“This is Art, can I come in?”
Art McConnell, who was technically his assistant, sat at a desk outside his office, basically fulfilling all the duties of the Cultural Attaché except those where the Attaché’s physical presence was required.
“Sure, come in. I’m bored to tears waiting on my five-thirty call.”
The phone clicked.
Mitch laid his phone in its cradle and watched Art let himself in. “What’s up?”
A haggard Art McConnell crossed the office and sat down in one of the two chairs in front of Mitch’s desk. “I need you to talk to this woman I’ve got on hold.”
“What about?”
“Her kid is in some little town up north of Mbale, and she can’t get hold of him.”
“Jeez, Art. I don’t handle that stuff unless the kid is injured or dead. He’s not, is he?”
Art shook his head. “I’m sorry about this, but this woman is relentless. I’ve been on three calls with her for the better portion of the past three hours.”
“Where’s she calling from?”
“Denver, Colorado.”
Mitch looked at his watch. “Three hours? What is Denver, something like nine hours behind us?”
“Yes, I checked.”
Mitch leaned back and threw his feet up on his desk. “So she must be an early riser.”
“Yeah, and she probably already drank a pot of coffee because she talks a mile a minute.”
Mitch laughed. “That’s why you handle this kind of stuff.”
Art shook his head. “I can’t handle this one, Mitch. She’s demanding to talk with you.”
“Me, personally?”
“She asked for you by name.”
“You told her my name?” Mitch got a little angry.
“It’s public record, Mitch. She dug around and found your name. I think she dug up information on half the staff. She certainly talked to enough of them.”
“Why?”
Art shrugged. “I guess she didn’t know who to contact initially, and she got bounced around a bit before she landed on me.”
“Why us?”
“The kid is a college student in some kind of volunteer program through a university.”
“So we’ve got a record of the kid, right?” Mitch put his feet on the floor and rolled closer toward the desk.
“Of course,” replied Art.
“And you called the contact with the group?”
“Yes. But he’s in Kapchorwa. You know how it is out in the rural parts of the country. I can’t get through. The power is probably out or something.”
“So tell her to call back.” There. Problem solved. That’s why Mitch got to sit in the boss’s chair, with an office that had an actual door, and a window with a view over boring rooftops.
“I did.”
Mitch slumped. “I guess that wasn’t successful, or you wouldn’t be sitting in here now.” Mitch turned toward his computer.
“I told you, she’s relentless. She’s not going to stop nagging until she talks to somebody with an important-sounding title. I honestly think that if I have to get back on the phone with her, I might start jamming pencils into my eye.”
Mitch hung his head and sighed again. He hated talking to families of kids who weren’t responsible enough to call or send an occasional email. Sometimes he felt like a babysitter—just a damn babysitter. “Sharp pencils?”
“The sharper the better.”
“Okay. Summarize for me.”
“The kid’s name is Austin Cooper. Twenty years old. Between his junior and senior year at Texas A&M.”
“Texas A&M. Who goes there?”
Art rolled his eyes. “Don’t say that to her. As a matter of fact, don’t say anything to her about Texas A&M. You’ll get an earful of shit you don’t want to listen to. Trust me on that one.”
“Got it. No Texas A&M.” But Mitch was curious. “What kind of shit?”
“Did you know that Bevo, the University of Texas mascot, supposedly got his name after the Texas Aggies snuck in and branded a football score of 13-0 on his hide?”
“What?” Mitch shook his head. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“According to her, the UT guys added on to the 13-0 so that it became the word Bevo. That’s the name of some cow that’s their mascot,” continued Art. “And that the Aggies allegedly barbequed Bevo and served him at some alumni or football dinner.”
“And this woman told you that?”
“Yes,” Art smiled. “But I Googled it while she was yammering. It’s only about half true.”
Mitch frowned and shook his head. “Why’d she tell you this trivial shit again?”
Art shrugged. “I think she knew I had sharp pencils in my desk, and I hadn’t shoved one in my eye yet.”
They both laughed.
“Mitch, I swear to God, this woman should work for the CIA, interrogating prisoners or something. She’ll wear ‘em down with her pointless bullshit.”
“Great.” Mitch thought he should be doing that for the CIA. Well, not really, but it was better than talking to lonesome mothers from Denver whose sons were trying desperately to hack off the apron strings. “So this woman’s from Denver. What’s her name?”
“Heidi Cooper.”
“And the kid. You said, Austin, right? Austin, really? Who names their kid after a city?”
“Apparently, a dad who’s completely nuts about his alma mater.” Art shook his head, reached out with a piece of paper, and laid it on the desk in front of Mitch. “Those are the particulars. The bottom line is, she’s worried about the kid, can’t get hold of him, saw something on the Internet about Ebola road blocks in Uganda, and she wants us to do something.”
“Like what?”
“Aside from finding the kid and telling her he’s all right, I don’t know,” answered Art.
“She didn’t tell you?”
“I couldn’t hear that part. I had a pencil stuck in my eye.”
Mitch grinned. “Does it affect your hearing?”
“Depends on how far you push it in.”
Mitch picked up the paper and scanned down. He looked up at the clock. “It’s a quarter to five. You get on the phone, tell her I’ve been in a meeting with somebody important, but I’ve got time to talk to her now. Be sure and tell her this next part. Tell her I’ve got a meeting at five o’clock I can’t be late for. And Art, if I’m still on the phone with her at five, you come into my office and rescue me. Got it?”
“Got it.”
“Okay. Put her through.”
Chapter 54
“Yes, yes. I understand.” Mitch looked at the clock. Five twenty-eight. He’d been trying to get off the phone since five o’clock. Art was right about wanting to stick a pencil in his eye. “Listen, Mrs. Cooper—Mrs. Cooper.” Stopping the stream of words was like stepping in front of a train. “Mrs. Cooper!”
She paused for a breath.
“Please, listen for just a moment.” Mitch risked a breath, hoping she wouldn’t start up again in that tiny moment, “We’ll do everything we can to check up on Austin. I promise you. I have a call starting in two minutes, and there is no way I can miss it. Does Art have your number?”
“Yes, but you really—”
“Mrs. Cooper, please. We have your number. I’ll call. I’ve really got to go. It was good speaking with you.” Mitch hung up the phone. He yelled, “Art!”
Art hurried through the door with a question on his face.
“Ugh!”
Art smiled. “Should I sharpen some pencils for you?”
“Good God. If she calls back, please handle it.”
“I’ll try.”
Mitch groaned. “Please do try. And try to find that kid of hers before she calls back.”
“I’m working on it.”