FIFTY-SIX

April 3, Akosombo, Ghana

Gordon Tilson hadn’t smoked in decades and he didn’t know how or why the urge had suddenly materialized. Standing at the side of the Riverview Cottage, he puffed away at his second cigarette for the night. The bubbling sound of the river was soothing, and he needed that. One o’clock in the morning and he couldn’t sleep.

His visit to Akosombo had been eventful but he couldn’t say successful, exactly. He had met with Kweku Ponsu four days ago, but it hadn’t gone as well as Gordon had hoped. At first, under the watchful eye of the twins Clifford or Clement, the conversation had been easygoing enough—where Gordon was from in the States, how long he had been in Ghana and where he was staying in Akosombo, and so on.

When Ponsu asked Gordon about the purpose of the visit, Yahya quickly answered for Gordon in some local language and the response appeared to have satisfied Ponsu—something to the effect that Gordon was writing a book about traditions in Ghana.

Gordon wanted to learn about Ponsu’s involvement with sakawa boys and how the system worked. What, specifically, did they come to Ponsu for? What did they pay him? How did Ponsu communicate with the gods, and so on?

Ponsu’s responses were evasive and unhelpful. He sat there, passive as a block of wood. Gordon tried to entice him to say more by initially handing him a hundred dollars in crisp bills.

“Mr. Ponsu, do you know the director-general of CID, Commissioner Alex Andoh?” Gordon asked.

“No, sir. I do not.”

“Do you know of him being involved in sakawa?” Gordon asked.

“Not at all.”

“What about Inspector General Akrofi?”

“What’s your question?”

“You know him? Does he do all this sakawa stuff too?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

And on it went. Gordon asking more questions and Ponsu remaining as impenetrable as Fort Knox. And then Gordon lost it. He was frustrated and angry. Ponsu was a liar. Of course, he knew all these top guys—MPs, police commissioners, and the like.

“The truth will come out,” was Gordon’s parting shot to Ponsu. “And then we’ll see how the whole corrupt system works.”

Another minute and the muscle twins might have thrown Gordon out, but Yahya had ushered him away in time to prevent such an occurrence. Initially after the meeting with Ponsu, Gordon had been despondent, bitter, and at his wit’s end. What was he doing here in Ghana? What was the point of it all? He wanted to go back home to DC. He had been here six weeks and that was long enough.

But yesterday, his resolve began to creep back with a little help from Cas, who reminded Gordon that he had never been a quitter. That was true, and in fact, now Gordon was feeling more in command and he had a lot more fight in him. He felt he had a mission to complete.

The cigarette had kept the mosquitoes at bay, but now that Gordon was done with it, he could feel and hear them mounting an attack. He went back inside the chalet and got into bed, turning over several times as he tried to get comfortable. He drifted off and wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep before he woke to a light tapping on the front door. What, or who, was that?

He got out of bed and tiptoed to the door. It was definitely someone knocking. A male voice said, “Mr. Tilson?”

“Yes?” he answered warily. “Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Labram, please.”

“Uh, is something wrong?”

“Small problem, please.”

“Oh? Well, yes. Sure.”

Gordon unlocked the door, looked out cautiously and saw the silhouettes of two men.

One of them had a club, which he swung hard against Gordon’s skull.