Miller Caldwell - Caught in a Cold War Trap

The following day was Wednesday. It dragged as I waited to start another mission. I hoped my last. I saw this task as something of a social outlet—not as dangerous as the tin of chocolates. But I thought it would take some time to get to know who was who. I went to the club dressed in white shorts and a blue top, reinforcing my status as a Scot, perhaps. I had borrowed plimsolls from a games box in the embassy’s gazebo. Vitaly approved my rigout.

When I arrived, with my squash racquet well to the fore, I was met by Morgan, who took me through to the court. He was clearly Welsh—he said he worked for Barclay’s bank. His shirt sported Barclay’s Bank logo.

‘Hi, pleased to meet you, Ewan. Played much then?’

‘Not for years. Probably not even up-to-date with the rules,’ I said with a glum face.

‘Sounds like you are my standard. When these two come off, we can play.’

‘They look good,’ I observed. ‘Who are they?’

‘Kevin is from Larne. He’s in the pale blue top. Willy Salmond is from Edinburgh, he’s a vicar at the Ridge Church in town.’

‘So, no foul language on court.’ I joked—I recalled my father identifying this Willy Salmond for me before I left Glasgow. At last, I would be able to say we had met.

‘Don’t you believe it Ewan, Willy swears like a trooper if he misses an easy shot. He leaves his collar behind on a Wednesday night.’

‘And Kevin? What does he do out here?’

‘Kevin is a vet at the university.’

‘I see. Oh, and I heard there was some player who was six-foot plus.’

‘You mean Roger?’

‘Yes, that’s his name.’

‘You know him?’

‘I met his wife when I came out to get my membership card yesterday afternoon.’

‘She’d be playing tennis,’ he said.

I nodded my agreement.

‘So, membership? Not a passing visitor. You must be working around here then?’

‘Yes, I’m the accountant at the African Trading Company,’ I lied confidently.

‘That’s a safe job.’

My eyes tightened. ‘What do you mean?’

‘A European accountant avoids the risk of embezzlement. No local family dashes. Not so?’

‘Dashes?’ I enquired.

‘Yes, tips.’

‘Oh, I see now yes, I’ve heard the word loads of times. So that’s what it means.’

‘You must come to our banking dos. Our accountants and managers, along with their wives, meet once a month. Bring your wife too.’

‘I’d like to but I don’t have a wife, just a girlfriend.’

‘A Ghanaian girl?’ he asked raising his voice slightly.

‘No Morag is a Scot too. She’s at Korle Bu teaching hospital.’

‘Bring her along. Give me your telephone number at the bar after we play. Hey… look. They are coming off, our turn.’

We played the best of three. At first, I was slow, but I eventually got up to speed. My eye focussed and I began to win some shots. That boosted my confidence, especially as I saw onlookers above me, assessing my standard. I lost the first game 8-11. However, I rallied well and took the second game 11-9, and won the decider 13-11.

There was hardly a moment lost when Roger entered the court. He tapped my shoulder as I left, to acknowledge me, or was it my performance? I watched him play and felt we were all of a similar standard which was reassuring.

‘Morgan, so what does Roger do?’

‘Rodger is a useful guy. He works for the Black Star Line—the shipping company. Gets things cleared from customs as quick as you like. A very useful man.’

I played twice against Roger, but he beat me at both games. I put it down to his size and reach. Perhaps I was a bad loser. Willy and Kevin had the final game and then we sat in the open as the waiter took our orders.

Crickets crowded the ground lamps and the hissing of a garden hose kept the lawn green. My Guilder arrived—all had a beer except Willy, whose orange juice matched Kevin’s top.

Morgan went into his sports bag and produced a phial of pills. He laid them out and everyone took one. I bent forward to see what they were.

‘Salt tablets. You lose so much sweat playing you need to replace the salt. This does the trick. We always take one. It’s not an illicit drug,’ Kevin said with a sort of a snigger and the others laughed as they saw me relax.

We were halfway through our beers when Morgan raised the hairs on the back of my neck. ‘These murders up in Sandema, they haven’t got him yet have they?’

‘A white man in the North? I bet he’s gone a long time ago. I can’t see how he could hide up there for any length of time,’ said Willy.

‘They should call out the Met to help them,’ suggested Kevin.

It was time for me to muddy the waters. ‘I’ve a hunch, he was probably French and crossed over back into French West Africa pretty quick.’

‘Then why did he come to Ghana in the first place, to do his dirty work then?’ asked Willy.

We sat silently for a full thirty seconds thinking about Willy’s point and of any other interpretation.

‘So Ewan, what brought you out to Ghana?’

I was relieved the subject had changed. However, it was time to lie once more. ‘I always enjoyed geography at school. The dark continent, the white man’s grave, Mungo Park’s allure for the continent, not to mention an uncle who fought in the Ashanti Wars. It all galvanised me to apply to work in Ghana. And here I am.’

‘When did you arrive in Accra?’ asked Willy. ‘I’ve not seen you around.’

‘I’ve been in the city for three weeks now.’

‘You are a quick worker, Ewan. He’s got a girlfriend in Accra already,’ said Morgan, laughing while wiping his handkerchief over his sweaty brow.

‘Three weeks, that’s fast work Ewan,’ joked Kevin.

‘Well I had one other reason for coming here specifically. My girlfriend is doing medicine at Glasgow. She wanted to do some tropical work and got a place at the Korle Bu Teaching Hospital—and so I wanted a three-month placement and got six instead at the African Trading Company.’

‘Does she play squash?’ asked Kevin.

‘You know, I’ve never asked her.’

I asked to see Vitaly urgently the following morning.

‘It was like being in a lion’s den,’ I began. ‘I was asked for my telephone number but got out of that one for the time being. I forgot to give it. They know I’m supposed to work for the African Trading Company. What happens if one of them phones the company this morning?’ I said with my fists clenched.

‘Relax, Robert. We can prepare a business card for you for next week.’

‘But if they phone the trading company this morning?’

‘Relax I said. If they phone the African Trading Company this morning, Yaa will direct the call here.’

I thought for a moment. Was Yaa a servant of the Russian state?

‘We finance the African Trading Company. Just like the Groundnut factory. Of course—we do not speak about it. Rest assured if anyone calls to speak to you, Yaa will put the call through to me.’

I sat back in relief for a moment, but only briefly. ‘The Welshman works for Barclay’s bank. They have monthly soirées—the accountants and the bankers and their wives. I have been invited to attend the next one with Morag. You approve?’

‘Approve? Of course. There might be some information you could find in that scenario.’

That night I returned to see Morag. I found her in the staff dining room, where she was slicing through some fresh pineapple. She put her fork down and pulled out a seat for me.

‘Finished work for the day?’ I asked.

‘Yes, but keep your affections till later. The eyes of many are watching us.’

‘You sound like a spy,’ I laughed.