. “Okay, what have you got?”

“The FBI agent working on my father’s case shared some emails with me. They’re between my dad and his friend and I’d like you to look at them because there could be information you or the police, or someone could use. Can I forward the emails to you?”

“Thank you, Derek. I’ll call you back after I’ve had a look.”

The emails came in after some fifteen minutes. Emma sat at her desk riveted to her computer screen as she read the back-and-forth between Mr. Tilson and his friend Cas. Derek was right. Cas had gently but firmly encouraged Mr. Tilson to soldier on, but what jolted Emma was that Gordon knew Josephine, having met her in Washington—Emma had no idea in what capacity—and he met her again in Ghana on the third of March. “Very interesting meeting with Josephine Akrofi today. We met late afternoon and had coffee.”

It seemed to Emma that the meeting might have been a little tense, what with Mr. Tilson asking about “highly placed officials—government or otherwise” who might be benefitting from Internet cons.

Then came another surprise.

 

Gordon Tilson

March 27 9:36 a.m.

Re: Ghana

To: CGuttenberg

 

Susan, the American I told you I discovered on FB, set up a rendezvous with a sakawa boy called Nii Kwei—“boy” isn’t accurate, this is a full-grown man with money—at a sports bar. The plan was to say I was writing a magazine or online article on Internet scams, which is kind of true anyway, and that I would only ask general questions. But I kind of lost it after one too many drinks and I blurted out my story to this Nii, and then let loose with some sanctimonious crap about how I was going to expose a whole bunch of Ghanaians. In other words, things didn’t go too well. I messed it up.

 

So, Mr. Tilson had met Nii Kwei! Emma would like to know more about that. And who was this Susan who facilitated the meeting? The net Mr. Tilson had cast was much wider than Emma had thought. It included Kweku Ponsu, Josephine Akrofi (and therefore, possibly James Akrofi), Nii Kwei, and Sana, not to mention everyone he was in touch with at CID—Detective Inspector Damptey and the rest. How much of a nuisance, or threat, was Mr. Tilson posing to people on that list?

Emma needed to get this information about the emails to the right place, of course, and she should start with the man she trusted the most—her boss. He was out of the office now, however, so Emma would have to meet him the following day. For the time being, she wanted to talk to Bruno, who was becoming a kind of bridge to everyone and everything.

When she reached him on the phone a few minutes later, she asked when next he would see Nii Kwei and whether she could go with him. Bruno immediately made an insinuating noise.

“No,” Emma said flatly. “I’m not interested in him like that.”

“Are you sure? I think he likes you too. He always asks of you.”

“Just answer my question. When will you be going to see him?”

“Maybe even tonight. I will call him and let you know.”

“Don’t mention I’m coming, okay? I want it to be a surprise.”

“Oh, is that so? Hmm.”

“Shut up,” Emma snapped. “It’s not that.”