His back was to me as I entered. ‘How are you feeling?’ I asked in Russian.
He turned around with no hint of a smile. His hand was shaking and then he thumped the table. ‘We’ve got to get you to Accra as soon as possible, Robert.’
‘Why?’ I blurted. ‘What’s the rush?’
He grabbed the Ghanaian Times and threw it at me.
I picked it up. The headline struck me to my core.
I read on with shaking hands and total disbelief. “A white man gave some chocolates to them,” said their grieving mother. My hands still shook and a lump formed in my throat. My description had been given to the police who were also looking into a death at an oil company compound, where a Senor Lorenzo Desoto had also died in similar circumstances, from poisoning. The authorities had requested additional police from Kumasi to be drafted in to solve the five murders. There was a fear that there might be more deaths waiting to be uncovered.
‘But… but… I had no idea the chocolates were poisonous. They looked like ordinary Quality Street Sweets. The police must know that, I should tell them,’ I said with indignation as the implication of being a mass murderer hit home.
‘You are involved in five murders Robert – four of them of children – but the country is behind you. That is why we must get you to Accra and the Russian embassy as soon as possible.’
I felt a coolness come over me despite the rising heat. I had been used to kill a man, and that had resulted in four further deaths. Of children.
‘But why kill Lorenzo?’ I asked in bewilderment.
‘He was a spy who defected. He had to pay the price. You did a good job there. It was just unfortunate that you gave those chocolates to the children. Now get packed—you must leave this afternoon. Understand?’
Understand I did but I thought that if I had only been told the contents of the tin I would never have given those chocolates to the children. On the other hand, if I knew the sweets had been tampered with, I might never have gone to Sandema. Sweets? Of course, Utechin knew I was allergic to chocolate. So did Chazov in London. It came back clearly to me now.
‘Peace, get Amadu over here quick,’ Utechin shouted and I felt no urge to inquire further of his health.
I returned to my house in haste and packed up everything I could take. I left a box of tissues and a novel, The Parrot’s Tale, which I had read. Goodness knows whose hands it would find itself in, but I hoped they would enjoy it as much as I had.
Utechin’s occasional driver came to collect me and my two bags and drove me the short distance to the airport. I recognised the aeroplane and then saw Amadu appear from the other side of his aircraft.
‘A longer flight this time,’ he said with a grin.
I knew he had been told of the need to get me out of Tamale as soon as possible. Perhaps he did not know why.
‘Yes, Accra. Another smooth flight?’
‘I hope so. Built-up areas, more air traffic. We’ve got to go over the Kwahu ridge too. Need some height for that. But for you, some spectacular Ghanaian jungle to admire.’
A few minutes later we were taxiing along the runway once more. Then thumbs up again and the race along the runway began.
Only when the wheels left the ground and tucked themselves into the body of the plane could I start to physically relax. My body went limp. My mind was however in overdrive. To some, I would just seem foolish getting into this mess, but I knew others would be on my tail, seeking a mass murderer.
I wondered what could I expect from the Russian embassy? I thought I would be able to see Morag more—I realised she would be in Accra in a week or two. A letter to her that night would be a priority. But how much could I tell her? God, what a mess I was in.
I was met at Kotoka International Airport in Accra by a car bearing the Corps Diplomatique insignia. The driver took my bag and placed it in the boot. With almost indecent haste he pushed me into the back of the car in such a way I wondered if I had been kidnapped. When I got my bearings, I realised the windows were blacked out.
‘Are we heading to the Russian Embassy?’ I asked for clarification, holding on to the back of the driver’s seat.
‘Yes, sir. They are expecting you.’
In those six words, I felt a growing sense of satisfaction. I would be safe for the time being, and if the coast was clear I’d have Morag to comfort me once more.
The drive was short. Embassy residences were near the airport in the residential district of the city. The car went up the drive and round the back of the residence, where it pulled into in a demarcated parking space.
As I got out of the car, a man greeted me.
‘Welcome Robert, I am Vitaly Karmanov, First Secretary. I am glad you have arrived safely.’
His smile disarmed me. I returned my thanks for his welcome in Russian.
‘Come, let me take you to your room.’
I followed on as we entered the residence and climbed the stairs at the back. It led to a corridor and at its end, a door. He opened it and I stepped into a large square room with a view of the garden at the rear. It seemed the foliage went on forever.
‘This is where you will be for the time being.’
‘The time being?’ I said, wondering how long I would have to be here.
‘Enough time for you to grow a beard, enjoy the facilities of the residence and relax. There will also be some debriefing required, of course.’
‘Grow a beard?’ I said in astonishment. But it was not a request. ‘Of course,’ I replied out of instinct. I must not put a foot wrong. A disguise would help me.
‘You will eat with the Russian staff in the rear dining room. I need not tell you that all correspondence will be checked before posting. That means diplomatic bag dispatches as well as local mail, so don’t seal your letters.’
I nodded, showing my understanding.
‘There is a bell system in your room. Use it freely, but only contact the ambassador in extremis. Your requests will be answered by me or one of the other staff.’
‘Thank you. So—I’ll unpack and settle in,’ I said, feeling I was secure in this protected place, yet wondering how they might use me.
‘Am I confined to barracks, as it were? No leaving the residence?’
‘Exactly, but do use the swimming pool—you’ll find it at the rear, or the tennis court. There will be plenty of opposition for you, both Russian staff and domestic, as well as the Ghanaian secretarial staff.’
He must have felt I had received enough information for the time being. I noticed a shower in an adjoining room and a wash hand basin. That was what I needed to calm my nerves, a warm shower.
I opened my toilet bag and took out my razor and laid it to one side. I had a look at myself in the mirror. I saw a man ill at ease. A man on the run from murder and that gnawing feeling increased each day. Would I be betrayed? Could I ever live without this guilt? A man trapped with no apparent exit. A man longing for his girlfriend to calm his worries. A man with a growing stubble.
Chapter 15
Life at the Russian Embassy in Accra
Shortly after noon there was a knock on the door. Two Ghanaians appeared. Dressed in formal white trousers and jackets, the contrast with their skin was startling. One had a tray with two sandwiches, a bottle of water, an orange and a banana. The other brought a multi colourer towel with him.