AFTER A BREAK, it was time for the most anxiety-provoking segment of the training: full submersion and rotation of the module. Here Dawson learned the extra step of placing his right hand on the window frame before the rotation began to help keep him oriented once he was upside down.
The module went out to the center of the pool.
This is it, Dawson thought.
The descent began and Agyeman yelled, “Brace!”
Dawson gripped the front of his seat with both hands and pushed himself hard against the seatback.
The splash came sooner than he had anticipated, and then the cabin was filling with water fast. Dawson hyperventilated a few times as instructed, and took a deep breath. As the water reached his neck, the module turned upside down.
It felt to him as if they were spinning multiple times. His arms reached out instinctively. He had to get out. Seat belt. He was feeling for the clasps on the belt and realized he had shut his eyes tight. He needed to open them. He released the buckle and freed himself. Was he facing up, or down? The window was still to his right, and he pushed against it. It opened, but at the instant he was preparing to swim out, he felt someone clawing at his back. He turned to look and saw the trainee who had been sitting to his left. He was on the wrong side, trying to exit through Dawson’s window, and he was in a state of panic. His eyes were wide open and afraid, his arms and legs flailing wildly and provoking turbulence.
Dawson’s impulse was to push the man back and make his escape. Instead, he grabbed the frantic trainee by the waist and forcefully propelled him to the window, giving him a final shove to eject him. One of the divers appeared, grasped him, and took him swiftly to the surface. Dawson followed in their track.
Life vest. He tugged at the red hook and it inflated.
He clawed at the water as he rose, his chest about to explode, and then he burst the surface and felt his head free and clear in air. He drew in his breath in a gasp and looked around. He had made it, and now he felt surprisingly calm. Two of the other trainees were floating around freely in the water, but the fourth, the one who Dawson had collided with, was spluttering and coughing as someone helped him out of the pool.
HOURS LATER, DAWSON was lying in bed with Christine. The HUET center wasn’t far out from Accra, so he had decided to spend the night. The boys had gone to sleep, and she was dozing with her head in the crook of his arm.
He was thankful the HUET was all over. His certificate was safely next to him on the bedside table. He was surprised that this was one of the proudest moments he could remember in quite some time. His getting through something he had been afraid of almost to the point of paralysis was an achievement. In addition, the diver who had witnessed him push the other trainee out through the window toward safety had given him a special commendation for his actions.
Christine had begun to snore lightly. He smiled down at her. Silly girl. She never believed him or the boys when they told her she snored. He moved her head over to her pillow and rolled over. No need to switch the lights off because there had just been another power cut.
Oh, Ghana, he thought as he drifted off, what are we going to do with you?
THURSDAY MORNING, HE saw that he had missed a call from Dr. Smith-Aidoo. He tried her number. She didn’t pick up, so Dawson left her a text to say that he would try calling her again later on.
Before returning to Takoradi, he paid a visit to a friend of his at the Vodafone store on Oxford Street.
“Confidential, okay?” he said to Emmanuel in his deliciously chilled office.
“Always,” Emmanuel replied, leaning back. With his hefty weight, his executive chair went all the way back with a squeak.
“Do you remember the story of Lawrence Tetteh?” Dawson asked. “The CEO of Goilco who was shot about five months ago?”
“Of course.”
“I need the mobile number he was using.”
“Was Vodafone his provider?”
“Yes.”
“Then I can get it for you, no problem. By the way, what phone service are you using these days?”
Dawson winced. “Chaley, sorry. Still with MTN.”
“What!?”
“Okay, let’s make a deal. If you get me that number, I’ll switch to Vodafone.”
They shook hands on it.
IT WAS LATE afternoon when he got back to Takoradi by bus. Dawson wanted to give Dr. Smith-Aidoo an update on the investigation, but each time he had tried to call, he had gotten an error message that the “subscriber’s phone has been turned off.” Dawson doubted that very much. It was much more likely a problem with the network. On the off chance that Dr. Smith-Aidoo was at home, he took a taxi to her house at Airport Ridge. Her car wasn’t in the driveway. He got out and knocked on the front door. He waited a couple minutes and tried again, but everything was quiet.
Thinking he’d try Charles Smith-Aidoo’s home, he had the taxi skirt the center of town, back to Shippers Circle and past Planter’s Lodge to Beach Drive. The taxi driver blew his horn, and after a few moments, Gamal opened the gate and they pulled in.
“Good eve’ng, sir,” Gamal said, saluting to Dawson as he got out.
“Good evening, Gamal. Have you seen the doctor today?”
“Please, I have not seen her.”
“If she comes, can you ask her to please call me? You remember me?”
“Yes, please.”
“Thank you very much, Gamal.”
Dawson was just about to turn and leave when he realized he would be missing an opportunity.
“How long did you work for Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Aidoo?” he asked Gamal in a conversational tone.
“About fifteen years.”
“Really. A long time, eh?”
“Yes, please,” Gamal said.
“They treated you very well.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m sorry what happened to them.”
Gamal nodded, looking down for a moment and back up. “It pained me. Too much.”
Dawson thought he had never seen anyone look so crumpled and sad, and he realized how devoted Gamal must have been to Charles and Fiona Smith-Aidoo.
“You take care of all this?” he asked Gamal, gesturing toward the manicured grounds with hibiscus and frangipani trees.
“Yes, please.”
“You do a very fine job. It looks beautiful.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gamal said, smiling broadly.
“Is there a garden in the back?”
“Yes, please.”
“Can you show it to me?”
“Oh, yes sir.”
He walked with Gamal around the side of the house toward the rear. “What’s going to happen to you now that Mr. and Mrs. Smith-Aidoo are no longer here?”
“Please, I think the doctor will sell the house, and then I will work for her.”
“I see. Do you stay here all the time?”
“Yes, please. I dey for boys’ quarters.”
The high wall enclosing the rear of the house had both razor wire and bougainvillea running along its top edge. The garden was shaded and green, just as well tended as in the front of the house. On its far side was an exit door, which Gamal unlocked and opened inward. Dawson went through and emerged to open space very unlike the confines of the garden behind the wall. The vegetation was wild and free, with hardy scrub in patches down an incline to the beach barely 500 meters away. He stood for a while looking out across the Gulf of Guinea to the horizon. It was a spectacular view. He realized he would love to own a home with a view like this.
“Who uses this door?” he asked.
“Sometimes when people used to come to visit the house, they pass here to go to the beach. ’Specially the white people.”