Halfway to the Truth (16 page)

“I’ve seen enough Gil. Please take me out of here.”

They got back into the van and as they were leaving, a man from a nearby shed grabbed a microphone to a communications radio and relayed a message.

Dimitris was delivering a ship’s cargo manifest to Nikolaus’ office, when he heard him talking to someone on the speaker phone. He decided to wait outside, the half-open door, until he had finished with the call.

“How are the deliveries proceeding Salomon?”

“Delivery is fine now Mr. Drakos. I’ve been able to direct more trucks to the port, so there have been no delays in offloading your cargo containers. Greenpeace people are poking around again though. One of my men told me yesterday, they saw Guillame Boisseau at the Bandamogo dump. He had a woman with him this time — no doubt a reporter.”

Salomon’s last sentence captured Nikolaus’ attention. “A woman?”

“Yes. My man saw them talking to some children.”

“Were they taking any photographs?”

“No, I don’t think so. They weren’t there very long.”

“Did you happen to get a description of her?”

“My man wasn’t that close, but he described her as average height with dark hair. She wore a bandanna over her face, so he couldn’t get a good look at her. Why?”

Nikolaus’ mind was racing. He had not seen Reese anywhere in Savannah. He even tailed Shelley for a day to see if she would tip her hand as to Reese’s whereabouts. But nothing came of it.

“Salomon, can you find out more about this woman?”

“I’ll ask around, but reporters, environmentalists, and international health care workers come here all the time. There’s nothing to be concerned about. We pay the local officials handsomely to dance around their questions.”

“Get back with me on what you find out.
Day or night
, you hear?”

“Certainly Mr. Drakos.”

The call was terminated.

Dimitris had heard every word, and knocked on the partly ajar door. “I’m sorry Nikolaus, I was bringing you this manifest and I couldn’t help overhearing some of your conversation. Do you think that is Reese Summers?”

Nikolaus’ thoughts were still focused on Salomon’s words. He spoke without thinking, “If it is, that
bitch
will be sorry!” Then he caught himself.

Turning to confront Dimitris, “What are you doing listening in on my private conversation? You better not say a word about this to anyone. You understand me?”

“Yes, Mr. Drakos. I fully understand,” he said, placing the manifest on the desk. He bowed his head to his boss and backed out the way he came in.

“And close the door behind you!” Nikolaus commanded. Then muttered to himself, “You’ll be sorry Reese.”

Outside, Dimitris finally knew where he stood with Nikolaus Drakos. He thought it wouldn’t be long before Nikolaus got rid of him, and not long before he would do harm to the shipping company itself. He had to do something to make things right.

It was Friday morning, and Doug Williams barely entered the front of the
Savannah Daily
building when someone grabbed his arm. He looked over his shoulder to see the face of a man he recognized, but couldn’t place where he knew him from.

“Excuse me Mr. Williams,” the man said, “I need to talk to you,” and motioned for them to move away from the doors.

“Do I know you?”

“No, we’ve never met. But I have something important to tell you. My name is Yeros. Dimitris Yeros. I’m a foreman at Drakos Shipping.”

It suddenly dawned on Doug where he had seen the man before. Bobby had taken his picture when he and Reese first went to interview the longshoremen and after she was almost run over by a forklift.

“Come up to my office,” he suggested.

“That’s not a good idea; I don’t want anyone to see me at this location. Wait five minutes, and then meet me at the coffee shop that’s two blocks from here.”

Doug gave a nod of assurance and the man departed the building.

Anything that had to do with Drakos Shipping was worth checking out, thought Doug. He waited the proper amount of time, and then traced the path Dimitris took to the coffee shop.

The potential informant was seated in a corner of the shop from where he could see anyone outside approaching the entrance.

He cupped a hand around his drink as Doug casually entered, approached the Barista, and ordered a regular cappuccino.

Coffee in hand, he joined the man at the table. “Alright Mr. Yeros, what do you have for me?”

Dimitris’ dark eyes darted around the room making sure no one was within earshot, then he leaned in toward Doug and spoke in a quiet voice. “It’s about Miss Summers, you have to get in touch with her.”

Doug took a sip of his coffee staring straight into the wrinkled face of the man seated across from him. He wanted to see how much he knew before committing himself saying, “I’m sure you’re aware that Miss Summers went to work for Drakos Shipping.”

“Yeah, I do. But she used to work for you, didn’t she?”

“Miss Summers
did
work for me, but then your boss, Viktor Drakos, hired her away from me. She didn’t even give a two-week notice.”

The man’s eyes continued to dart around the room. “I shouldn’t be saying this, but Viktor Drakos’ death may be part of all this.”

“Oh? How so?”

“I know he reportedly choked to death, but his son Nikolaus has been acting real strange ever since that happened. He was there you know?”

“Yeah I’m aware, we did the article on his death. Unless,” Doug paused, “you know more than we printed?”

“No, I don’t really know what happened but, that same day, Nikolaus was hell bent on increasing the shipping of scrap material. I’m sure he went to talk with his father about it. I can tell you as fact, the old man wouldn’t have gone along with his plan. But Viktor’s body was scarcely in the ground, when Nikolaus made the decision to go forward with it. The timing of it all just seems suspicious.”

“So what’s this have to do with Reese Summers? She was getting pretty cozy with the son from what I hear?”

“Yeah, I think so. But I believe something happened between them; she hasn’t been around in a few days.”

“What makes you think I know where she is?”

“I wasn’t implying you do Mr. Williams, but you must know someone who can get in touch with her.”

“Why?”

“Because I overheard a conversation Nikolaus had with a man he does business with in the Ivory Coast. He believes Miss Summers may be there and has this guy looking into it. I think Nikolaus has snapped or something, because he wasn’t very happy she might be there and, from what I heard, I think he’d do her harm. Miss Summers never hid the fact she didn’t like the idea of shipping waste overseas, and maybe that’s what came between them. Anyway, I think she’s in danger wherever she is, and I couldn’t have it on my conscious if anything happened to her and I didn’t say a word.”

Doug had been a reporter long enough to know that when someone was as nervous as Dimitris, that they were serious about what they were saying. He couldn’t ignore the information that was being given to him.

“How do I know this isn’t some sort of con job that Nikolaus put you up to?”

The eyes on Dimitris’ sun-worn face narrowed. “You don’t! But if you care for that girl at all, you better do something.”

“Look, I can’t promise I’ll be able to get in touch with her, but I’ll try. Do you know who the man is in the Ivory Coast?”

“Only that he referred to him as Salomon.”

Doug got up from the table saying, “Thank you for your information. I’ll do what I can.”

Then he left the shop.

Upon returning to the newspaper, Doug sought out Shelley and told her of his meeting with Dimitris Yeros.

“We’ve got to get in touch with her Doug and let her know that Nikolaus may be looking for her.”

“I agree. Use your cell phone and try calling her,” he said, picking up Shelley’s desk phone. “I’ll leave a message with the hotel she’s staying at, and then try to get in touch with Scratch. There’s a four-hour time difference, so it’s only going on two-thirty in the afternoon her time.”

Shelley took the phone out of her purse and walked over to a window poking in the numbers as she went.

Doug’s call was answered on the third ring.

“Hello, I’d like to leave a message for a Miss Reese Summers who is a guest at your hotel.”

“Alright sir, I’ll connect you with our room’s messaging service. It may sound like I’m hanging up, but wait a few seconds and you’ll hear two clicks. The introduction will then come on and you may leave your message.”

“Thank you.”

On cue, “
If you’d like to leave a message for
…”

“Hello Reese, this is Doug Williams. It’s very important you call me as soon as you get this. I have reason to suspect Nikolaus Drakos knows you’re there and he may bring you harm.”

He heard a series of clicks, followed by a dial tone.

“I hope that got through,” he said under his breath.

Next, he tried calling Scratch, but there was no answer.

Shelley returned to her desk. “Any luck?”

Doug shook his head no, saying, “I think I left Reese a message on her room phone, but I wasn’t able to get in touch with Scratch.”

“What are we going to do now, Doug?”

“Only thing we can do right now, pray for her safety.”

Reese returned to her room late that afternoon. She had been on a shopping expedition in Abidjan where she picked up a few small gifts to take back home to Shelley and Chief Daniels.

Laying her shopping bags on the bed, she glanced at her phone message indicator light – it was off.

Pulling her cell phone from her purse, she checked for messages. But the battery had gone dead, automatically shutting itself off.

She rummaged through her luggage looking for the recharging cord, but couldn’t find it and tried to remember if she even packed one.

Guess I’ll have to get another one
, she thought,
but it can wait until tomorrow
.
Guillame will be here in the morning, and I can pick one up before we go back to Bandamogo.

She made the decision to eat dinner in her room, and call it an early night.

Meanwhile, Salomon’s men had been busy inquiring about the woman who was seen with Guillame, and reported back to their boss on what they discovered. Salomon was quick to call Nikolaus Drakos.

“Mr. Drakos, this is Salomon. I have some news for you.”

“Okay, tell me what you found out?”

“My sources were able to find out that the woman is staying at
Hotel Onomo
in Abidjan. Her room was booked by the
Savannah Daily
newspaper. Her name is Reese Summers and she is a reporter. Do you know her?”

Nikolaus went silent while he thought about what his next move should be.

“Mr. Drakos, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here, let me think?” He paced back and forth and then made his decision.

“She needs to disappear Salomon. She wants to stop our E-waste trade and I can’t have that; neither can you. Can you take care of her?”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll wire $25,000 dollars to any bank you want.”

“Is this a temporary disappearance or more permanent?”

“Permanent,” came the reply.

“Make it $50,000 and it will be done.”

Nikolaus gave his request a second thought. “Alright, the sooner the better. But I don’t want to know any details; you take care of everything.”

“Yes, Mr. Drakos. I will email you my bank account information. And don’t worry, people disappear in Africa all the time. Leave it to me.”

When the call ended, Nikolaus broke out in a sweat, and he wondered if he made the right choice. But then he realized that she wasn’t there on behalf of his company; she was there because of Doug Williams. The thought of her betrayal only served to strengthen his decision, and there would be no way to connect her disappearance back to him. Nonetheless, he poured himself a stiff drink.

Guillame was scheduled to pick her up at 9
A.M.,
but there was a knock on her door at 8:30. Reese opened it to see another man who did not appear to be a hotel employee.

“May I help you?” she asked.

He took off his hat and held it in his hands at chest level. “Monsieur Boisseau sent me here to pick you up. I have a Greenpeace car outside to take you to him.”

She looked up and down the hall behind the man to see if anyone else was outside her room. Seeing no one, she said, “Alright, let me gather my things.”

The man watched as she grabbed her bag, hat, and sun glasses. She started to pick up her cell phone but, knowing it had to be charged anyway, left it on the desk.

“I’m ready now.”

“This way ma’am,” he said, directing her to a side entrance from the hotel.

Waiting outside was an older Mercedes vehicle, painted black with tinted windows.

The man opened the rear door for her to get in.

When she saw another well-dressed man sitting in the back seat, she hesitated.

Suddenly the man behind her, pushed her into the car following her inside. Sandwiched between two black men, her heart started to race. The one to her left tapped the driver on the shoulder and the vehicle sped away.

After putting the some miles between them and the hotel, the well-groomed man finally spoke to Reese.

“Don’t be alarmed Miss Summers, we’re here to help you.”

She looked at the exit handles on the doors, but knew it would be futile to try and escape over the men. She closed her eyes for a second to regain her composure.

“You have me at a slight disadvantage sir. You know who I am but I don’t know who you are. But I doubt if you’re with Greenpeace though, from the look of this vehicle.”

“No, we’re not with Greenpeace,” he agreed. “I’m a local politician from Bandamogo. I understand you are doing a story on our E-waste problem and I want to tell you about it from my perspective.”

“You could have approached me in a nicer way.”

“I’m sorry for the roughness, please accept my apology. But I was afraid Mr. Boisseau would influence you from talking to me.”

“Why would he?”

“Although I’m on the same side with Greenpeace when it comes to the E-waste issue, I believe Monsieur Boisseau has his own agenda, and I want to show you what his agenda is. I recently learned he works for a man connected to a company called Drakos Shipping. Have you ever heard of it?”

The name Drakos caught her by surprise, as she squirmed to get comfortable. “I know it. It’s a company located in Savannah, Georgia where I’m from. They’ve been sending scrap material to Abidjan for a while, and my paper wants to know what happens when it gets here. What does that have to do with Mr. Boisseau?”

“That’s exactly my point Miss Summers. I discovered that Boisseau uses Greenpeace as a front to cover up his relationship with a man named Salomon. Have you ever heard of him?”

“Yes, Gil… I mean Mr. Boisseau has told me about him. But he gave me the impression that he despised him and we needed to stay away from him and his men.”

“See? He already has been playing you Miss Summers. If you promise to let me show you what I know, when I take you back to the hotel you can form your own opinions.”

She thought about what he said and, although she had doubts, she wondered if there was more to the story.

“Alright, I’ll go with you.”

The man smiled at her, and then said some words in French.

The vehicle stopped, and the man to her right got out and moved to the front passenger seat.

“There, perhaps you’ll be more comfortable now.”

She slid over putting a little distance between her and the politician.

“Let me tell you what we are up against,” he said. “Exporting castoff material to places like my country is legal if the material can be reused or refurbished, but much of it is being sent here under dishonest claims. A number of major recyclers in Europe, and your country, are falsely declaring a large part of their shipments as 'used goods' when in reality they are non-functional. The system currently relies on the honesty of the companies themselves which is like, as you might say, the wolf guarding the hens.”

Reese became so engrossed in what he was saying that she began to let down her own guard, even forgetting to ask him his name.

He continued, “There is a big black market for E-waste and the recyclers disguise a lot of it as used goods to avoid the costs associated with appropriate recycling. When it gets to places like Bandamogo, we have no facilities to take care of the waste and therefore, it is causing significant environmental pollution and health risks for my people.”

“Yes, I saw that first-hand the other day,” she augmented. “But what does that have to do with Boisseau.”

“I’m glad you asked that question. He’s up to his eyeballs in the black market in this country, and you can help me stop him. I have proof and I’m going to show it to you.”

Through the tinted windows Reese could see they were arriving in Bandamogo, and had just passed the house owned by Gil’s aunt and uncle. They made a left turn about a quarter mile further, and continued on the dirt road for another mile.

The Mercedes soon came to stop next to a small cement-block structure.

“Here we are Miss Summers. Let me show you the proof.” He opened his door and went over to the entrance of the building.

The man that was sitting in front of her, opened her door.

She got out and joined the politician who stood near an open doorway and pointed inside.

The other man followed close behind her as she reluctantly peered inside.

The well-dressed man spoke some rapid French and Reese’s arms were grabbed from behind. She began to struggle and almost broke free, but then the driver quickly joined the fray and they wrestled her into the building.

She screamed and tried to fight her way loose, but they were too strong for her and carried her inside. There, in the dark recess of the building, they worked at securing her to chains attached to the cinderblock wall.

Standing in the doorway, watching her fight for her life, the politician’s body blocked the limited light that entered inside, casting an ominous shadow on the ground in front of where she lay.

“Why?” she begged crying, as her restraints were locked into place.

He spoke French again.

One of the men replied, “Oui Salomon,” and both men went back outside.

Even through her own groans and crying, Reese had finally learned the true identity of her captor. “What are you going to do with me Salomon?” she pleaded.

“I’m not sure yet. It would be a waste to kill such a beautiful woman as you. I’ll be back later. And if you want to scream, go ahead; no one is within a mile of this place. Oh, one other thing Miss Summers, Nikolaus Drakos sends his regards.” He pulled the metal door closed as he left.

She heard the unmistakable sound of locks being set on the door. She heard Salomon giving orders in French, and then the car’s engine started. She began to panic as the sound of the car trailed away, and she screamed like she had never screamed before.

Her wailing went mostly unnoticed, except for a young boy about ten years old. He was bare-footed, wearing a sleeveless soccer shirt and well-worn brown shorts. The smile on his smooth, black face was gone as he watched, from his hiding position in the tall grass, Salomon’s Mercedes travel back toward the main part of the village.