The Patriot

by Samuel Cobby Grant

Episode 7

It was bedtime for another couple, though one could not really say that they were a couple. David Muller and Ataa Adjoa had spent a lot of time together, been in near-nude situations with each other and shared pecks on the cheeks, but that was as far as they had gone to the exasperation of David who found the situation very frustrating.

His willpower was really tested one day at a weekend getaway when she popped into his bedroom clutching two dresses. She wanted his opinion on what to wear.

She had stripped into near nakedness, wore the first outfit, had turned around, removed it and had worn the second one and looked at him for his opinion.

“What do you think? Which one suits me more?” she asked, looking straight into his eyes.

He gaped at her and told her that the first one she wore was better for where she was wearing it to.

She pouted her lips in mock annoyance, stripped down and wore the first one again, swirling for his view. She left then, walking and swaying her hips from side to side.

If she had noticed the sudden change in his demeanour, she made no mention of it, and neither did she acknowledge it.

It came to pass that very evening, after deliberately having more than his usual quantity of nightcaps, he held her hand as she was leaving his room and drew her into his arms and kissed her deeply. She kissed him back, fiercely, with mounting passion.

He cupped her breasts and proceeded to free them from the dress she was wearing and she had allowed him while she was stroking his manhood. As he was unable to get her breast out of the dress, he attempted to unbutton the shirt she was wearing, but she pushed him back, gently but firmly.

“Goodnight, David,” she said sadly and exited the room.

He stared after her in confusion. His expression was one of incomprehensible confusion.

Ataa Adjoa swiftly made her way to the carport and went into her car. She hit the steering wheel many times before she started the car and zoomed off. She was very angry but the anger was directed at herself and another person.

“Damn you, damn you, KF.”

She was dismayed with the way she was playing around with the feelings of David Muller, and that left her with a feeling of anguish. She was a pro and she had embarked on a lot of similar operations without allowing her feelings to be compromised.

“Is it because of David or is it because of KF,” she said and hit the steering wheel once more with frustration. She wondered whether it was because of the enormity of the job or because of her anger with KF and his cold-heartedness. She was weakening even before the end of the operation.

She drove around listlessly with the windows down allowing the night’s cool breeze to calm her down, but she still had the presence of mind to occasionally look into the driving mirror to check on who was behind her.

She suddenly stepped on the pedal and drove furiously and dangerously to her rendezvous with her damn Controller. She eventually drove through the gates of an old dilapidated Manor House which was up for demolition. She went through the large doorway, ignoring the hidden guards in their concealed locations. Her presence caused the lights to come on instantly, illuminating the very large room she had stepped into.

For once, she failed to marvel at the beautiful extravagance of the room. It was the complete opposite of the exterior of the house. A complete opposite of the house’s shabby outlook. It was huge, with beautiful chandeliers, intricately designed long-backed chairs and ankle-deep woollen carpet, showcasing Ghanaian artistry and innovation.

She sauntered over to the bar and poured herself a shot of Akpeteshie gin. She took a sip, allowing the fiery drink to roll down her throat.

“I can see that you are all tensed up,” the rich baritone voice she knew only so well said behind her. She turned around quickly and came face to face with the man who drafted and trained her in espionage.

“I am fine,” she said simply.

“No, you are not fine, but I can understand your frustrations. It’s not easy to spurn a full-blooded man,” he said softly.

Her eyes glazed over and she kept quiet, her eyes burning holes in his chest. She wondered how he had been able to know about it so quickly about an occurrence that had happened less than an hour ago.

“Maybe they’ve wired the whole place. Perverts,” she mused, staring straight ahead, “I promise I am going to have hot sizzling sex with David to pay you back.”

He frowned, almost in pain as if he had read her mind.

“Let’s get down to business,” he said sharply as if he was reprimanding her, and she smiled.

He led her into a much smaller room and switched on a little metal box that ensured that any listening device was disabled.

Even then, they murmured their conversations, about the tactics and strategies for the next stage of the operation.

“So Uncle Issah is still missing,” she mused, understanding from the briefing. But in all that, she had an uncanny feeling that a third party was sitting behind the one-way mirror in the room watching and listening to them.

But her mind kept wandering to the possible bugs in the beach house and she knew she could never remove them even if she found them.

“Idiots, maybe I will get myself a vibrator and moan the hell out of their ears,” she thought, a smile finally playing around her cute saucy lips. She found herself smiling even as she was driving away from the Manor House. When she got to the Chalet, she saw that David had just emerged from the street and was about to open the door,

“Maybe he went to meet with a prostitute to clear away his frustrations,” she said to herself as she got out of the car.

He waited for her to get to where he was, held her hand, and smoothed the hair that had strayed to her eyebrows. He was gentle. He then kissed her deeply and swooped her up and carried her into the bedroom.

“Do you think she can be trusted to do the job?” The President who had been observing things from behind the one-way mirror said as he entered from a side door.

“She’s a professional. I trained her myself. She’s the best in the field., Kofi Frimpong said calmly.

“I didn’t know she worked for us. I thought she was just a Secretary,” the President said, in shock.

“We are the only people who know she is into intelligence. Her cover has never been broken.”

“That means she’s good,” he said, impressed.

“The best,” he said and waited till the President had left before he left too, limping as soon as he got out in the open.

He walked in the shadows, using the dark alley to good advantage. He walked, and made sudden turns in order to shake off anyone following him.

 THE NEXT DAY

The President woke up feeling hale and hearty. Ghana’s Independence Day was just four months away, and he was determined to make it a day to remember.

“It’s not every day that a nation celebrated her 200 years of nationhood,” he said to himself as he sat down at the office, debating with himself on what to tackle from his in-tray first. He remembered and made a call to the doctor treating the daughter of the US President.

“Good morning, Doctor, how’s your patient?”

“She’s fine. She asked of your children this morning,” he replied.

It was so amazing the fast rate at which the American girl had mended. Her recovery had been so rapid that the doctor who was treating her had become a household name even before she had fully recovered. And her most constant visitors had been the First Family. In fact, apart from the first family, the only other visitor allowed to see her was the US ambassador.

 “Yes, my kids have been bugging me to allow her to come and stay with us,” he replied shaking his head at the antics of children.

“I can discharge her and be coming to your end to monitor her as an Out-Patient,” the Doctor suggested.

“That would be great,” he said, intending to surprise his kids by making her stay with them till her father comes for her when he arrives for the Independence Day celebrations.

***

He came awake gradually and found himself on his back. He clenched and unclenched his palms to test his senses of movements. With his eyes still closed, he slightly turned his head to the right and to the left.

His movements were furtively made with his eyes still closed. He listened for sound but there was none. Just a deafening silence that reminded him of the times he spent in the hold of a submarine in the Pacific. He had a strange feeling about his capture.

His tongue felt heavy and dry in the mouth and probing his teeth with his tongue, he found two of his molars missing. The very teeth that could have helped him were missing; one had harboured the Sensor that could have made it possible for him to be located, and the other had contained the capsule of cyanide he could have used in killing himself in case of any eventuality.

“Now that you have ensured that you are alive, why don’t you open your eyes,” a jeering but harsh voice said.

He opened his eyes then, slowly.

He found no one in the small room he was lying in but deduced that the voice he heard had come from the speaker that was fixed at the top corner of the ceiling.

He sat up, flexing his shoulders and thighs.

“Welcome to the land of the living, Mr Issah Musah,” the voice said again and laughed uproariously, sounding very satisfied indeed.

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