“Mother-fuckin' country!” he muttered as he paid for the car park to release his black Toyota Land Cruiser. He switched the air-conditioning up to max and negotiated a short distance across the city to a private house surrounded by a high white wall. As he drove up to the gate a scruffy uniformed security guard waved and grinned at him while opening the heavy metal gates.
The house would have classified as luxurious anywhere in the world, so here it was extraordinarily so.
“Wow, is this part of the Corp?”
“Yup.”
“When did you get in?”
“Yesterday. When I heard you were assigned to this job, I volunteered,” he said.
“Why Harvey, how flattering, but hasn't a certain long legged local lady got something to do with this?” I said, laughing. I swear he blushed under his dark complexion. He grabbed my bags from the rear of the car and then led the way into the house.
“Hungry?” he asked after dropping my bags onto an enormous bed in a vast upstairs bedroom.
“No, but I'd kill for a long cold drink after a shower.”
“Okay, then you've an en-suite bathroom through that door and I'll have the drink ready for you downstairs in half an hour. Beer okay?”
“Thanks Harvey, you're just what a girl needs,” I said, making him look at me sharply.
“Well, am I or am I not?” I asked.
He grinned sheepishly. “I guess you is; shit, girl, no one looking like you do could be anything else.”
“Thanks, Harvey, I need to know that every now and again.”
“Damn, you don't half screw with my brain.”
“That makes two of us. Now, scram, as I'm going to take a shower.”
Just then the local Ghanaian man who looked after the house knocked on my door.
“You’re welcome, ma’am. Boss ma’am asked me to give you this,” he said, holding a cardboard box out to me.
He left so I opened the box to find a large digital camera and a Glock 17 pistol with three magazines of ammunition. There was a small card with them
J. I thought these might come in handy. The camera is in keeping with your task, hide the other well. Good luck. M.
Twenty minutes later I found Harvey on the terrace overlooking a pool. He passed a tall glass containing amber liquid.
“Bud?” I asked.
“Uhhuh, can't get it here, this is a local brew called Star. It's okay.”
It was and slipped down too quickly.
“You need to get some rest, as we set off at seven tomorrow morning. It's a long, hard drive to Tamale,” he said.
“Can't we fly?”
“Not with the special equipment we need,” he reminded me.
“Ah, okay.” I finished my drink, looked at the pool longingly for a moment.
“If you get up early enough, you could always swim before we set off.”
“Hmm, by the way, did Maryanne leave you a package?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I was wondering. Not an M16?”
He laughed. “Nope, an MP5 and one or two other interesting bits of gear.”
“As long as I know.”
It was cool when I arose at six-thirty. The pool was uninhabited, so I swam several lengths and then returned to my room to shower. Breakfast consisted of a rather dry omelette, some thick, stale bread that they called toast, but had in fact only been waved vaguely at some minor source of heat for a few micro-seconds. However, with some butter and jam it was edible. I had a couple of cups of coffee and watched Harvey fight his way through a huge plate of eggs. There was a couple who lived in a small apartment at the rear of the house, just in case any UNC people should drop in. She cooked and cleaned, while he did everything else, one of which was serving our food.
“Hungry?” I asked Harvey.
“I’m told there ain’t much in the way of convenience stores and restaurants on the way, so I’m stoking up,” he said between mouthfuls.
“The last time I was over here, water was the most crucial thing, have we got enough?” I asked, recalling the heat and humidity of my last trip to Africa.
“Hell, lady, I’ve a plug-in cooler box in the car with ten litres of the stuff, how much more do you want?”
Leaving him finishing his food, I returned to my room and made sure I had everything I needed to hand. The man of the house took my cases to the car while I checked my money and papers. I had a wad of Ghanaian Cedis, as I remembered that cash points and credit card facilities may be few and far between. In fact, away from the major cities, it would be cash only. I had visas for all the necessary neighbouring countries, including Mgombi, just in case I found myself straying. It was just past seven when Harvey eased out of the city and started the long haul north.
Because we’d started early, I though we’d miss the rush hour. It seems that everyone starts early in Africa. The traffic was truly awful. They were rebuilding the main road out of Accra, but in such a way that traffic was still driving on it as they worked. The dry, red earth was churned by the vehicles into a dust storm covering everything in a thick film of dust, yet the local people still persisted in standing by the almost stationary lines of traffic trying to sell anything from Ghanaian flags and bath towels to chewing gum or water in plastic bags.
Once out of the city, the traffic all but vanished, as did most of the surface of the main road. They don’t so much drive on the right as on the good bits in Ghana. Harvey muttered and cursed, avoiding potholes that were slightly smaller than the great Lakes, and then trying to avoid Kamikaze mini-bus or taxi drivers whose doors were held on by rope or duct tape.
I had been in Africa before, but as a soldier and often in the bush. Now as a semi-tourist, I enjoyed the trip, as there was always something to look at. I had a map, so was able to plot our route and see where we were at any given point, but after a while, even I got bored and tired of the bumps and haphazard surface.
It was so strange, as one could tell when a town was looming, as the traffic suddenly swelled, but then all but disappeared when we left urbanisation behind. The only vehicles that seemed to travel between the towns were the enormous, heavily over-laden and hideously out-of-date trucks, the buses and NGO pickup trucks. Very few of the vehicles on the road would be permitted in the EU or North America. Most were ex-European hand-downs, from mainland Europe, as obviously here was a lucrative market for clapped out Opels, Mercedes and BMWs after their European owners had probably had them scrapped, or stolen.
Fourteen hours later we reached Tamale. I chose to pee in the bush, as the rest stops in the town’s gas stations were neither restful, stops or clean! Despite drinking a lot of cool water from the chiller-box, I was sweating so much that I only needed one stop. Neither of us had the stomach for any food, apart from some biscuits, peanuts and potato chips.
The hotel we were booked into was of an excellent standard for this city, so once Harvey parked the car, we found our rooms, and I took a long hot shower. I almost felt human afterwards.
I changed into a clean dress and headed for the bar.
Chapter Fifteen.
“Bloody hell, Julianna?” he asked, surprised.
“Hi Carl, long time no see, hey?” I said, swinging my bottom onto the bar stool next to him and crossing my legs.
Carl looked round, perhaps to see if we were on candid camera.
“Shit girl, it’s been three months, what the hell brings you here?” he asked.
“Four months, actually, I could ask you the same question; after all, you're a long way from Vietnam and potential oil sites, aren't you?”
He said nothing, but his frown spoke volumes. The barman raised his eyebrows and smiled. His perfectly straight white teeth gleamed against his dark complexion.