A dangerous gang chases Abel out of the Canaries without Alice

01 Aug A dangerous gang chases Abel out of the Canaries without Alice

Abel woke up at eight a.m. refreshed and feeling stronger than he had in some time. Certain about his plans to use Aleck as a guide, he called the chopper office before ordering breakfast.

A lady who answered on the fourth ring said Aleck was not in the office but she would find him if Abel wanted. She sounded as if she hoped he’d say no. Abel disappointed her. “That would be great”, he said. “Tell him it is the man he flew over the Straits yesterday. I’ll hold on.”

Abel heard her sigh before putting him on hold. He must have interrupted something important.

A couple of minutes later, she came back on and said she was connecting him to Aleck. After an audible click, Abel heard Aleck’s cheerful voice.

“Hey, man. You want another chopper ride? This time we leave the Brit behind.”

“No. I want you to show me some of the seedier areas of town.”

“You want help looking for your fiancée?”

Abel trusted this man. He thought at some point soon he would tell Aleck the truth. But not now, not over the phone.

“Her name is Alice”, Abel said. “You have some spare time after work today?”

“So, I guess you like my suggestion about her being with other stranded migrants.”

“Yeah, I’ve been giving it some thought. Makes sense. Can you take me?”

“Sure. I’ll show you every hell hole we have. All shapes and sizes of women. All condemned to a lousy life.”

“If you disapprove so vehemently, how do you know so much?” Abel said.

“You know the expression”, Aleck said. “Know your enemy. I’ll see you at seven.”

“Room 313 at Vulcano.” Abel clanged the receiver.

Abel took breakfast quickly and decided to spend the day talking to some of the stranded migrants. Maybe he’d get lucky.

Abel was relieved when the cab ride to the capital went quickly. As they entered the city, Abel thought back to the ride he’d taken in Lagos the day of Tunde’s murder. He thought of the heavy rains and the bumper-to-bumper traffic jam. And of Tunde’s ears in the plastic evidence bag. And of the heartbroken Lola. He was a world away now, but only in body. In spirit, he was still trying to wake up from the nightmare that had begun that rainy afternoon.

He should go to London soon. Armed with new information, he should ask Lola if she remembered anything that might help him, anything Tunde might have told her that didn’t get into his newspaper story.

Traffic became more congested once they reached the port area of Plaza de Espana, the town’s real centre. Suddenly, the streets were lively and the cars plentiful. It looked to Abel as if most of the town’s population had poured into these few blocks abutting the water.

As they drove through the crowded streets, Abel admired the picturesque port, surrounded by high rocks and dotted with cruisers from all over the world.

Once he’d paid the cab driver, he strolled around the area, admiring the mix of old and modern architecture. He’d read in a guidebook that this part of town was host to many of the island’s immigrants. And after taking a cup of coffee at a small café, he began his search in earnest.

Abel spent the next few hours talking to street vendors and shop clerks, school children and ladies selling bunches of flowers. He showed each person Alice’s picture and retold the same lie. She was his fiancée, who’d run away. He wanted to find her and proclaim his undying love. As he’d hoped, most people wanted to help reunite the star-crossed lovers. This willingness didn’t translate into any results. Nobody recognised Alice’s picture.

Finally, he overheard a man’s voice behind him and recognised the accent as Nigerian. Abel turned to find a young man of about 30. A ragtag sort, he wore a loose brown shirt over a pair of dirty worn jeans. The outgrowth of short white hair from his temple growing down to his chin suggested he had not shaved for days. As the man began to walk away, Abel noted he had a pronounced limp. Abel moved to his side.

“I hear from your accent that you are a Nigerian from Akwa Ibom State.”

The man looked at him, surprised, then laughed.

“Yes”, the man nodded. “I am Thomas Iko. And I hear from your accent you are also Nigerian.”

Abel gestured to a table outside an outdoor café.

“Let me buy a fellow countryman a cup of coffee”, he said. The stranger nodded, grateful, and took a seat. As Abel sat down he said, “Would you like something to eat as well?”

Thomas eased himself slowly into the chair, and coughed harshly. “Yes”, he said, “but I would rather have the money to go treat myself. I am ill”.

“Don’t worry, you will have both!”

Thomas’s eye widened with surprise. They ordered tapas and Cokes, and Thomas fell into silence. Abel let him rest until the food arrived. Thomas thanked Abel and wolfed it down. Abel observed this with mixed emotions. He was sorry for him, but he was just the kind of person who would tell Abel anything for a little food and some cash.

“So what are you doing here in this condition? You must be in transit to mainland Spain?”

“If I can get there. Perhaps you could help me out? I would be forever grateful.”

“Well, we’ll see. I’d like to hear your story first.” He pushed the can of Coke Thomas had forgotten towards him.

He took a long sip, paused to catch his breath and began his tale:

“Truly, I am lucky to be alive. I paid 120,000 naira for a trip aboard a fishing vessel from Calabar to Spain. Of course, this is Spain, but we were assured we were going to the mainland, Madrid or Barcelona, but here I am.” He swallowed, tears welling in his eyes.

Abel didn’t want to interrupt his emotional outpouring and so he only shook his head slightly.

Thomas swallowed again and continued, “You wouldn’t believe it, but I read Business Administration at the University of Calabar. For two years I looked for a decent job to take care of my wife and two kids. Nothing. No work. So, finally, I decided to come to Spain. I spent the last of my money for the passage. But after two months on that vessel, where I was abused terribly, here I am. I don’t even have the courage to tell my wife where I am. Thank God for the Red Cross or I would have died.”

“Oh, the Red Cross takes care of people like yourself?” Abel saw an opening he could not miss.

“Yes, but there is only so much they can do. Most of us work construction for a pittance. It is difficult, back-breaking work, with long hours and many accidents.”

“And the women?”

“Most of them have been forced into prostitution.”

“Oh, what a pity!”

“Yes, it is. Some of them look very unhappy and they cry all day, but they don’t seem to have any choice.” He gulped some more Coke.

Encouraged by the flow of their conversation, Abel ordered two more soft drinks.

They sat in silence as they were served. Thomas looked livelier and Abel felt he was getting valuable information for his modest investment. He decided it was time to ask him about Alice.

“You are lucky to be married. Some of us are not so lucky. In spite of our wealth my fiancée suddenly lost interest in me and left the country with some agent.”

Thomas looked at him, suspicious.

“I have nothing to do with those men!” He appeared suddenly afraid of Abel, who put a reassuring hand on his arm.

“Of course not, Thomas. But I have been here for a while looking all over for her. And I am prepared to pay any amount of compensation to whoever is holding her. I must have her back. I love her.”

Life returned to Thomas. He sat forward and seized the Coke can, taking a sip. Thomas saw an opportunity to make some real money. “You will pay anything to have her back?”

Abel nodded. “The traffickers who use this route must have a leader here, don’t they?” He pulled out a bundle of Euros from his pocket, making sure Thomas got a good look at it.

Clearly Thomas wasn’t going to pass up this chance. “Emm, you must be talking about The Lion”, Thomas said slowly.

“And who is that?”

“He controls all the trafficking. He arranges for the boats to ferry migrants to mainland Spain. Of course I have never had the money to pay him for passage.”

Abel peeled off five twenty Euro notes and handed them to Thomas. “There’s more if you take me to The Lion. Can you take me to him, Thomas?”

Thomas looked at him without answering. “What did you say your name is?”

“Amballo. Peter Amballo. I’m a businessman from Lagos.”

Thomas closed his red, tired eyes thinking about Abel’s story, which he seemed reluctant to believe, either out of fear or doubt. Clearly if he took the wrong person to see The Lion, he would be in deep trouble. Abel knew he might be putting Thomas in danger if The Lion discovered who he really was. But this was the game he had chosen to play. And he couldn’t worry about Thomas.

“Who is this lucky woman?” Thomas asked, still trying to gauge Abel’s true motives.

“I hear they don’t use their real names, but she is Alice”, Abel kissed the passport picture he fetched from his pocket and put it on the table.

Thomas looked at the photo, then shook his head: “No, I have not met her. It is so unlikely …”

“I know. They say about 80,000 people have used this route in recent times.”

“The Lion may know something about her.” Thomas finally made up his mind. Money no doubt overrode any fears he might have. Money did that to people, as Abel well knew.

“And where do we find him?” Abel put the passport photo back in his pocket and signalled a waiter for their bill.

“San Marcus. South of here.”

“Isn’t that one of the wealthiest neighbourhoods in the capital?” Abel stood up to hail a taxicab.

“Yes. He is not a poor man.” Thomas joined him in the back seat of the cab.

After an hour’s ride in the small Peugeot 206, Abel and Thomas finally arrived at their destination. The mansion, which sported panoramic views, sat on the quiet outskirts of the old market town of Icod de Los Vinos. That the Lion lived in an exclusive area did not surprise Abel. Czars of such syndicates lead luxurious hedonistic lives. As Abel took in the opulence, the shimmering pools and lush gardens surrounded by electrified security gates, he thought of the desiccated neighbourhoods where this man’s whores were forced to work. Their labour paid for all this. No, Abel thought, it wasn’t only their labour that paid for it. Their lives were the true price.

A tall, dark-skinned muscular man standing guard waved them through when he heard they had come on business. Abel submitted to a pat down before he was allowed inside. There was a price to pay for all this luxury after all.

“Some dude wants to sail”, Abel heard the guard say to someone over an intercom. He then flung the gates open to a beautifully terraced driveway at the end of which sat a large house.

Abel left Thomas with the driver and walked inside, trying to show as much casual confidence as he could muster. The whole set-up was intimidating and was meant to be. Abel had to admit it worked.

The large tastefully furnished living room was done in predominantly blue and white-striped colours. No expense had been spared. A muscular butler served Abel coffee. He wondered if everybody on staff had to be a gorilla. As Abel looked at the man’s imposing biceps, The Lion entered. He wore a blue morning robe and his eyes were blood-shot. A late night and lots of liquor, no doubt. And some great-looking young girl in his bed. Abel couldn’t help but feel envious, if only for a brief moment. But then the down side of this lifestyle was staring Abel in the face. The Lion’s eyes were dead. Soulless. Somewhere he had lost his humanity.

The Lion watched his guest with suspicion as he sat heavily on the sofa. He was massively built, six-feet tall with luxuriant hair, which tumbled from his temples to his chin.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Amballo? My name is Roy King, but they call me The Lion.”

Abel was immediately struck by the accent. Another fellow Nigerian. Were they all unscrupulous thugs? He suddenly felt ashamed that his country was being represented by such people. The Lion ran his hand through his thick hair, brushing it away from his broad, unkind face.

Abel wondered if Mr. King began growing his hair like a mane after he acquired the nickname. Perhaps he’d ask sometime when he wasn’t under such a suspicious glare. Abel felt very much as if The Lion was sizing him up for lunch.

“I won’t waste your time, Mr. King”, Abel said and clasped his hands. “Very busy men rarely fall in love. And I am a businessman from Lagos. And I can hear from your accent we are fellow countrymen.”

Mr. King waved the coincidence away as if it were a pesky fly buzzing his head.

“Yeah, but I have been in Diaspora for a long time. I operate a chain of shops here, but as you have apparently heard, I help fellow travellers.” His baritone voice was flat and uncaring, matching his eyes.

Abel took a breath. “Well, it’s always nice to meet a fellow Nigerian. Anyway, as I was saying, being preoccupied I wasn’t devoting much time to romance. Too busy with the practical world. But I finally fell in love. But of course, given who I am and what I do, she was not happy because she said I never found time for her.”

Mr. King just looked at Abel, who guessed the man was waiting for the part of the story where he got paid.

“So, she left with some guy, who is supposedly taking her to Europe”, Abel said.

Mr. King obviously didn’t see any problem here. He yawned, reaching for a pack of Marlboros on the coffee table beside him. He used a fancy silver lighter to spark the cigarette, then blew smoke out of his wide nostrils before finally deigning to speak.

“Why marry? I’m also busy. I am not married, but I am a happy man.”

“I want to marry her and have kids”, Abel said emphatically. He felt he had to match this goon in tone or he’d be buried. He was already feeling overwhelmed by the surroundings and the guy’s sociopathic personality.

“Okay, lover boy, so what can I do?”

“I heard they must be passing through here, and I will pay you a thousand Euros if you can find her for me. I understand all the agents or migrants through here consult you …”

“Mmm, good homework.” King puffed on his cigarette. “Who is she?”

Abel handed him Alice’s photograph.

“Nice.”

The way King looked at Alice’s picture made Abel’s hair stand on end. He was aptly nicknamed. A pure predator.

“I can see why you want her back”, King said studying the photograph, the cigarette in his thin lips.

“I do. I love her.” This seemed important to add. Love wasn’t something Mr. King thought about or felt, but Abel wanted to put it on the table. “Her name is Alice, but of course I don’t know the name she may be using now.”

“Nice to know that people can still fall in love, Romeo”, Mr. King said, drawing on the cigarette.

He didn’t say it as if he really believed it.

“Let me check with my people.” Mr. King pulled out his cell phone and dialled a number. He studied the picture as he talked. “Hey, it’s me. I’m looking for a pretty girl, around 15. Scar above eyebrow. Nigerian. Have we used anyone like that lately?”

Abel was shocked by his business-like tone, as if he was checking to see if they had her in stock. On the other hand, he was excited at the prospect of this paying off. But King dashed his hopes as he hung up.

“No luck”, King said as he dialled another number. “So many people pass through these days, you know.” He listened to something as he killed the cigarette stub in an ornate violet ashtray.

Abel listened as the man spoke with another contact. Again, he shook his head and cut the call.

“Sorry, Mr. Amballo. She is certainly not in the Canaries. She may have been stupid enough to try the Sahara route through Mali.” That was the end of the Lion’s interest in his problem.

“I hope with these calls I’ve earned part of your offer.”

He smiled at Abel, but there was no warmth in it. And the threat was obvious. Abel reached for his wallet.

“Of course, Mr. King. I appreciate you seeing me. Very generous to help a love-struck fellow countryman.” Abel counted out a thousand Euros.

King’s small eyes glowed as he reached for the money, the first time sign of life in the man. He put the bills on the coffee table and stood up: “What was her name again?” Abel didn’t particularly like the way he asked, but he hid his disapproval.

“Alice”, Abel said and then exited the room. He could feel the man’s eyes watching him as he left.

*********************

As he picked up his key at the front desk, the receptionist told him he had a visitor. Before he could ask who it was, a young lady with a beautiful athletic frame and short, close-cut hair stepped to his side.

“I’m Lillian. The Lion wants me to tell you about Alice”, she whispered.

Abel wondered how they even knew which hotel he was in since he registered as Peter Abel, not Peter Amballo. He had kept a close eye on the traffic as they drove back from King’s and saw no sign they were being followed.

“We should discuss this in private. Your room?” she said.

Abel nodded and Lillian turned and led the way toward the elevators. Despite being on edge, Abel could still appreciate her spectacular figure, the sway of her hips inside a tight white skirt. When they arrived at the bank of elevators she asked which floor he was on.

“Three.”

The door slid open and they stepped inside. Abel dared hope that if the girl didn’t know his room number, she probably didn’t know his true identity. But he still didn’t know how she’d found him, and that made him nervous. The doors closed and he felt the car ascend. He could smell her perfume. Like the sexiest women, she was seductive without trying. Abel had a fleeting thought she might have been sent as a gift for the night, but then doubted it. King wasn’t the type.

Once inside Abel’s room, the girl tried to put him at ease by plopping down casually on the sofa and smiling at him. Abel refused to sit. He had grown anxious about the reason for the girl’s appearance. This couldn’t be good news.

“Okay, tell me what you want”, Abel finally said.

When the girl turned toward him, Abel went numb, his worst fears confirmed. In her right hand she held a lethal-looking revolver. He could see the noses of bullets in the exposed chambers. Abel doubted they were blanks.

“Sit over there.” She used the revolver to point at the sofa opposite her, far enough away to prevent Abel from making a lunge for the gun, which she held easily. She looked as if she knew how to use it. Another piece of bad news. “If you don’t get funny, you’ll get out of here alive.”

Lillian leaned over, allowing her blouse to open slightly. She had great breasts. Tanned and perfect. Abel wondered if she was taunting him or was just a swell dresser. He had to admire the outfit. But the gun kind of took the wind out of his sails.

He obediently took a seat. “And here I thought The Lion was sending you over to show me a good time.” It was a bullshit line. Abel was scared to death, but he was damned if he’d let her see it. He had his pride, and with a woman this sexy you really went the extra mile to make an impression.

“Shut up!”

No sense of humour. She probably wasn’t much fun in bed, either. He knew it was sour grapes, but he felt the need to buck himself up. After all, it was just him against her, the gun and that killer body. He was totally overmatched.

“My boss says nobody’s heard of you. His contacts know every important Nigerian who comes here, and certainly one who can afford to stay in a four-star hotel.”

“Maybe his contacts don’t know everybody.” Okay, he admitted to himself. It was a lame retort. “Anyway, how’d you find me?”

Lillian merely smiled at his naiveté. Then Abel remembered Susan, the lady who cleaned up his dishes and whose offer he had refused. King probably had snitches in all the hotels, women watching out for rich businessmen who might want a girl for the night. King had no doubt called around to these sources until one recognised Abel. And he was pretty sure that one had been Susan. He wondered, if he had taken her up on her offer, would she still have given him up? Probably, if The Lion frightened her enough.

“Now, Mr. Amballo, my boss says you are to leave town immediately.”

“Why?”

“Because he does not want to see you hurt.”

Gee, what a swell guy, Abel thought. But he figured Lillian wouldn’t appreciate another smartass remark so he kept it to himself. Always bad strategy to piss off someone holding a loaded weapon.

Since Abel had apparently run out of clever repartee, Lillian continued. “And there is no reason to stay, anyway. He is telling you the truth about this girl, Alice. Nobody knows her.”

This got Abel’s attention. Was King trying to get rid of him because Alice was, in fact, here? It finally gave Abel some chips to play with.

“Maybe she’s here, maybe not. I’d like to see for myself. After all, I love this girl. I want to marry her.”

She held up her hand, the one without the gun in it.

“Please. Nobody believes your story about looking for a runaway fiancée. Whatever you are doing here, it can only lead to trouble for us. Not that you could take us down. We own this place. But you could become an annoyance if you begin poking around in our business. And my boss suspects that is what you are really doing. A cop. Perhaps you are working for an international agency. Or one of those do-gooder human rights commissions.”

“Pesky things those human rights commissions. Spoil the fun every time.”

Lillian’s eyes grew cold, her body tensed. Abel fell silent.

“We want you to leave tonight. My boss is not a patient man.”

Abel looked at her, genuinely surprised.

“Tonight?”

“There are two flights out before eleven. This time of year you can always get a seat. If you have trouble, we will help you. We know many people in the travel business.”

I’ll bet you do. Abel almost said it out, but since Lillian seemed to lack a sense of irony he held his tongue.

She got up without lowering the gun. God, what a body and so nicely draped. Abel wondered how much a night with her cost. Instead, he nodded to the gun.

“Was that really necessary?”

“Got your attention, didn’t it?” She turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at him. “We have an efficient network, and if you try anything, you could become another drowned migrant floating ashore on one of our fine beaches.” And she was gone.

Abel sat frozen in his seat, amazed by the whole scene. It hardly seemed real. Like some bad stage play. Even her exit line seemed scripted.

But he knew she wasn’t play-acting on one score. There was little he could do to root out the syndicate. Businesses like King’s could only thrive with the support of the local law enforcement agencies.

As he pondered his next move – packing came to mind – there was a knock on the door. Abel cursed under his breath thinking Lillian had returned to offer more threats. As if he didn’t feel castrated enough already. It was a brilliant stroke by The Lion. Send a sexy woman to deliver the message. Total humiliation. Abel opened the door where he was surprised to find Aleck waiting.

“You look terrible”, Aleck said. “That lady who just left, she took your mind off your missing fiancée?” He didn’t try to hide his disapproval. Instead, he walked past a dumbstruck Abel and sat down where Lillian had been a short while before.

Abel wondered at his sudden arrival. Was he somehow connected with Lillian? It didn’t seem likely, but King seemed to control everyone on the island.

“Sorry, Aleck, but you came early.”

“Yeah, I can see”, Aleck said.

“The truth is, she had nothing to do with sex. I went to visit Mr. King this afternoon.”

Aleck sat up, alarmed.

“The Lion? You saw The Lion?”

“Yeah, and he claims my girl isn’t here. But I told him a story about being a businessman looking for my runaway fiancée. I guess he didn’t believe me, checked me out and figured I could be trouble. So, I’m invited to leave. Tonight. Lillian there delivered the message, gun in hand.”

Aleck just looked at him, stunned. He got up slowly shaking his head.

“You mess with The Lion, you’re gonna get bitten. No love bite, either.”

Aleck moved to the corner where Abel’s empty suitcase sat. He put it on the bed and opened it up.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you pack, then I’m gonna take you to the airport.”

Aleck pointed to the dresser. “Come on. Get cracking. This guy doesn’t fool around.” Aleck seemed genuinely terrified of the man.

Slowly, Abel moved to the dresser and opened the top drawer. He began putting his underwear and socks in the suitcase. Aleck moved to his closet.

“You want me to get your hanging clothes?”

Abel didn’t like being pushed. He suddenly stopped packing.

“Not so fast.”

“What, are you crazy? You gotta go.”

“Tomorrow. I paid for this room through tonight.”

Aleck looked at him, wide-eyed. “You trying to get yourself killed for a night’s room rent? I know these people. They’re not kidding.”

“They won’t kill me until they know who I really am. For all they know, I’m well connected, and killing me would bring a hammer down. No, I figure I’ve got at least the night.”

Aleck looked surprised. “What do you mean, who you really are? You’re not a businessman from Lagos?”

Abel sank onto a sofa.

“I have to trust you, Aleck, but you can’t mention this to anyone. You have to swear your word.”

Aleck nodded, looking puzzled and unsure if he wanted to hear what was coming.

“I’m an investigative reporter, Aleck”, Abel said, noting the sincere shock on the pilot’s face. “I’m doing a story on trafficking. The missing girl, she’s not my fiancée. She’s a child I care about, and I’ve promised her mother I’ll find her and bring her back safe.”

Aleck shook his head and thought about that.

“You’re going to get yourself killed, for sure, and maybe me with you”, he said.

“Not if we get this done tonight”, Abel said. “Who runs the prostitutes here in town? There must be some Mother Superior-type who watches over the girls, knows them all.”

Aleck looked at Abel and nodded. “Mrs. Churchill. Everyone gets a big kick outta the name. She keeps the girls healthy, feeds them sometimes, listens to their problems. Most of them are so young they need a mother figure.”

Abel started out of the room. “Let’s go see her. If she hasn’t seen Alice, I’ll leave, I promise.” Aleck hesitated. Abel took out his wallet. “You going to show me or do I have to find another guide?”

Finally Aleck nodded. “Knowing you, you’ll ask one of The Lion’s gang. I better take you.” Then he led the way out of the room.

***************************

Abel found himself standing in a small, modestly furnished flat somewhere in the centre of town. The room was comfortable and homey and he could smell something baking. A couple of girls, dressed in robes, passed through on their way down a hall. This wasn’t a brothel. It was some kind of way station where the girls could relax, get a home-cooked meal and find a little peace.

After a few minutes, Aleck emerged from the kitchen with an elderly woman, probably in her late 70’s. White hair, kindly eyes, wearing an apron. She reminded Abel of his grandmother.

“This is Mrs. Rose Churchill”, Aleck said, then stepped aside. The old woman approached Abel and offered her hand.

“Hello, son. You look troubled.”

No argument there, Abel thought. He gave her his hand, which she took in both of hers. She smiled warmly, and he could see why she was someone the young girls would like.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Mrs. Churchill. But I’m looking for a young girl. She was taken from her home in Nigeria. Maybe brought here and forced into prostitution.”

He handed Mrs. Churchill the photo of Alice. The old woman carefully took a pair of reading glasses from the apron pocket and placed them on her face. She studied the picture.

“Lovely girl. This was taken just before she left Nigeria.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. How do you know?”

“She was already involved in prostitution. What she will find abroad is no different. You can tell a girl who has sold herself. It’s in the eyes.”

Mrs. Churchill handed the picture back to Abel and removed her glasses. She seemed sad. The words had carried no judgment.

“Yes, you’re right”, Abel said. “But I believe she can still be saved. If I can find her.”

“She has not come through this house. I’d remember. I remember every one of them.”

“May I ask you something? You seem to know how bad this all is. Why don’t you do something.”

“I am. I am offering them love. But I can’t stop what is happening. Good luck. I hope you find the girl.”

“She’s different to most of these girls, Mrs. Churchill.”

“She is in one respect. She has someone who is willing to risk his life to rescue her.”

With that, Mrs. Churchill returned to the kitchen and whatever it was she was baking. Abel turned to Aleck who had been watching from a distance.

“Okay, Aleck. Take me to the airport.”

First they stopped back at the hotel so Abel could collect his things and check out. They didn’t talk the entire way, until Aleck dropped him off in front of British Airways. Abel got out and took his bags. Just before he stepped onto the curb Aleck asked, “What is next?”

“London. To see a friend. Then Mali. Maybe that’s the route they took.”

Abel thanked Aleck and disappeared into the terminal