A stocky man in a shirt and tie came through the hotel doors followed by the hulking Makenju. Queen Maryam looked Liliputian between the two brawny men.
Theo came from around the corner. He shook the stocky man’s hand. Makenju embraced him in a hug. They looked like tow large brown bears in the lobby.
Naomi smiled at the queen and proffered two plastic hotel keys. “Is he always this friendly with someone he tries to kill in the lavatory?” Her smile was genuine but icy.
Maryam smiled as well. “A man who does his duty well can seldom be criticized.”
The men had separated and Theo was explaining where there rooms were on the property. He bowed to Maryam, who smiled curtly, and then the royal party was on its way, leaving the cabbie behind.
As they rounded the corner to the elevator, Maryam said, “She loves him. But there is someone else.”
Behind the desk, Naomi was shaking her head.
“What?” Theo grinned.
“She…I don’t like her. She acts like she is royalty or something.”
Theo’s grin got wider. “She is royalty, Hon. Be easy.” He was headed back to his office when Naomi said, “I’ll give her this: she loves him, that’s for sure. But there’s someone else.”
“Story of our lives,” Theo said over his shoulder.
“What’s up for today?” Naomi called.
“Clear my calendar. I have to go downtown for a while,” he replied.
“Calendar’s empty, Boss,” Naomi’s tone was just slightly sarcastic.
“Even better,” was all she got in reply.
Makenju and Maryum waited for the elevator.
“She loves him,” Maryum whispered, “but there’s someone else.”
“You would know,” Makenju grunted.
“Could you not be so difficult, all of the time?” the monarch looked up at him. Makenju shrugged his huge shoulders.
“And that gesture is so…plebian,” Maryam sniffed.
“You are a monarch, Majesty, Makenju apologized with fake sincerity. “I am a simple clod who once had tastes too expensive for him.”
Maryam shook her head. “Someone should have told you it is unhealthy to hold onto things,” she said with concern.
“Things and people are not the same, Ma’am, “ Makenju said as they entered the elevator.
They rode in the car in silence, and Makenju quickly found their adjoining rooms.
“Ma’am, if you please,” he instructed, “out of sight, behind that pillar.”
“Oh, Makenju,” the queen looked exasperated, but she obeyed.
Makenju undid the lock and turned on the lights in the sitting room of the suite. He motioned, and Maryam strode in behind him.
“There is a reason we do this in teams,” he explained. Maryam shook her head again and entered the bedroom once Makenju announced it clear. He left her alone while he went out the door and keyed into the room next door. Momentarily, he opened the door between the two suites.
The Queen, in a rare gesture of familiarity, had removed her shoes and hat and was sitting on a sofa in the sitting room. Makenju stood until she motioned for him to sit. He did.
“If we are going to get through this without vexing each other, Ibrahim, you are going to have to adjust for the situation.”
“Ma’am?”
The queen reached out with a stockinged foot and rubbed the leg of his creased trousers.
“I recall you losing a bet,” she said softly.
Makenju grunted.
The queen got up, bolter her outside access door and the door that led to Makenju’s room.
She then came and sat, quite delicately, in the big man’s lap. She leaned her head on his shoulder.
“You are as rigid as a board,” she murmured.
Makenju decided against responding.
“I am sorry, for the last time,” she said softly, in the soldier’s ear. “You know that I am. You also knew the rules.”
“I know you lied to me, Maryum.”
“May May, Ibrahim. Never.”
“Oh, then you lied on me?”
“Not at all.”
“Then which is it, May May? How did I wind up imprisoned?”
“A people will forgive their monarch’s human failures provided the monarch not flaunts them in public.”
“So?”
“To have an ongoing situation with someone on your staff is common, Ibrahim. Monarchs are people, too. To take that situation to the next level causes so many problems, as you well know. Even your military, Major, has rules against fraternization.”
Maryum raised her arms above her head and stretched. When she lowered her arms, they circled Makenju’s neck.
“I’m married,” she said softly.
Makenju’s laugh was harsh. “You’re reminding me? Hmmmm…”
“I love him, Makenju.”
“I can see that.”
“Is sarcasm a soldier’s way of denying his emotions, Major?”
Maryam leaned her head on Makenju’s shoulder, never removing her arms from his neck.
“Everyone loves differently. I love Mark for being my friend. For supporting me, for being loyal. All things considered, he has been a wonderful father to Thandiwe, his discretion has been commendable, and he has done his best in dealing with a difficult wife. It is not the love of storybooks, Makenju. We are dear friends. Our intimate life has been nonexistent for years. That is not our relationship. He is my husband, he is my friend, he loves me in his way, and I him in mine. Do not confuse the issue. Ours was a marriage that had to happen.”
Makenju snorted. “An heir must be produced.”
“One was.”
“I know. Your Majesty,” Makenju’s tone had surpassed sarcasm. This was contempt. “Did you ever stop to think that ‘royal duty’ was no excuse for disregarding peoples’ feelings? For playing with their emotions? For abusing their trust? For imprisoning them? For what? To keep a country safe? To save lives? No. To preserve the image of a monarch. Royalty,” he spat the word, “is no license to trample the lives of others.”
The queen appeared unfazed by his rant. “My image is part of what keeps my country safe, and that saves lives, Ibrahim.”
Makenju shook with rage, but he remained seated.
“I save lives, Maryam,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
She cocked her head at him quizzically, a small smile on her pretty, round face.
“YOU are the man that has “killed more Africans than AIDS”, according to that magazine,” her laugh was deep and throaty.
“In honor of queen and country,” he whispered. “But no more.”
“You’re quitting?”
“I’m in good standing. My pension is secure. After we get this girl back, I am retiring.”
Maryum pressed her body closer to Makenju’s, something he did not think possible. “You can’t quit. I need you. Thandiwe needs you.”
‘Thandiwe needed me so badly you put me in prison for it.”
“You were detained to keep a scandal from brewing, Ibrahim. Your behavior was inexcusable, and you know it.”
He shifted slightly in his chair. “I love her.”
“You should. How one demonstrates that love, and when…she is a girl, Ibrahim,” the monarch’s voice grew harder. “You confused her.”
“Yes, I can see where the confusion was all my doing.” His tone was now bitter.
Maryam shifted, turned around so her back was to him, never leaving his lap.
“This conversation is exhausting, dear. Undo me.”
Makenju laughed. “Why do you always feel so entitled to everything?”
“My dear,” she giggled, “I AM royalty. Undo my dress, and stop pretending your feelings don’t exist.’
“My feelings got me into trouble once before,” he mused quietly.
“Not your feelings, Love. Your judgment.”
“You can’t just turn it on and off, May May,” he said huskily. “When something means something, you can’t…I can’t…just take advantage one day and pretend it does not matter the next.” His large hands reached up and delicately undid the buttons where her throat met her back.
“Of course you can,” Maryum pulled the dress from her shoulders, stood, and stepped out of it. “All that you have is today. You, as a soldier, know that best. Yesterday is done and tomorrow is not promised. All you have is today, right now.”
Makenju was past trying to avert his eyes. “Sure you had a baby?”
The queen giggled. “Yes, and I am middle aged. I know who and what I am, Ibrahim. I don’t pretend. At least not with myself.”
She stretched again and grabbed Makenju’s hand.
“Now, you know I haven’t the strength to pull you out of that chair.”
Makenju glowered, remained seated, and looked away.
Queen Maryum nodded and began to unbutton his shirt. ‘Where is that stupid pistol?”
“Back of my pants. In my belt. This can’t always be about you, Maryum.”
“It always has been, Mr. Man. We would be foolish to think anything would change.”
“Then, no.”
“Stop fooling yourself, Major,” she laughed. “If you are dying to hear me say, ‘This is about me, all about me, nothing will change afterwards, I will always care for you, but I have to live as I am and you just have to bear with that,’ then so be it; I said it.”
“Why me?”
“Why was it you before? Because it is what I want.”
“What about what I want?”
“Your control over your wants, regarding this, is limited to the choice that you make now.”
The big soldier exhaled.
“I miss being an us, but the us we were had to change. You understood that for so many years. I still want us, Ibrahim, but we have to do this my way.”
“There are consequences, Maryum…”
The throaty laugh again. “Indeed. And that consequence is loose somewhere in this city. There will be no more consequences of that sort, I assure you.”
“ I don’t mean that,” he blustered. “I can be here when you need things done, when you need me, but when I am not needed, I have to sit along the sidelines and watch you and whomever else…”
“There won’t be anyone else, Ibrahim…”
“But your husband.”
“You understand what that is and why it must be. Mark won’t interfere.”
“He is a man, Maryum. He has his pride.”
“And being with me, he has many other things he would not care to lose. Thandiwe, for starters. His pride? Mark is married to a queen. Twenty years ago he had to learn, sadly, the price that he paid for that was his pride. A lesson he has relearned since.”
Makenju grunted. “Picture him being imprisoned for demonstrating a father’s love.”
“I’m not picturing him at all. Do you want to help me with this?”
Again, the big soldier’s hands were on her back.
“Thank you, Ibrahim.” She left him standing there as she went into the bedroom.
He followed.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Movement
Makenju and Queen Maryam walked south on Michigan Avenue, stopping to check in windows and take in the scenery.
“White man, across the street, raincoat, I haven’t spotted his mirror yet,” Makenju murmured.
Maryam’s head was covered, this time with a pink scarf, and she wore her usual oversized sunglasses. Her light green dress stopped at her calves, belted by a wide pink sash. Makenju carried her paper shop bag that contained her pumps, and she wore newly purchased walking shoes.
“What do we do?”
“Follow me.”
They walked further south, still casually stopping.
“Got him,” Makenju whispered. “Or her. Black woman, looking in the shop window a few doors ahead of us.”
“Oh. A taxi stopped at the curb. Makenju gently pulled the queen with him, and as the passenger alighted, he pushed Maryam into the cab. He climbed in himself and closed the door.
“Union station,” he said gruffly.
The driver was a dark man missing front teeth.
“Sure, man,” the driver pulled off.
Makenju looked at the driver’s displayed cab operator’s ticket and read his surname. Then he looked out the cab’s rear window.
“They just got in a blue Taurus. They are following,” he said softly.
“Where are you from, sir?” the cabbie asked.
Makenju told him. The driver laughed.
“I thought so! How long since you’ve been home?”
“Oh, we just arrived in the states a few days back. On holiday.”
“Is your wife…?”
“No, brother,” Makenju laughed, shooting Maryam a look to remain quiet, “I married an American.”
The driver laughed again. “Well, may I compliment your taste? She is very beautiful. Ma’am, if I may say so, and this isn’t just one African buttering up another’s wife, your beauty is rivaled only by that of our queen back home.”
Maryam smiled demurely. Makenju bit his lip.
“Union station coming up, Brother,” the driver said.
Makenju gave the man a twenty.
“We’re only going to be here for a minute. Can you pull around to the other side of the building, on Canal, and meet us there? We’ll be headed right back.”
“Be glad to,” the driver took the twenty and they alighted from the taxi. Makenju hurried Maryam inside the glass station, teeming with people, and watched as the cabbie pulled off. A few minutes later, the Taurus pulled to a stop and the man and woman got out, leaving the driver inside.
“Come on,” Makenju hissed, and they hurried to the Canal side of the building. Their taxi pulled off just as their followers were milling around the crowd in the station.
As they drove North on Canal, Maryam asked, “Is the Shark Bar still open?”
The driver hesitated, then answered amiably, “Not for a few years, ma’am, but they do still have private parties in the building.”
Makenju frowned at Maryam and said, “You can drop us off at the Randolph Street Metra station.” He placed another twenty on the front seat. “How is your family?”
The driver beamed. “My three girls are all in college. University of Illinois. That son of mine, he’s got his own restaurant.” He told Makenju the name and address. “Stop in sometimes. The food reminds me of home, somewhat.”
“You must be proud,” Makenju laughed as they pulled onto Michigan Avenue and headed south to Randolph.
“Immensely. Thanks, brother, Ma’am. See you around.”
Makenju scanned the street for any signs of followers and hustled Maryam down the stairs.
“Stop all that pulling me, Ibrahim,” the Queen said irritably.
‘Doing my job, Ma’am,” he growled back. They hurried up the concourse, where Makenju paid for two tickets southbound on a train scheduled to leave momentarily.
“Rush hour,” he said, “trains are running very regularly.”
They went through the turnstiles and down another flight of stairs. Makenju held Maryam close.
“Act like we’re together,” he said harshly.
Maryam looked at her bodyguard as if he was insane.
“You mean we’re not?” she asked with innocence.
In no mood for games, Makenju held her tightly and looked around the ramp and up the steps. Maryam leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Well, I guess this will do,” Myriam murmured.
When the conductor called, “All aboard!” Makenju grabbed Myriam’s hand and led her into the last car. They sat side by side in the jump seats. Makenju watched the doors.
Maryam leaned against him and whispered, “How long until we arrive?”
Makenju fought the urge to lean back against her. His eyes rested on the top of her head, then glanced out of the window.
“About an hour. It’s near the end of the line.”
“How will we get to the hotel?” Maryam took a deep breath and exhaled, further leaning into Makenju.
Before he could answer, her breathing was deep and even. He looked down. Maryam was asleep.
Muhammad was behind the wheel of the CTS, weaving in and out of traffic. Akbar sat beside him, looking like he swallowed an acid pill.
“They still back there?” Akbar’s door mirror offered a limited view of the street behind them.
“Not for long.” Muhammad took the ramp leading to Lake Shore Drive hard and the Cadillac shot to 95mph in an instant.
“Whatever they are driving won’t compete with this,” Muhammad laughed. Akbar noticed the needle hovering at 110.
“You’re gonna to this thing out?”
“Not ‘til we get to 191 miles an hour, mate,” Muhammad said calmly.
Akbar refrained from asking if the young man had hit that mark yet.
Minutes later, they were crossing 55th street, and Akbar slowed down to a respectable 75. He braked further then pulled over.
“What’s the problem?”
“Locals. No problem.”
A solid looking Chicago police officer strode to the driver’s side, hand on his weapon. Muhammad pushed the window button and shoved his diplomatic identification in the cop’s face.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Plates, Mate. National security. You’re not even supposed to be stopping me.”
The cop looked nonplussed.
“I clocked you at over a hundred, Buddy.” He glared at Muhammad and gave Akbar an evil look for good measure.
In response, Muhammad smiled, put the Caddy in gear and left rubber on the street. The cop hustled back to his vehicle.
“I think for good measure, I’ll blow a few of those lights,” Muhammad said good naturedly.
“I got his badge number and name.”
“Leave it,” Muhammad said with a laugh, “by the time he calls it in he’ll get enough guff from his boss. Bloke needs his job.” The CTS careened south on the curves of Cornell Drive and Akbar flew through the red light where Cornell met Stony Island, ignoring blaring horns.
“Chap lives over west,” Muhammad said, “but I’ve always wanted to try this sucker out on the Drive. Best expressway in Chicago.”
Akbar just shook his head.
Muhammad slowed within posted limits once he crossed 87th Street, and turned right at 95th and headed west.
“This fella is expecting her majesty,” he explained, “but he’s just going to have to settle for us.”
“Makenju thinks he knows more than what he told us at the embassy,” Akbar explained.
“Oh, sure,” Muhammad chirped, “why should he tell us everything?”
“I think we can convince him, “ Akbar grimaced.
“You don’t muscle his kind, Mate,” Muhammad said gently. “Some people are better as allies than as enemies. Summer strikes me as that kind of guy.”
“Did you sweep the car?”
“Myself. I found both of them. What? Do they think because we are Africans we just started playing this game?” Muhammad shook his head. “These are nice places over here.”
Summers lived in a large but modest looking brick home in the Beverly area, on Bell Street just off of 103rd Street. Muhammad parked in the street and undid his safety belt.
“Say, is it true about the major?”
Akbar eyed the younger man warily before speaking.
“Yes.”
Muhammad laughed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask?”
Akbar exhaled and squared is shoulders. “It’s all true. Whatever you’ve heard, trust me, it’s bound to be true, and a whole lot of things that you haven’t heard but will are true as well.”
“Hmmm,” Akbar knocked on the door and reached into his coat for his identification. “Man’s got good taste, but a risk streak a mile wide.”
“Two miles,” Akbar grunted.
The heavy wooden door opened, and the large man that had accompanied Summers to the embassy look at them with no interest.
“Muhammad and Akbar from the embassy. Mr. Summers in?” Muhammad’s grin was so crazy that even Akbar had to laugh. A smile split the other man’s face as well.
“Come in. You’re expected.”
Makenju’s eyes alternated between Maryam’s face, the train doors, and the windows.
How strange life is, he thought. He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle and wake Maryam, and reached for his mobile. He dialed one handed.
Naomi answered the telephone at the hotel’s front desk.
“He’s in his office, Sir, may I help you? Very well, sir, please hold.”
Her long legs the envy of women decades younger, Naomi strode into an office just to the right of the reception area and stuck her head in the doorway.
“Theo?” She made a face. “Some man with a funny name, McMillan, Mackanaw…his accent is thicker than mine and he isn’t the friendliest. Line one. We’ll talk about that thing I saw in your briefcase later mister.”
Theo Morgan stretched and closed the window on his computer before punching the flashing button.
“Theo Morgan.”
“Thee-oh,” Makenju said calmly, “Makenju. You have space for us?”
“Yep. How long?”
“Undetermined. We need somewhere out of the way. Something with adjoining rooms.”
“I have adjoining suites.”
“Good. Cost is no issue.”
“Didn’t think it would be,” Morgan stifled a yawn. “When?”
“Twenty minutes. Can you have someone pick us up?”
“Hold on,” Morgan jammed the phone between his shoulder and cheek and called, “Naomi?”
Her chocolate face, framed by clouds of jet black hair, appeared instantly in the doorway.
“Were you listening?” Morgan whispered.
“Trying,” she whispered back.
Another whisper. “Stop leaning over like that, you’re exposing yourself.”
“Get outta my shirt!” Then, in a normal tone, “What can I do for you Theo?”
“Have Frank down at Five Star Taxi send a car to the train station for Mr. Makenju and his party.”
“How many people?”
“Just two,” Morgan spoke again into the telephone, “Just two people?”
“For now. Others will meet us later.”
“Fine,” Morgan returned the phone to his shoulder. “And Naomi?”
“Yes?”
“Put two suites upstairs in my name. They have to adjoin.”
“Credit card?”
“I’ll take care of that. If you can put the reservations in the system and make up the keys, I’ll take care of the rest. Thanks.”
Morgan returned to the telephone conversation. “Done. A Lincoln town car will be at the station when your train arrives.”
“Who is this man? How will I find him?”
“He’ll find you. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Thank you Thee-Oh.”
“Yup.” Morgan replaced the receiver in the cradle, stood, and took off his suit coat. Forty pounds down, he thought ruefully, and still in a 48 jacket. He shook his head, loosened and retightened his belt, and placed his Zero Halliburton on his desk. Working the combination, he opened the briefcase and extracted a blued Colt.380 government model with walnut grips. He checked the safety before pulling the slider, and then jammed it in the back of his pants in the small of his back. He slipped back into his jacket and sat down.
“What an interesting day this is going to be,” he said aloud to the empty room.
“White man, across the street, raincoat, I haven’t spotted his mirror yet,” Makenju murmured.
Maryam’s head was covered, this time with a pink scarf, and she wore her usual oversized sunglasses. Her light green dress stopped at her calves, belted by a wide pink sash. Makenju carried her paper shop bag that contained her pumps, and she wore newly purchased walking shoes.
“What do we do?”
“Follow me.”
They walked further south, still casually stopping.
“Got him,” Makenju whispered. “Or her. Black woman, looking in the shop window a few doors ahead of us.”
“Oh. A taxi stopped at the curb. Makenju gently pulled the queen with him, and as the passenger alighted, he pushed Maryam into the cab. He climbed in himself and closed the door.
“Union station,” he said gruffly.
The driver was a dark man missing front teeth.
“Sure, man,” the driver pulled off.
Makenju looked at the driver’s displayed cab operator’s ticket and read his surname. Then he looked out the cab’s rear window.
“They just got in a blue Taurus. They are following,” he said softly.
“Where are you from, sir?” the cabbie asked.
Makenju told him. The driver laughed.
“I thought so! How long since you’ve been home?”
“Oh, we just arrived in the states a few days back. On holiday.”
“Is your wife…?”
“No, brother,” Makenju laughed, shooting Maryam a look to remain quiet, “I married an American.”
The driver laughed again. “Well, may I compliment your taste? She is very beautiful. Ma’am, if I may say so, and this isn’t just one African buttering up another’s wife, your beauty is rivaled only by that of our queen back home.”
Maryam smiled demurely. Makenju bit his lip.
“Union station coming up, Brother,” the driver said.
Makenju gave the man a twenty.
“We’re only going to be here for a minute. Can you pull around to the other side of the building, on Canal, and meet us there? We’ll be headed right back.”
“Be glad to,” the driver took the twenty and they alighted from the taxi. Makenju hurried Maryam inside the glass station, teeming with people, and watched as the cabbie pulled off. A few minutes later, the Taurus pulled to a stop and the man and woman got out, leaving the driver inside.
“Come on,” Makenju hissed, and they hurried to the Canal side of the building. Their taxi pulled off just as their followers were milling around the crowd in the station.
As they drove North on Canal, Maryam asked, “Is the Shark Bar still open?”
The driver hesitated, then answered amiably, “Not for a few years, ma’am, but they do still have private parties in the building.”
Makenju frowned at Maryam and said, “You can drop us off at the Randolph Street Metra station.” He placed another twenty on the front seat. “How is your family?”
The driver beamed. “My three girls are all in college. University of Illinois. That son of mine, he’s got his own restaurant.” He told Makenju the name and address. “Stop in sometimes. The food reminds me of home, somewhat.”
“You must be proud,” Makenju laughed as they pulled onto Michigan Avenue and headed south to Randolph.
“Immensely. Thanks, brother, Ma’am. See you around.”
Makenju scanned the street for any signs of followers and hustled Maryam down the stairs.
“Stop all that pulling me, Ibrahim,” the Queen said irritably.
‘Doing my job, Ma’am,” he growled back. They hurried up the concourse, where Makenju paid for two tickets southbound on a train scheduled to leave momentarily.
“Rush hour,” he said, “trains are running very regularly.”
They went through the turnstiles and down another flight of stairs. Makenju held Maryam close.
“Act like we’re together,” he said harshly.
Maryam looked at her bodyguard as if he was insane.
“You mean we’re not?” she asked with innocence.
In no mood for games, Makenju held her tightly and looked around the ramp and up the steps. Maryam leaned her head against his shoulder.
“Well, I guess this will do,” Myriam murmured.
When the conductor called, “All aboard!” Makenju grabbed Myriam’s hand and led her into the last car. They sat side by side in the jump seats. Makenju watched the doors.
Maryam leaned against him and whispered, “How long until we arrive?”
Makenju fought the urge to lean back against her. His eyes rested on the top of her head, then glanced out of the window.
“About an hour. It’s near the end of the line.”
“How will we get to the hotel?” Maryam took a deep breath and exhaled, further leaning into Makenju.
Before he could answer, her breathing was deep and even. He looked down. Maryam was asleep.
Muhammad was behind the wheel of the CTS, weaving in and out of traffic. Akbar sat beside him, looking like he swallowed an acid pill.
“They still back there?” Akbar’s door mirror offered a limited view of the street behind them.
“Not for long.” Muhammad took the ramp leading to Lake Shore Drive hard and the Cadillac shot to 95mph in an instant.
“Whatever they are driving won’t compete with this,” Muhammad laughed. Akbar noticed the needle hovering at 110.
“You’re gonna to this thing out?”
“Not ‘til we get to 191 miles an hour, mate,” Muhammad said calmly.
Akbar refrained from asking if the young man had hit that mark yet.
Minutes later, they were crossing 55th street, and Akbar slowed down to a respectable 75. He braked further then pulled over.
“What’s the problem?”
“Locals. No problem.”
A solid looking Chicago police officer strode to the driver’s side, hand on his weapon. Muhammad pushed the window button and shoved his diplomatic identification in the cop’s face.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Plates, Mate. National security. You’re not even supposed to be stopping me.”
The cop looked nonplussed.
“I clocked you at over a hundred, Buddy.” He glared at Muhammad and gave Akbar an evil look for good measure.
In response, Muhammad smiled, put the Caddy in gear and left rubber on the street. The cop hustled back to his vehicle.
“I think for good measure, I’ll blow a few of those lights,” Muhammad said good naturedly.
“I got his badge number and name.”
“Leave it,” Muhammad said with a laugh, “by the time he calls it in he’ll get enough guff from his boss. Bloke needs his job.” The CTS careened south on the curves of Cornell Drive and Akbar flew through the red light where Cornell met Stony Island, ignoring blaring horns.
“Chap lives over west,” Muhammad said, “but I’ve always wanted to try this sucker out on the Drive. Best expressway in Chicago.”
Akbar just shook his head.
Muhammad slowed within posted limits once he crossed 87th Street, and turned right at 95th and headed west.
“This fella is expecting her majesty,” he explained, “but he’s just going to have to settle for us.”
“Makenju thinks he knows more than what he told us at the embassy,” Akbar explained.
“Oh, sure,” Muhammad chirped, “why should he tell us everything?”
“I think we can convince him, “ Akbar grimaced.
“You don’t muscle his kind, Mate,” Muhammad said gently. “Some people are better as allies than as enemies. Summer strikes me as that kind of guy.”
“Did you sweep the car?”
“Myself. I found both of them. What? Do they think because we are Africans we just started playing this game?” Muhammad shook his head. “These are nice places over here.”
Summers lived in a large but modest looking brick home in the Beverly area, on Bell Street just off of 103rd Street. Muhammad parked in the street and undid his safety belt.
“Say, is it true about the major?”
Akbar eyed the younger man warily before speaking.
“Yes.”
Muhammad laughed. “You don’t even know what I was going to ask?”
Akbar exhaled and squared is shoulders. “It’s all true. Whatever you’ve heard, trust me, it’s bound to be true, and a whole lot of things that you haven’t heard but will are true as well.”
“Hmmm,” Akbar knocked on the door and reached into his coat for his identification. “Man’s got good taste, but a risk streak a mile wide.”
“Two miles,” Akbar grunted.
The heavy wooden door opened, and the large man that had accompanied Summers to the embassy look at them with no interest.
“Muhammad and Akbar from the embassy. Mr. Summers in?” Muhammad’s grin was so crazy that even Akbar had to laugh. A smile split the other man’s face as well.
“Come in. You’re expected.”
Makenju’s eyes alternated between Maryam’s face, the train doors, and the windows.
How strange life is, he thought. He shifted slightly, careful not to jostle and wake Maryam, and reached for his mobile. He dialed one handed.
Naomi answered the telephone at the hotel’s front desk.
“He’s in his office, Sir, may I help you? Very well, sir, please hold.”
Her long legs the envy of women decades younger, Naomi strode into an office just to the right of the reception area and stuck her head in the doorway.
“Theo?” She made a face. “Some man with a funny name, McMillan, Mackanaw…his accent is thicker than mine and he isn’t the friendliest. Line one. We’ll talk about that thing I saw in your briefcase later mister.”
Theo Morgan stretched and closed the window on his computer before punching the flashing button.
“Theo Morgan.”
“Thee-oh,” Makenju said calmly, “Makenju. You have space for us?”
“Yep. How long?”
“Undetermined. We need somewhere out of the way. Something with adjoining rooms.”
“I have adjoining suites.”
“Good. Cost is no issue.”
“Didn’t think it would be,” Morgan stifled a yawn. “When?”
“Twenty minutes. Can you have someone pick us up?”
“Hold on,” Morgan jammed the phone between his shoulder and cheek and called, “Naomi?”
Her chocolate face, framed by clouds of jet black hair, appeared instantly in the doorway.
“Were you listening?” Morgan whispered.
“Trying,” she whispered back.
Another whisper. “Stop leaning over like that, you’re exposing yourself.”
“Get outta my shirt!” Then, in a normal tone, “What can I do for you Theo?”
“Have Frank down at Five Star Taxi send a car to the train station for Mr. Makenju and his party.”
“How many people?”
“Just two,” Morgan spoke again into the telephone, “Just two people?”
“For now. Others will meet us later.”
“Fine,” Morgan returned the phone to his shoulder. “And Naomi?”
“Yes?”
“Put two suites upstairs in my name. They have to adjoin.”
“Credit card?”
“I’ll take care of that. If you can put the reservations in the system and make up the keys, I’ll take care of the rest. Thanks.”
Morgan returned to the telephone conversation. “Done. A Lincoln town car will be at the station when your train arrives.”
“Who is this man? How will I find him?”
“He’ll find you. I’ll see you when you get here.”
“Thank you Thee-Oh.”
“Yup.” Morgan replaced the receiver in the cradle, stood, and took off his suit coat. Forty pounds down, he thought ruefully, and still in a 48 jacket. He shook his head, loosened and retightened his belt, and placed his Zero Halliburton on his desk. Working the combination, he opened the briefcase and extracted a blued Colt.380 government model with walnut grips. He checked the safety before pulling the slider, and then jammed it in the back of his pants in the small of his back. He slipped back into his jacket and sat down.
“What an interesting day this is going to be,” he said aloud to the empty room.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Embassy
“He’s here.”
Queen Maryam sat in an open chair facing the doorway. Makenju stood immediately to her right, another ill fitting suit doing a poor job of concealing his shoulder holster. Akbar stood at ease just inside of the doorway. Alim stood to the queen’s left, and Muhammad was lurking somewhere in the large room, but Makenju had yet to figure out where. The door opened, and a man of average height in an impeccable blue suit, white shirt and understated tie entered. The queen stood and she shook his hand formally.
“Good morning, Mr. Summers.”
His teeth were even and very white, his forehead low and his dark, wavy hair showed no signs of gray. His hands looked strong. Though he was of medium build, Makenju sensed power in the man.
“Good morning, Mrs. Oludara. Thank you for granting me an audience on such short notice.”
“It’s quite alright,” Maryam sat. Summers waited until offered a seat and then did so. Makenju watched the man carefully.
“How may I help you, Mr. Summers?”
“I’ll get right to it, Ma’am. Our children are missing. My son, and your daughter. Of course, there are some concerns among my security staff. Kevin is a bright young man.”
“I am sure that he is.”
“He wanted to attend the university, and I encouraged it. Studying political science, with top marks.”
“You and your wife must be proud.”
“No, Ma’am. I am not married. It’s just Kevin and I. Initially, I was concerned about him attending school here, in his hometown. I preferred he go away. Far away.”
“Why is that, Mr. Summers?”
“Frankly, ma’am, I have made enemies in my business throughout the years. The type of enemies who would use my son for leverage. Sending him away would have removed him from their radar, so to speak. He was accepted to the university, however, and our deal was that wherever he chose to go, I would send him.”
“I see.”
Makenju allowed his mind to wander a bit as he pondered Summers’ “business”. The man owned one of the largest towing companies in the city, and reports of his back room dealings for city contracts were many. He had acquired much real estate on the city’s south side within the last few years, much of it reportedly through fraud. He reportedly got his start as a gun runner, supplying both sides of one of the city’s many gang wars. There was no mention of drugs or human tracking, but there were hints of stolen cars being sent en mass to the Caribbean. His towing firm had also been accused of towing legitimately parked cars, getting junk titles from the city and selling the cars at a tidy profit to local used car shops, but nothing was proven in court. A catastrophe had occurred at one of his night clubs, and he and his business partner were indicted for violating several fire codes, which led to nine people being trampled to death when some maniac began shooting in the place. The partner was overseas. Charges against Summers were dropped. He frequently did business out of the office of his new night club, Avenger, and kept company with several beautiful women, including the current wife of a star NBA player.
Security had informed them Summers arrived in a new Range Rover registered to his towing company. Makenju wondered if he’d towed it and given it to himself. The only person with him upon arrival was a rather large man in a velour sweat suit who stayed in the anteroom. Scans showed he was armed. Summers was not.
“I have no problem with Kevin dating your daughter. I have had dinner with them both, and I find her to be a remarkable young woman. Quite beautiful, which I can see she got from her mother. I think she is acceptable as a companion for my son, for however long their romance lasts.”
Makenju watched Maryam’s reaction. Royalty is seldom in the position where they find themselves being judged of worthiness, but Summers appeared sincere.
“I just want to know where they are, Ma’am. I know that you have travelled a long way to ascertain the safety of your daughter. If you hear from her, if you could have Kevin contact me, I would appreciate it.”
Maryam shifted slightly. “That is all?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to intrude on your schedule.”
Makenju began to do a slow burn, as it became obvious that Maryam was smitten.
“Mr. Summers, have you any idea where they might be?”
Summers shook his head. “No, Ma’am. I have summer homes in Wisconsin, Florida and Mexico, and Kevin knows he always has access to those properties, provided he lets me know where and when he is going. I have had my people check at each of them. The homes have not been occupied.”
“Do you suspect foul play?”
“I do not know what to suspect, ma’am. Kevin lives in a dormitory, but also comes home to our place in Beverly quite often. His roommate says everything seemed fine the last time that he saw Kevin. We have dinner together whenever I know he is coming home.” Summers shrugged. “Nothing seemed to be a problem.”
Maryam looked over her shoulder at Makenju.
“Mr. Summers, has Thandiwe shared with you or your son her reason for being in the States?”
Summers’ face was blank before he answered.
“Ma’am, it is just my son and I. I have raised him since he was four. We are very close. I cannot replace his mother, but I have worked to be the best parent I can under the circumstances. To answer your question, yes, your daughter shared her role in your country with Kevin. He in turn shared it with me. He was fascinated, and he knew that African history is an interest of mine. At no time, though, did Thandiwe share anything with me, nor did she ever, in my presence, make light of her responsibilities or take advantage. She is quite a remarkable girl. You should be proud.”
Maryam smiled. “Thank you. I am. As should you, and your son. He appears to have a rather remarkable father. Please take no offense, Mr. Summers, but are you an educated man?”
Makenju’s face betrayed his emotions. Just get the information and send the man packing, he thought.
Summers smiled. “I am, Mrs. Oludara. I did my masters in business at Roosevelt University the year Kevin was born. When my business permits, I take additional classes here or there, primarily in world history.”
Great, Makenju thought. An educated thug. Only in Chicago.
“My master’s degree is in world history, Mr. Summers. We should chat sometime.”
“Indeed, Ma’am.” Summers took a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Makenju. “There is my contact information. I am afraid that I have taken up too much of your time. I welcome the opportunity to discuss our common interests sometime. In the meantime, should you hear from either of our children, please let Kevin know that his father is worried and needs to hear from him.”
Maryam stood, and Summers stood with her. “It was kind of you to stop by, Mr. Summers. Until next time.” They shook hands and Summers backed out, followed by Akbar.
Makenju turned to stare out of the window.
Maryam looked at him askance. “What?”
Makenju shook his head.
“Well,” she said brightly, “the manners on that one. Mr. Alim? You and Mr. Muhammad are free to go.”
Alim bowed. Muhammad extracted himself from the curtains, grinning.
“Like cloak and dagger, that was,” he said. He smoothes the lapels of his suit.
“You are rather well dressed for a motor pool man, Muhammad,” Makenju said amiably.
Muhammad shrugged. “Not every day I am in the presence of royalty, major.”
“Where is it?”
“Under my shoulder, sir.”
“My compliments to your tailor.”
“Yes sir. One of the blokes from the Israeli embassy recommended him. I’ll leave the number with Major Akbar.” Muhammad made a face. “Your clothier has you two looking like a couple of Al Capone’s bodyguards.”
“Who?”
Maryam waved her hand at the air. “Thank you, Mr. Muhammad. Ask major Akbar to give the major and me a few moments before he returns. Better yet, have him get our vehicle. I plan to depart momentarily.”
Muhammad clicked his heels, his face bright. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Makenju laughed. “That one would have been a pleasure to serve with. There is one in every unit. Their humor makes some situations bearable.”
“Cheeky young man,” Maryam sniffed. Her face broke into a smile. “So what do you think of our Mr. Summers, Ibrahim?”
“I don’t trust him,” Makenju answered flatly.
“Oh?”
“I think he knows more than he is telling us.”
“Do you think he knows the princess’ whereabouts?”
“No,” the soldier answered carefully, shrugging to adjust his shoulder harness. “I believe he is unaware of the youngsters’ location, and I do believe his is dedicated to his son.”
“So what is it?”
“I think he has dealings that may have something to do with their absence, or he is afraid some of his affairs have influenced the matter.”
Maryam bit her lower lip. “It’s possible. Why would he share that, though? We have our secrets, as well.”
“I also think he may be part of the reason the US government has taken such an interest in us.”
“Oh.”
“Just a thought, Ma’am.”
“He was nice enough,” she volunteered.
“He’s a gangster, Majesty.”
She laughed. “Well, he’s a charming one, that’s for sure.”
Makenju grunted.
“You sound like Akbar when you do that,” she whispered.
“I am learning his dour personality may be justified,” Makenju replied.
“What about our new base of operations?”
“That Morgan chap runs a hotel outside of the city. I think it’s a safe bet for now. We’ll hold fast on moving for a day or so. I want Akbar and Muhammad to pay a little cat and mouse with the State Department first.”
“The young man who served in the motor pool?”
Makenju laughed. “That one did more than change oil in his service years, Majesty. You can bank on that. I know the type. Besides, I like the idea of another person that I can trust while we are here with you.”
“Do you really think he is a gangster, Ibrahim?”
Makenju pretended to not hear her, then answered. “Yes.”
“How sure are you?”
“As sure as I am that you are married, ma’am.”
“Well, there are diplomats and heads of state that could take lessons from that gangster.”
“Smitten, are we?” The words were out before he knew it.
She turned to face him fully. “Ibrahim? You’re jealous?”
“No ma’am. I can never be jealous where another man’s wife is concerned. Just concerned, Ma’am. Your conversation you intend to have with him? Let’s make it somewhere public. For your safety, of course.”
Maryam smiled wickedly. “Oh, we can have it wherever. You can sit at the table with us and join in. It’s just banter, Ibrahim. Part of what we do.”
Makenju shook his head. “Oh. So he is now part of the royal ‘we’?”
Maryam looked at him.
“He is, but in a different sense. It’s not what you think.”
“Matters not what I think, Ma’am. I’m just a simple soldier charged with keeping you alive and helping you extract the princess from whatever mess she is in.”
Maryam’s face fell. “Do you think she is in danger?”
“Ma’am, I do not. My training has taught me it is better to relax when I am in a situation that I control. As long as we do not know where she is, we are not in control.”
“Do you think Mr. Summers will help us?”
Makenju paused and looked out of the window.
“He said he would, Ma’am. He strikes me as a man of his word. He has a vested interest in assisting us. When you have to rely on help, it is best to get it from someone who has as much to lose as you do.”
“If I find she was on a beach somewhere driving me sick with worry…”
“Make it up to her, ma’am. Take her on a Ferris wheel ride.”
Makenju’s mobile chirped. He answered and held Maryam’s coat for her.
“Ma’am? Majesty? We’re alone.”
“And, Mrs. Oludara?”
“We had a bet,” she said softly, leaning against him. “I looked it up. ‘Unregal is not a word. You have to call me May May. When we are alone. Remember?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“May May?”
“Ma’am? May May?”
“Yes, Ibrahim?”
”I’m going to need confirmation on that. I’ll have to see a dictionary.”
“I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”
“Fair enough.”
They took the secure elevator to the underground garage, where an army officer held the rear door for Maryam. Muhammad, jacket open, scanned the garage and waited until the queen was in the car before he headed for the elevator. He gave Makenju a mock salute. Makenju grinned in return, closed his door, and Akbar put the car in gear.
“That guy?”
“Who, Akbar? Summers?”
“No, Makenju. The guy with him?”
“Yes?”
“Bad news.”
“How so?”
“Not just a driver. The type that gets things done. All kinds of things.”
Makenju exhaled slowly.
“Are you sure?”
Maryam listened to their conversation but did not interrupt.
Akbar nodded, his face impassive behind his aviator sunglasses.
“I am.” He cast a long side look at his colleague. “I’m quite familiar with the type.”
Makenju ignored Akbar and watched the road. Then he thought of something.
“Say, Akbar?”
“Yes Major?”
Makenju pulled his weapon from under his shoulder and unloaded, then reloaded it before putting it back. Maryam groaned.
“Is ‘unregal’ a word?”
Queen Maryam sat in an open chair facing the doorway. Makenju stood immediately to her right, another ill fitting suit doing a poor job of concealing his shoulder holster. Akbar stood at ease just inside of the doorway. Alim stood to the queen’s left, and Muhammad was lurking somewhere in the large room, but Makenju had yet to figure out where. The door opened, and a man of average height in an impeccable blue suit, white shirt and understated tie entered. The queen stood and she shook his hand formally.
“Good morning, Mr. Summers.”
His teeth were even and very white, his forehead low and his dark, wavy hair showed no signs of gray. His hands looked strong. Though he was of medium build, Makenju sensed power in the man.
“Good morning, Mrs. Oludara. Thank you for granting me an audience on such short notice.”
“It’s quite alright,” Maryam sat. Summers waited until offered a seat and then did so. Makenju watched the man carefully.
“How may I help you, Mr. Summers?”
“I’ll get right to it, Ma’am. Our children are missing. My son, and your daughter. Of course, there are some concerns among my security staff. Kevin is a bright young man.”
“I am sure that he is.”
“He wanted to attend the university, and I encouraged it. Studying political science, with top marks.”
“You and your wife must be proud.”
“No, Ma’am. I am not married. It’s just Kevin and I. Initially, I was concerned about him attending school here, in his hometown. I preferred he go away. Far away.”
“Why is that, Mr. Summers?”
“Frankly, ma’am, I have made enemies in my business throughout the years. The type of enemies who would use my son for leverage. Sending him away would have removed him from their radar, so to speak. He was accepted to the university, however, and our deal was that wherever he chose to go, I would send him.”
“I see.”
Makenju allowed his mind to wander a bit as he pondered Summers’ “business”. The man owned one of the largest towing companies in the city, and reports of his back room dealings for city contracts were many. He had acquired much real estate on the city’s south side within the last few years, much of it reportedly through fraud. He reportedly got his start as a gun runner, supplying both sides of one of the city’s many gang wars. There was no mention of drugs or human tracking, but there were hints of stolen cars being sent en mass to the Caribbean. His towing firm had also been accused of towing legitimately parked cars, getting junk titles from the city and selling the cars at a tidy profit to local used car shops, but nothing was proven in court. A catastrophe had occurred at one of his night clubs, and he and his business partner were indicted for violating several fire codes, which led to nine people being trampled to death when some maniac began shooting in the place. The partner was overseas. Charges against Summers were dropped. He frequently did business out of the office of his new night club, Avenger, and kept company with several beautiful women, including the current wife of a star NBA player.
Security had informed them Summers arrived in a new Range Rover registered to his towing company. Makenju wondered if he’d towed it and given it to himself. The only person with him upon arrival was a rather large man in a velour sweat suit who stayed in the anteroom. Scans showed he was armed. Summers was not.
“I have no problem with Kevin dating your daughter. I have had dinner with them both, and I find her to be a remarkable young woman. Quite beautiful, which I can see she got from her mother. I think she is acceptable as a companion for my son, for however long their romance lasts.”
Makenju watched Maryam’s reaction. Royalty is seldom in the position where they find themselves being judged of worthiness, but Summers appeared sincere.
“I just want to know where they are, Ma’am. I know that you have travelled a long way to ascertain the safety of your daughter. If you hear from her, if you could have Kevin contact me, I would appreciate it.”
Maryam shifted slightly. “That is all?”
“Yes, ma’am. Sorry to intrude on your schedule.”
Makenju began to do a slow burn, as it became obvious that Maryam was smitten.
“Mr. Summers, have you any idea where they might be?”
Summers shook his head. “No, Ma’am. I have summer homes in Wisconsin, Florida and Mexico, and Kevin knows he always has access to those properties, provided he lets me know where and when he is going. I have had my people check at each of them. The homes have not been occupied.”
“Do you suspect foul play?”
“I do not know what to suspect, ma’am. Kevin lives in a dormitory, but also comes home to our place in Beverly quite often. His roommate says everything seemed fine the last time that he saw Kevin. We have dinner together whenever I know he is coming home.” Summers shrugged. “Nothing seemed to be a problem.”
Maryam looked over her shoulder at Makenju.
“Mr. Summers, has Thandiwe shared with you or your son her reason for being in the States?”
Summers’ face was blank before he answered.
“Ma’am, it is just my son and I. I have raised him since he was four. We are very close. I cannot replace his mother, but I have worked to be the best parent I can under the circumstances. To answer your question, yes, your daughter shared her role in your country with Kevin. He in turn shared it with me. He was fascinated, and he knew that African history is an interest of mine. At no time, though, did Thandiwe share anything with me, nor did she ever, in my presence, make light of her responsibilities or take advantage. She is quite a remarkable girl. You should be proud.”
Maryam smiled. “Thank you. I am. As should you, and your son. He appears to have a rather remarkable father. Please take no offense, Mr. Summers, but are you an educated man?”
Makenju’s face betrayed his emotions. Just get the information and send the man packing, he thought.
Summers smiled. “I am, Mrs. Oludara. I did my masters in business at Roosevelt University the year Kevin was born. When my business permits, I take additional classes here or there, primarily in world history.”
Great, Makenju thought. An educated thug. Only in Chicago.
“My master’s degree is in world history, Mr. Summers. We should chat sometime.”
“Indeed, Ma’am.” Summers took a card from his jacket pocket and handed it to Makenju. “There is my contact information. I am afraid that I have taken up too much of your time. I welcome the opportunity to discuss our common interests sometime. In the meantime, should you hear from either of our children, please let Kevin know that his father is worried and needs to hear from him.”
Maryam stood, and Summers stood with her. “It was kind of you to stop by, Mr. Summers. Until next time.” They shook hands and Summers backed out, followed by Akbar.
Makenju turned to stare out of the window.
Maryam looked at him askance. “What?”
Makenju shook his head.
“Well,” she said brightly, “the manners on that one. Mr. Alim? You and Mr. Muhammad are free to go.”
Alim bowed. Muhammad extracted himself from the curtains, grinning.
“Like cloak and dagger, that was,” he said. He smoothes the lapels of his suit.
“You are rather well dressed for a motor pool man, Muhammad,” Makenju said amiably.
Muhammad shrugged. “Not every day I am in the presence of royalty, major.”
“Where is it?”
“Under my shoulder, sir.”
“My compliments to your tailor.”
“Yes sir. One of the blokes from the Israeli embassy recommended him. I’ll leave the number with Major Akbar.” Muhammad made a face. “Your clothier has you two looking like a couple of Al Capone’s bodyguards.”
“Who?”
Maryam waved her hand at the air. “Thank you, Mr. Muhammad. Ask major Akbar to give the major and me a few moments before he returns. Better yet, have him get our vehicle. I plan to depart momentarily.”
Muhammad clicked his heels, his face bright. “Yes, Ma’am.”
Makenju laughed. “That one would have been a pleasure to serve with. There is one in every unit. Their humor makes some situations bearable.”
“Cheeky young man,” Maryam sniffed. Her face broke into a smile. “So what do you think of our Mr. Summers, Ibrahim?”
“I don’t trust him,” Makenju answered flatly.
“Oh?”
“I think he knows more than he is telling us.”
“Do you think he knows the princess’ whereabouts?”
“No,” the soldier answered carefully, shrugging to adjust his shoulder harness. “I believe he is unaware of the youngsters’ location, and I do believe his is dedicated to his son.”
“So what is it?”
“I think he has dealings that may have something to do with their absence, or he is afraid some of his affairs have influenced the matter.”
Maryam bit her lower lip. “It’s possible. Why would he share that, though? We have our secrets, as well.”
“I also think he may be part of the reason the US government has taken such an interest in us.”
“Oh.”
“Just a thought, Ma’am.”
“He was nice enough,” she volunteered.
“He’s a gangster, Majesty.”
She laughed. “Well, he’s a charming one, that’s for sure.”
Makenju grunted.
“You sound like Akbar when you do that,” she whispered.
“I am learning his dour personality may be justified,” Makenju replied.
“What about our new base of operations?”
“That Morgan chap runs a hotel outside of the city. I think it’s a safe bet for now. We’ll hold fast on moving for a day or so. I want Akbar and Muhammad to pay a little cat and mouse with the State Department first.”
“The young man who served in the motor pool?”
Makenju laughed. “That one did more than change oil in his service years, Majesty. You can bank on that. I know the type. Besides, I like the idea of another person that I can trust while we are here with you.”
“Do you really think he is a gangster, Ibrahim?”
Makenju pretended to not hear her, then answered. “Yes.”
“How sure are you?”
“As sure as I am that you are married, ma’am.”
“Well, there are diplomats and heads of state that could take lessons from that gangster.”
“Smitten, are we?” The words were out before he knew it.
She turned to face him fully. “Ibrahim? You’re jealous?”
“No ma’am. I can never be jealous where another man’s wife is concerned. Just concerned, Ma’am. Your conversation you intend to have with him? Let’s make it somewhere public. For your safety, of course.”
Maryam smiled wickedly. “Oh, we can have it wherever. You can sit at the table with us and join in. It’s just banter, Ibrahim. Part of what we do.”
Makenju shook his head. “Oh. So he is now part of the royal ‘we’?”
Maryam looked at him.
“He is, but in a different sense. It’s not what you think.”
“Matters not what I think, Ma’am. I’m just a simple soldier charged with keeping you alive and helping you extract the princess from whatever mess she is in.”
Maryam’s face fell. “Do you think she is in danger?”
“Ma’am, I do not. My training has taught me it is better to relax when I am in a situation that I control. As long as we do not know where she is, we are not in control.”
“Do you think Mr. Summers will help us?”
Makenju paused and looked out of the window.
“He said he would, Ma’am. He strikes me as a man of his word. He has a vested interest in assisting us. When you have to rely on help, it is best to get it from someone who has as much to lose as you do.”
“If I find she was on a beach somewhere driving me sick with worry…”
“Make it up to her, ma’am. Take her on a Ferris wheel ride.”
Makenju’s mobile chirped. He answered and held Maryam’s coat for her.
“Ma’am? Majesty? We’re alone.”
“And, Mrs. Oludara?”
“We had a bet,” she said softly, leaning against him. “I looked it up. ‘Unregal is not a word. You have to call me May May. When we are alone. Remember?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“May May?”
“Ma’am? May May?”
“Yes, Ibrahim?”
”I’m going to need confirmation on that. I’ll have to see a dictionary.”
“I’ll show you when we get back to the hotel.”
“Fair enough.”
They took the secure elevator to the underground garage, where an army officer held the rear door for Maryam. Muhammad, jacket open, scanned the garage and waited until the queen was in the car before he headed for the elevator. He gave Makenju a mock salute. Makenju grinned in return, closed his door, and Akbar put the car in gear.
“That guy?”
“Who, Akbar? Summers?”
“No, Makenju. The guy with him?”
“Yes?”
“Bad news.”
“How so?”
“Not just a driver. The type that gets things done. All kinds of things.”
Makenju exhaled slowly.
“Are you sure?”
Maryam listened to their conversation but did not interrupt.
Akbar nodded, his face impassive behind his aviator sunglasses.
“I am.” He cast a long side look at his colleague. “I’m quite familiar with the type.”
Makenju ignored Akbar and watched the road. Then he thought of something.
“Say, Akbar?”
“Yes Major?”
Makenju pulled his weapon from under his shoulder and unloaded, then reloaded it before putting it back. Maryam groaned.
“Is ‘unregal’ a word?”
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Evening
The soldiers dined in their room together, leaving their monarch to her food in peace.
“I’m not dying to see my sovereign eat barbecue,” Akbar said in mild disgust once the two men had slipped out of their jackets and laid their pistols on the table.
“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Makenju attacked his food with gusto. “We’ve eaten worse.”
“We have. She should not have to.”
“Don’t forget, her mother hid her and her brother during the civil war. She’s lived, friend,” Makenju cleaned one bone and placed it aside. “This is better than prison food by a long shot.”
Akbar shook his head.
“What’s with you?” Makenju grabbed another rib and paused. “You’ve been out of sorts this entire mission.”
Akbar looked glumly at his food.
“Spill it man!”
“Doesn’t this feel odd to you, Ibrahim?”
Makenju cleaned his second rib. “I was on Death Row a few days back. Odd is all my life has been for a while now. What’s on your mind, soldier?”
Akbar cleared his throat. “We are in a foreign country looking for the princess who, for all intents and purposes, appears to just be on holiday with her boyfriend. Not the best thing, but no capitol offense. The US State Department is paying us an awful lot of attention, and what is with this ‘Mrs. Oludara’ stuff?”
Makenju continued eating.
“No, Ibrahim, look, something isn’t right here.”
Makenju wiped his hands and pulled a pen from his pocket. On a napkin, he wrote, “Assume this room is bugged until you hear otherwise from me.” He put the napkin in his pocket. Akbar nodded and changed the subject.
When their meal was finished, the two soldiers busied themselves writing back and forth regarding their plans when their telephone extension rang. Akbar answered.
“Ma’am? Yes ma’am. Right away.” He replaced the receiver and nodded at Makenju. “She wants you.”
Makenju nodded, grabbed his pistol and jammed it in the small of his back. He slipped on his jacket and knocked gently on the door that adjoined the rooms.
“Majesty?”
There was a sound on the other side of the door and Makenju opened it and stepped in, gently closing the door behind him.
“Ma’am? Did you enjoy your supper?”
Maryam Oludara sat in a chair at her desk and motioned for Makenju to take the seat next to hers. “It was, Major. My compliments to Mr. Mitchell. I would like to visit his establishment again before we leave.”
Makenju took the napkin from his pocket and presented it to the queen before he sat down. She nodded and passed him a note she had written before he entered.
“We need to operate from a different base, Ibrahim. Make that happen.”
Makenju nodded.
Maryum spoke aloud. “And I trust your meal was satisfying as well, Major?”
“Indeed, ma’am. It was a far cry from prison food,” he grinned.
She sighed and wrote, “Are you armed?”
He wrote back, “Always.”
“Let’s go.”
“I have to get Akbar.”
She was already out of her chair and headed towards the door. Makenju reasoned: if he waited for Akbar she would be gone. If he called for Akbar in haste, the other man might come prepared for the worst.
He followed her out the door. She was already punching the button for the elevator.
“Ma’am? We really need another…”
“May May,” Maryum said sweetly.
The elevator doors opened. The queen stepped in lightly. Makenju followed a look of concern on his face.
“Have you the keys to the car?”
“No Ma’am…”
“May May,” she smiled.
“Ma’am, I haven’t driven in a while.”
“We can walk,” she smiled and patted Makenju’s middle. “You could use the exercise.”
Makenju shrugged, resigned to his fate. “Where are we going?”
“To see Chicago. And someplace where we can talk.”
The elevator landed in the lobby. Makenju followed Maryam as she exited a side door.
“Ma’am? I really need an idea…this is really unorthodox…”
Maryam began humming softly and sang, “Ma’am is not here…Neither is Maryam or Mrs. Oludara…for the next hour I am only answering to May May.”
Makenju settled into an easy stride. How were legs as short as hers moving so fast?
She began walking in the direction of the lake.
“Where are we going?” he demanded.
“May May wants to ride the Ferris Wheel, Ibrahim?”
Makenju began puffing. “I won’t be much use to you if you don’t slow down and I pass out.”
She laughed. “I had CPR during the war,” but she slowed down.
Makenju’s mobile rang. It had been so long since he’d had one, the sound initially confused him. He felt in his pockets and found it. Maryam grabbed it from him and answered. Makenju made a grab for the handset that was deftly avoided.
“Where the devil are you Makenju?” Akbar could barely contain his anger.
“Good evening, Major,” she responded coolly, “I tried to escape the hotel without security and the good major followed me out the door. He is with me right now. We shan’t need you until later, if you would like to pick us up with the car.”
“Ma’am, might I remind you…”
“I fully understand the risks, Major. You seem a bit tense of late. You are ordered to stand down for the next couple of hours. Take a nap. Thank you and goodbye.”
She tossed the mobile to Makenju, who caught it one handed and replaced it in his pocket.
“Ma’am…”
“May May?”
The big soldier shrugged in exasperation. “May May. This is a bad idea.”
Her face changed slightly. “Major, I intend to ride that Ferris wheel. I intend to hear some music. I intend to have a good time. You are my escort. I am ordering you to join me and enjoy yourself.”
“May May, I swore an oath to protect you even if it runs counter to your orders. No doubt Akbar is on the line with the embassy as we speak raising hell with our embassy.”
“No he’s not,” she said wearily. “The one thing, the only thing major Akbar has is his duty, and I am at the top of that roster. He would not do anything to cause a row where I am concerned. Ibrahim, unlike many other men, Akbar has no desire for love, or approval, or acceptance. His life is his duty.”
“Well, it’s kept him out of jail; I can say that much for him.”
She ignored his comment and kept walking.
They entered the Navy Pier concourse and walked past the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company & Market.
“Just like the movie,” Maryam murmured.
Makenju thanked the Almighty he’d had the presence to bring his pistol and eyed the crowds uneasily.
Maryam was oblivious. She walked and smiled and took it all in. As they walked towards the Ferris wheel, Makenju sidled up beside her and whispered, “This place requires money, your majesty…”
“May May,” she whispered.
“I just got out of prison.”
The tiny monarch pulled the burly soldier close and he felt her hand in his trouser packet.
“You have to pay for everything.”
“Where did you get this? I never knew you to handle currency.”
“Oh, stop asking so many questions and enjoy yourself. That is an order. And here,” she put her hand to his mouth. Reflexively, he opened it. “Chew this. Your breath smells like barbecue.”
Makenju began chewing and felt what appeared to be an envelope in his pocket.
They made their way to the Ferris wheel line and Makenju began to look uneasy.
Maryam hugged his arm. ‘What’s wrong?”
“Heights.”
“Aren’t you a soldier?”
“Reason I didn’t join the Air Force.”
She looked genuinely concerned. “We can skip it, Ibrahim.”
“You’re holding my arm pretty tight. I think I can make it.”
They both smiled as Makenju tried to simultaneously keep his eye on the crowd and his mind off the woman holding on to them.
The line was short and soon they were seated in one of the carriages. As the wheel began its arc, Makenju stiffened somewhat. Maryam increased the pressure on his arm. They rode in silence until the wheel stopped and they were near the top. Makenju exhaled, and Maryam leaned against him.
“This is beautiful,” she exclaimed softly, “not a care in the world.” She exhaled and put her arm around his middle.
“May May?” Makenju’s voice was hoarse.
“Yes, Ibrahim?”
“Why did you do it?”
She snuggled against him more as the wheel began to move again.
“I had to, Makenju. If you had just been willing to go along with things, nothing would have happened. But you didn’t. You got insistent. Thandiwe got emotional. We could not have a scandal. Decorated military officer, chief of security to the royal family, involved with a royal? On that level? Ibrahim,” she sighed, “no amount of love can come between a royal and her duty. Any amount of embarrassment can hamper a royal’s ability to rule. The plan was to keep you out of circulation for a while and repatriate you somewhere, quietly. You have to believe me.”
“I believe you want what you want and the human cost means nothing to you,” he said.
“No you don’t.” Maryam sighed again, “If you believed that you would have taken your money and left.”
“Wasn’t this a condition to get me off of death row, out of prison?”
“I never signed any death warrants and specifically forbade anyone else to do so. How would that look to Thandiwe?”
“So much for love.”
“Love is important, but duty must come first,” she said firmly. “I am part of a line that has been willed by God Almighty to do this job. We have withstood colonialism, a civil war, and coups. God wills us to rule our people. Obedience demands that we put duty before all else, even our personal feelings. It was a hard lesson for Thandiwe to learn, but she learned it.”
Their car came to a stop on the ground, and the attendant helped Maryam alight from the car. Makenju stood, checked to make sure his pistol was secure, and followed her.
“What now?”
“A drink sounds nice. Perhaps a walk after that.”
“Maryam?”
“May May?”
“Yes?”
“Thanidwe?”
“It can’t be, I am sorry,” she sounded sincere. “I know you love her dearly, but this entire escapade has not been good for her.”
“I saw her picture with the young man. She appears fine.”
“A mother understands things her daughter cannot.”
“Then why are we here now?”
“To find her, to speak sense to her, to make sure she stays on the right path is all.”
“Fair enough.”
“Ibrahim? You are a member of this family. You have served us loyally for many years. Do not mistake those sentiments for something they are not. I have a duty to do, and sadly, soldiers can be imprisoned as easily as they are set free.”
Makenju remained quiet and walked beside her.
“Let’s stop here for a drink,” she suggested. Soul music wafted from the doorway of the pub.
“You give the orders. My job is to protect you.”
“Don’t be like that. Tonight, we are who we are, who we were, and we are going to enjoy a drink. “
They went in and sat down, with Makenju facing the doorway. A waitress met them promptly. The Queen ordered a martini. Makenju requested club soda.
“He’ll have a single malt. Make it a double,” Maryam grinned wickedly.
Makenju pulled out his mobile and dialed Akbar.
“Meet us at the entrance of navy Pier in an hour. No, with the diplomatic plates, you should be able to wait in the cabstand.”
“Ending our night so soon?”
Makenju changed the subject. “Who is this playing?”
Maryam smiled. “That, my dear, is your theme song. Marvin Gave. “Trouble Man.”
The tune was haunting but the lyrics spoke of something else.
“You are the Trouble Man,” Maryam repeated. “The true survivor.” She began to sing.
“I'm ready to make it
Don't care what the weather
Don't care 'bout no trouble
Got myself together
I feel the kind of protection
That's all around me
I come up hard, baby…”
Makenju grinned. Their drinks arrived. He instinctively took Maryam’s, sipped it, and looked at his watch. After a few minutes, he nodded. She appeared relieved and a bit embarrassed. Makenju downed half of his whisky in a swallow.
“That’s me?”
“The man trouble cannot hold down. Yes, my friend, that is you.”
They enjoyed their drinks in silence until the next song started. Makenju felt warm in his middle, the barbecue and the scotch, the sheer strangeness of sitting across from a woman who had him imprisoned, now in a foreign country with a gun butt digging into his back.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, my dear, I forgot, your time in the States before was limited to your work,” Maryam giggled.
Makenju smiled. “Giggling in public over alcohol is most unregal.”
She giggled again. “That’s not even a word!”
“Care to wager on it?”
Makenju stuck out his little finger. Maryam locked hers with it.
“It’s a bet. What are we betting?”
“If unregal is a word, then you…I don’t know. I can’t think of anything I want.”
Maryam raised her eyebrows and gave him an alluring look.
“I can think of one thing.”
“I’m not getting it.”
“I never said you could not have it. I said you could not have it forever.”
“Same difference. What do you want?”
“If that silliness is not a word…”
“Yes?”
“Then you, my dear Ibrahim, must refer to me when we are alone as May May. No questions asked.”
“Really?”
“Whenever we are alone.”
Makenju’s mobile chirped. He glanced at it and threw back the rest of his drink.
“You never did tell me the name of this song.”
“It’s the Commodores. ‘Just to be Close to You.”
“Who sang lead?”
“Lionel Richie. He’s huge over our way, now.”
Makenju listened to the singing. “He never went to jail for a woman. I can tell.”
Maryam giggled again as he helped her to her feet.
Akbar had the Cadillac idling at the curb. Makenju held the door for Maryam and climbed in the front seat.
“Thank you, Major,” Maryam said. Makenju was not sure to whom she was speaking. Akbar nodded.
“The embassy called, Ma’am.”
Maryam sat a bit more erect and asked, “When?”
“This evening.”
“Why?”
“A Mr. Darren Summers is requesting an audience with you tomorrow morning. Regarding his son.”
Maryam nodded. ‘Of course, Major, tell them 11am is fine.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
The car sped back to the Sheraton.
“I’m not dying to see my sovereign eat barbecue,” Akbar said in mild disgust once the two men had slipped out of their jackets and laid their pistols on the table.
“Don’t be a hypocrite,” Makenju attacked his food with gusto. “We’ve eaten worse.”
“We have. She should not have to.”
“Don’t forget, her mother hid her and her brother during the civil war. She’s lived, friend,” Makenju cleaned one bone and placed it aside. “This is better than prison food by a long shot.”
Akbar shook his head.
“What’s with you?” Makenju grabbed another rib and paused. “You’ve been out of sorts this entire mission.”
Akbar looked glumly at his food.
“Spill it man!”
“Doesn’t this feel odd to you, Ibrahim?”
Makenju cleaned his second rib. “I was on Death Row a few days back. Odd is all my life has been for a while now. What’s on your mind, soldier?”
Akbar cleared his throat. “We are in a foreign country looking for the princess who, for all intents and purposes, appears to just be on holiday with her boyfriend. Not the best thing, but no capitol offense. The US State Department is paying us an awful lot of attention, and what is with this ‘Mrs. Oludara’ stuff?”
Makenju continued eating.
“No, Ibrahim, look, something isn’t right here.”
Makenju wiped his hands and pulled a pen from his pocket. On a napkin, he wrote, “Assume this room is bugged until you hear otherwise from me.” He put the napkin in his pocket. Akbar nodded and changed the subject.
When their meal was finished, the two soldiers busied themselves writing back and forth regarding their plans when their telephone extension rang. Akbar answered.
“Ma’am? Yes ma’am. Right away.” He replaced the receiver and nodded at Makenju. “She wants you.”
Makenju nodded, grabbed his pistol and jammed it in the small of his back. He slipped on his jacket and knocked gently on the door that adjoined the rooms.
“Majesty?”
There was a sound on the other side of the door and Makenju opened it and stepped in, gently closing the door behind him.
“Ma’am? Did you enjoy your supper?”
Maryam Oludara sat in a chair at her desk and motioned for Makenju to take the seat next to hers. “It was, Major. My compliments to Mr. Mitchell. I would like to visit his establishment again before we leave.”
Makenju took the napkin from his pocket and presented it to the queen before he sat down. She nodded and passed him a note she had written before he entered.
“We need to operate from a different base, Ibrahim. Make that happen.”
Makenju nodded.
Maryum spoke aloud. “And I trust your meal was satisfying as well, Major?”
“Indeed, ma’am. It was a far cry from prison food,” he grinned.
She sighed and wrote, “Are you armed?”
He wrote back, “Always.”
“Let’s go.”
“I have to get Akbar.”
She was already out of her chair and headed towards the door. Makenju reasoned: if he waited for Akbar she would be gone. If he called for Akbar in haste, the other man might come prepared for the worst.
He followed her out the door. She was already punching the button for the elevator.
“Ma’am? We really need another…”
“May May,” Maryum said sweetly.
The elevator doors opened. The queen stepped in lightly. Makenju followed a look of concern on his face.
“Have you the keys to the car?”
“No Ma’am…”
“May May,” she smiled.
“Ma’am, I haven’t driven in a while.”
“We can walk,” she smiled and patted Makenju’s middle. “You could use the exercise.”
Makenju shrugged, resigned to his fate. “Where are we going?”
“To see Chicago. And someplace where we can talk.”
The elevator landed in the lobby. Makenju followed Maryam as she exited a side door.
“Ma’am? I really need an idea…this is really unorthodox…”
Maryam began humming softly and sang, “Ma’am is not here…Neither is Maryam or Mrs. Oludara…for the next hour I am only answering to May May.”
Makenju settled into an easy stride. How were legs as short as hers moving so fast?
She began walking in the direction of the lake.
“Where are we going?” he demanded.
“May May wants to ride the Ferris Wheel, Ibrahim?”
Makenju began puffing. “I won’t be much use to you if you don’t slow down and I pass out.”
She laughed. “I had CPR during the war,” but she slowed down.
Makenju’s mobile rang. It had been so long since he’d had one, the sound initially confused him. He felt in his pockets and found it. Maryam grabbed it from him and answered. Makenju made a grab for the handset that was deftly avoided.
“Where the devil are you Makenju?” Akbar could barely contain his anger.
“Good evening, Major,” she responded coolly, “I tried to escape the hotel without security and the good major followed me out the door. He is with me right now. We shan’t need you until later, if you would like to pick us up with the car.”
“Ma’am, might I remind you…”
“I fully understand the risks, Major. You seem a bit tense of late. You are ordered to stand down for the next couple of hours. Take a nap. Thank you and goodbye.”
She tossed the mobile to Makenju, who caught it one handed and replaced it in his pocket.
“Ma’am…”
“May May?”
The big soldier shrugged in exasperation. “May May. This is a bad idea.”
Her face changed slightly. “Major, I intend to ride that Ferris wheel. I intend to hear some music. I intend to have a good time. You are my escort. I am ordering you to join me and enjoy yourself.”
“May May, I swore an oath to protect you even if it runs counter to your orders. No doubt Akbar is on the line with the embassy as we speak raising hell with our embassy.”
“No he’s not,” she said wearily. “The one thing, the only thing major Akbar has is his duty, and I am at the top of that roster. He would not do anything to cause a row where I am concerned. Ibrahim, unlike many other men, Akbar has no desire for love, or approval, or acceptance. His life is his duty.”
“Well, it’s kept him out of jail; I can say that much for him.”
She ignored his comment and kept walking.
They entered the Navy Pier concourse and walked past the Bubba Gump Shrimp Company & Market.
“Just like the movie,” Maryam murmured.
Makenju thanked the Almighty he’d had the presence to bring his pistol and eyed the crowds uneasily.
Maryam was oblivious. She walked and smiled and took it all in. As they walked towards the Ferris wheel, Makenju sidled up beside her and whispered, “This place requires money, your majesty…”
“May May,” she whispered.
“I just got out of prison.”
The tiny monarch pulled the burly soldier close and he felt her hand in his trouser packet.
“You have to pay for everything.”
“Where did you get this? I never knew you to handle currency.”
“Oh, stop asking so many questions and enjoy yourself. That is an order. And here,” she put her hand to his mouth. Reflexively, he opened it. “Chew this. Your breath smells like barbecue.”
Makenju began chewing and felt what appeared to be an envelope in his pocket.
They made their way to the Ferris wheel line and Makenju began to look uneasy.
Maryam hugged his arm. ‘What’s wrong?”
“Heights.”
“Aren’t you a soldier?”
“Reason I didn’t join the Air Force.”
She looked genuinely concerned. “We can skip it, Ibrahim.”
“You’re holding my arm pretty tight. I think I can make it.”
They both smiled as Makenju tried to simultaneously keep his eye on the crowd and his mind off the woman holding on to them.
The line was short and soon they were seated in one of the carriages. As the wheel began its arc, Makenju stiffened somewhat. Maryam increased the pressure on his arm. They rode in silence until the wheel stopped and they were near the top. Makenju exhaled, and Maryam leaned against him.
“This is beautiful,” she exclaimed softly, “not a care in the world.” She exhaled and put her arm around his middle.
“May May?” Makenju’s voice was hoarse.
“Yes, Ibrahim?”
“Why did you do it?”
She snuggled against him more as the wheel began to move again.
“I had to, Makenju. If you had just been willing to go along with things, nothing would have happened. But you didn’t. You got insistent. Thandiwe got emotional. We could not have a scandal. Decorated military officer, chief of security to the royal family, involved with a royal? On that level? Ibrahim,” she sighed, “no amount of love can come between a royal and her duty. Any amount of embarrassment can hamper a royal’s ability to rule. The plan was to keep you out of circulation for a while and repatriate you somewhere, quietly. You have to believe me.”
“I believe you want what you want and the human cost means nothing to you,” he said.
“No you don’t.” Maryam sighed again, “If you believed that you would have taken your money and left.”
“Wasn’t this a condition to get me off of death row, out of prison?”
“I never signed any death warrants and specifically forbade anyone else to do so. How would that look to Thandiwe?”
“So much for love.”
“Love is important, but duty must come first,” she said firmly. “I am part of a line that has been willed by God Almighty to do this job. We have withstood colonialism, a civil war, and coups. God wills us to rule our people. Obedience demands that we put duty before all else, even our personal feelings. It was a hard lesson for Thandiwe to learn, but she learned it.”
Their car came to a stop on the ground, and the attendant helped Maryam alight from the car. Makenju stood, checked to make sure his pistol was secure, and followed her.
“What now?”
“A drink sounds nice. Perhaps a walk after that.”
“Maryam?”
“May May?”
“Yes?”
“Thanidwe?”
“It can’t be, I am sorry,” she sounded sincere. “I know you love her dearly, but this entire escapade has not been good for her.”
“I saw her picture with the young man. She appears fine.”
“A mother understands things her daughter cannot.”
“Then why are we here now?”
“To find her, to speak sense to her, to make sure she stays on the right path is all.”
“Fair enough.”
“Ibrahim? You are a member of this family. You have served us loyally for many years. Do not mistake those sentiments for something they are not. I have a duty to do, and sadly, soldiers can be imprisoned as easily as they are set free.”
Makenju remained quiet and walked beside her.
“Let’s stop here for a drink,” she suggested. Soul music wafted from the doorway of the pub.
“You give the orders. My job is to protect you.”
“Don’t be like that. Tonight, we are who we are, who we were, and we are going to enjoy a drink. “
They went in and sat down, with Makenju facing the doorway. A waitress met them promptly. The Queen ordered a martini. Makenju requested club soda.
“He’ll have a single malt. Make it a double,” Maryam grinned wickedly.
Makenju pulled out his mobile and dialed Akbar.
“Meet us at the entrance of navy Pier in an hour. No, with the diplomatic plates, you should be able to wait in the cabstand.”
“Ending our night so soon?”
Makenju changed the subject. “Who is this playing?”
Maryam smiled. “That, my dear, is your theme song. Marvin Gave. “Trouble Man.”
The tune was haunting but the lyrics spoke of something else.
“You are the Trouble Man,” Maryam repeated. “The true survivor.” She began to sing.
“I'm ready to make it
Don't care what the weather
Don't care 'bout no trouble
Got myself together
I feel the kind of protection
That's all around me
I come up hard, baby…”
Makenju grinned. Their drinks arrived. He instinctively took Maryam’s, sipped it, and looked at his watch. After a few minutes, he nodded. She appeared relieved and a bit embarrassed. Makenju downed half of his whisky in a swallow.
“That’s me?”
“The man trouble cannot hold down. Yes, my friend, that is you.”
They enjoyed their drinks in silence until the next song started. Makenju felt warm in his middle, the barbecue and the scotch, the sheer strangeness of sitting across from a woman who had him imprisoned, now in a foreign country with a gun butt digging into his back.
“Who is this?”
“Oh, my dear, I forgot, your time in the States before was limited to your work,” Maryam giggled.
Makenju smiled. “Giggling in public over alcohol is most unregal.”
She giggled again. “That’s not even a word!”
“Care to wager on it?”
Makenju stuck out his little finger. Maryam locked hers with it.
“It’s a bet. What are we betting?”
“If unregal is a word, then you…I don’t know. I can’t think of anything I want.”
Maryam raised her eyebrows and gave him an alluring look.
“I can think of one thing.”
“I’m not getting it.”
“I never said you could not have it. I said you could not have it forever.”
“Same difference. What do you want?”
“If that silliness is not a word…”
“Yes?”
“Then you, my dear Ibrahim, must refer to me when we are alone as May May. No questions asked.”
“Really?”
“Whenever we are alone.”
Makenju’s mobile chirped. He glanced at it and threw back the rest of his drink.
“You never did tell me the name of this song.”
“It’s the Commodores. ‘Just to be Close to You.”
“Who sang lead?”
“Lionel Richie. He’s huge over our way, now.”
Makenju listened to the singing. “He never went to jail for a woman. I can tell.”
Maryam giggled again as he helped her to her feet.
Akbar had the Cadillac idling at the curb. Makenju held the door for Maryam and climbed in the front seat.
“Thank you, Major,” Maryam said. Makenju was not sure to whom she was speaking. Akbar nodded.
“The embassy called, Ma’am.”
Maryam sat a bit more erect and asked, “When?”
“This evening.”
“Why?”
“A Mr. Darren Summers is requesting an audience with you tomorrow morning. Regarding his son.”
Maryam nodded. ‘Of course, Major, tell them 11am is fine.”
“Yes Ma’am.”
The car sped back to the Sheraton.
Monday, April 5, 2010
In the City
Akbar was at the wheel of the CTS.
“Been a while since I’ve driven,” Makenju had explained with a wry grin. His colleague only grunted.
The two men were attired in warm weather suits, which fit horribly over their shoulder rigs. The Queen sat in the rear seat, busying herself with a magazine. Her dark dress and matching hat made her appear older than her years.
“Lake Shore Drive to the museum campus, and west, right?” Akbar asked.
“Yes. East would take us straight into lake Michigan.” Makenju unbuttoned his jacket, withdrew his revolver, and flipped open the cylinder.
“Do you have to do that?” the Queen asked calmly. “Do you really think you’ve shot anyone in the hours we’ve been here?”
“Always pays to be on top of things, Majesty,” Makenju responded in a flat tone.
“What are the chances you’ll need that thing on a college campus?” she demanded testily.
“Ma’am,” Akbar began, “You’re walking the campus. We’re protecting a head of state. The major has it right. Better safe than sorry.”
Akbar wheeled the CTS onto the Midway Plaisance and looked for Kimbark Avenue.
“They allow freshmen to live off campus?” Makenju looked around and took in the leafy campus.
“Arrangements were made,” the Queen responded calmly. Makenju nodded.
“Parking is lousy around here,” Akbar grated, finally finding a spot some doors down from the building.
The flat was a on the second floor of an old but well maintained walk up. Akbar produced keys the monarch had given him and opened the security door. Makenju followed the Queen into the foyer, and then brought up the rear as Akbar opened the apartment door.
The apartment was large, with a spacious living room and dining room separated by a long hallway. A large bedroom was just off the living room. The kitchen was tiled in white and had heavy wooden cabinets from another era. The gas stove was clean.
“She has a housekeeper?” Makenju looked in the pantry and refrigerator.
“Not to my knowledge. If she chose to hire one with her allowance, that’s her business,” the Queen looked at photos hanging in the hallway. Pictures of Thandiwe and her parents on holiday. Framed snaps of her playing soccer, or out for drinks with other young women.
When the three of them walked into her bedroom, more photos adorned the wall. One was a large eight by eleven of a teenaged Thandiwe hugging a somewhat younger and slimmer Makenju, in full dress uniform, the scowl on his face unconvincing.
“Interesting,” was all the major could say.
“There’s nothing perishable in the refrigerator,” Makenju started. “You’ll want to check her personal items, but there’s no mail or magazines piled up in the foyer, either. Wherever she went, it was planned.”
“Quite right,” the Queen murmured.
Akbar was staring at a photo on the nightstand. A facial shot of Thandiwe and a young man, beaming.
“Who’s he?” The soldier handed the picture to the queen, shaking his head.
The young man in the picture had chocolate skin and dark, curly hair. He wore glasses.
His teeth were even and white, and his smile, while not as wide as Thandiwe’s, was no less sincere.
The queen took the photo and stared at it.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. She put the photo in her large handbag.
“We’ll sit in the other room while you go through her things, majesty,” Makenju suggested.
“Very good. I shall call if I need you.”
The men left and each took position at opposite ends of the sofa. Makenju slipped his Ruger from his shoulder rig and popped the cylinder again. He shook out the six rounds and shoved them in his suit pocket, then looked down the barrel.
“She’s right, you know,” Akbar yawned.
“What?”
“That is damned annoying.”
A key turned in the lock. Makenju fed the shells back into his pistol and had the cylinder in place before the lock unbolted. Ha held the pistol in his hand at his side as he stood, and Akbar, jacket unbuttoned, stood to the right of the doorway.
A woman in her early twenties stepped in and had closed the door before she noticed Akbar. She opened her mouth in shock.
Makenju slipped his pistol in his trousers at the back of his jacket and held up his hands in a placating manner.
The woman turned to leave, but Akbar blocked the closed door.
“Who are you?” Her eyes were still wide, and her hand darted into her open purse.
Akbar pulled his jacket back so she could see the butt of the large automatic and said calmly, “Take your hand out of your bag…slowly. We are not here to harm you. We’re here for Thandiwe Oludara.”
“How do I know that?” Her hand was still buried in her bag. She was short, petite, and had skin the color of cinnamon. Her hair was short and styles well, her bands falling into her face. Her oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans did little to conceal her figure.
The Queen came from the bedroom. “I heard a voice…” she left her sentence in mid air as she saw the young woman.
Seeing another female calmed the young lady a bit, and she pulled her hand out of her bag.
“I know you,” she said. “I mean, I know your face. You’re Thandi’s mother!”
The queen nodded in assent and the younger woman went to her.
“Thandi talks about you all of the time! It is such a pleasure to meet you. I guess it’s an honor.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I should…what? Bow or something?”
Akbar and Makenju’s eyebrows raised, but they said nothing.
The Queen smiled graciously.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked graciously.
The young woman, her eyes wide again, nodded.
“Aside from being Thandiwe’s mother?”
The young lady nodded again, her smile wide.
The queen put her hands on the young woman’s shoulders and said calmly, “I am looking for my daughter, dear. These men are with me. No one here will do you any harm, child. What is your name?”
“Jessica, Jessica Montgomery, I’m Thandi’s best friend. She told me all about you! We were going to try to see if I could stay with you one summer, if it’s OK, I mean, I’ve never been overseas before, but I am sure my folks would approve, and I saw you in Ebony magazine, and Thandi always talks about what a wonderful woman you are, and…”
She ran out of words, but continued beaming.
The Queen shook her hand. “Of course, you may stay with us, my dear. Our doors are always open to Thandiwe’s friends.”
Maryam Oludara motioned for Jessica to sit, and the bodyguards each took an easy chair opposite the sofa.
“Are you really a queen?”
“Yes,” Maryam smiled, “I am.”
“And Thandi is really going to be queen herself one day?”
“God willing, my dear.”
“Did she know you were coming?”
“No, I think not. In fact, we are here just to check in on her. I have not heard from her in a while. I am concerned.”
“Really?” Jessica’s shook her head. “But don’t you have a country to run?”
“Well, dear,” Maryam took Jessica’s hands in hers, “there is no greater duty than that of a mother. You will understand that one day.”
Jessica looked at the two men sitting across from her. She stared at Makenju until it made him uncomfortable.
“You’re her…friend. The one in the picture?”
Makenju nodded. Jessica let that end of the conversation drop and turned back to the queen.
“Thandi left with her boyfriend. A while back. She asked me to come check on her mail and stuff when I got a break between classes.”
“That is kind of you. What are you studying?”
“I’m in my third year. Biology. Medical school, when I’m done, if I can get past the MCATS.”
“I am sure you will do fine, my dear. I was going through Thandiwe’s things. Would you care to join me in the bedroom and chat while I finish?”
“Sure! Your majesty…well, what shall I call you?”
The queen smiled warmly. “Mrs. Oludara is fine, Jessica. Come with me.”
Akbar had been eying the young woman. Makenju caught his eye and grinned.
“I don’t think there were any concealed weapons on her, friend.” He chuckled.
Akbar looked stonily at him and replied, “No, Ibrahim. I confine my ogling to women that can’t have me imprisoned for finding them sexy.”
Makenju laughed out loud. “That, my friend, is the wisest thing you shared since we reconnected.”
Half an hour later, the Queen emerged with Jessica, who was still chatting rapidly.
“My dear,” the monarch said when she could get in a word, “should you see or hear from Thandiwe, please tell her to contact me as soon as possible.”
“Sure!” Jessica nodded so hard Makenju thought she’d be dizzy.
“And as I have explained to you, please do not share with anyone else that we are here, or who we are. Thandiwe has shared a great confidence with you. I know you won’t betray it.”
“No ma’am!” More dizziness. Makenju felt tired.
“Can we drop you anywhere, Love?”
“No, ma’am. But remember what I told you about Kevin. He’s a nice guy and all, and he really has a thing for Thandi. I just don’t think it’s…well, we talked. You have my number, Mrs. Oludara. Call me anytime!”
Maryam smiled. “We look forward to your visit, Dear. Take care now.”
Jessica bustled out the door, and the Queen sat on the sofa.
“That child…” she began.
“Ma’am?”
Akbar was standing by the window, looking below.
“Yes Major Akbar?”
“There’s a black sedan parked a few cars back from our vehicle. It has been there since we arrived. I think it’s the State Department. Or government. Anyway, they know we are here.”
Maryam shook her head wearily.
“Can we get rid of them?”
“Best they don’t know we’re aware of their presence, Ma’am. I suggest you and Major Makenju exit via the back stairs. I will meet you in the vehicle on 57th Street.”
“As you suggest, Major. Come, Makenju. Perhaps you can put that toy of yours to good use.”
Akbar clumped down the stairs, and after ensuring the apartment was secure, the queen and Makenju left down the wooden back staircase off the back porch. Makenju opened a gate that led to a driveway, waved for Maryam, and they walked at a brisk pace onto 57th Street, where Akbar was waiting. The other car was not in sight.
“What was that all about?”
“They probably figure you sent me on an errand, Ma’am. They won’t move until they see you.”
“Why are they so interested in my comings and goings, Major?”
Makenju answered for Akbar. “This is bigger than the safety of a visiting monarch.”
Akbar wheeled the Cadillac west until he spotted Cottage drove, and then turned north.
Makenju turned around in his seat and faced Maryam.
“What happened?”
“Apparently, Thandiwe has left town with the Youngman in the photograph, a Kevin Summers. They have been dating for a while.”
“Why not just tell you she was going on holiday?”
“Well, for starters, Thandiwe has completely compromised her safety in confiding her identity to her friend. Although Jessica swears she is the only one who knows, we cannot be sure. Thandiwe has expressed concern to Jessica that Mr. Summers is interested in a very serious relationship, and her own commitments may make that impossible.”
“And?”
“Apparently, Mr. Summers is the scion of a rather notorious family in Chicago.”
“Royalty takes on all forms, Majesty.”
“So the two of them have run away to do some fool knows what. This is straight out of Shakespeare.”
“Never read him myself,” Makenju turned back around and scanned the area. “I’m just a simple murderer with bad taste in women.”
Maryam ignored him.
“So,” Akbar spoke as he headed for Lake Shore Drive’s 47th Street ramp, “the princess has connected with the offspring of thugs and they have run away to live happily ever after?” He shook his head. “Orders, Majesty?”
“I would like to dine. Somewhere…local. This Jessica girl suggested a place where the students congregate. Perhaps we can stop and procure some food and take it back to the hotel. I am quite tired and I think a meal and some rest are just the thing for figuring out our next move.”
“Where is this place?”
Maryam told him.
“Majesty, begging your pardon?”
“Yes, Major?”
“Deferring to you on all matters of protocol, Ma’am, is it fitting for my sovereign to not only eat in public, but at a place…the name alone, ma’am…the press?”
“I am a mother looking for her child. We can order the food and return to the Sheraton. I do intend to see this city, however, and I intend to find my child. Patronizing a place she frequents is a part of that, Major.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
They drove south a few miles and Akbar parked in a strip mall. Makenju’s face was bright with pleasure.
“Koor’s Big Butts and Beef Barbecue?” He shook with mirth. “I am almost tempted to leave my pistol and find a camera.”
Akbar was visible uncomfortable. ‘Let’s get this over with.”
The three of them walked into a well lit eatery, lined with leather booths and reeking of wood smoke and sizzling meat. A hostess seated them in a booth away from any windows, as Akbar instructed. There was a cross section of Chicago dining, laughing and drinking, men in suits seated at booths next to young adults in jeans and athletic shoes. A thin man behind the grill in an apron eyed Makenju steadily. Makenju held his gaze then let it drop. A short, plump, pretty woman tended the cash register.
Maryam opened a menu and studied it. “The waitresses’ uniforms are...amusing.” She smiled. Makenju grinned back at her. Akbar pretended to study the crowd.
A large bald man in a black jacket and dark slacks entered with a raven haired beauty. They were shown immediately to the booth across from the Oludara party. The man looked over, did a barely noticeable double take, and escorted the woman over to their booth. Akbar tensed.
“Might I suggest the beef brisket and baked potato, Ma’am?”
“You may, Mr…?”
“Morgan, Ma’am. Theodore Miles Morgan. This is my friend, Naomi Hopkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, sir. I am Mrs. Maryam Oludara. These are my associates, Mr. Akbar and Mr. Makenju.”
“Are you from Africa?” The woman’s voice held a musical quality Maryam could not place. The woman wore a large wedding ring, yet Morgan’s fingers were bare.
“We are. In town on holiday.”
“What country?”
Makenju noticed Morgan shake his head slightly. Naomi proceeded to compliment the queen on her hat, and Morgan shook his head slightly again before speaking.
“Please enjoy your meal. It would be my honor to buy you all dinner.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Morgan.”
Morgan was excusing himself when the thin man in the apron came over.
“Theo, you bothering my guests?”
“No, Koor. Please put their dinner on my tab. I assume they will be ordering to go.”
Koor looked askance at Morgan and waved at the cash register. The plump woman came from behind the counter and sauntered over. Makenju’s eyes never left her. The woman had the most alluring walk he had ever seen. When she arrived at their table, Makenju noticed her makeup covered uneven tones and blemished on her face. Her hair was highlighted, her teeth were good, and she radiated something he could not place.
“Hey, Baby, these are friends of Theo’s. Whatever they order, he says he’s paying for, ok?”
“Sure honey. Welcome.” She nodded at the men and reached for Maryam’s hand. “You all come back whenever you are out this way, OK?” She patted Morgan on his arm, smiled at Naomi and went back to her register. When the thin man turned around, Makenju noticed the thin outlined of a gun butt at the small of his back.
“Who recommended this place?”
“Thandiwe’s friend Jessica. Why?”
“Black Americans, by and large, are not that receptive to Africans. The big guy seemed to know who we are and that we would not be eating here.”
“State Department?”
Akbar spoke up. “No, the men in the car were white. And I could be wrong, but the big guy and that woman are more than just friends or colleagues.”
Maryam commented she noticed that as well.
Morgan rose from his table, said something to Naomi, and headed in the direction of the mens’ room. Makenju opened his jacket and excused himself.
“Where the devil are you going?” Akbar asked.
“Wait on the food. I’m going to find out just who our friend is.”
The thin man behind the grill watched Makenju follow Morgan, and then turned his attention to the cash register before resuming his focus on the cooking food.
Morgan had just pushed the door open when Makenju barreled into him. The American pivoted and grabbed Makenju’s arm and flung him over his shoulder. Makenju sprang up and swung his left arm in an arc towards Morgan’s head. Morgan stepped back, threw his jacket in Makenju’s face and hit him twice in the solar plexus. Both men were breathing heavily when Makenju pulled his Ruger and aimed it at Morgan’s head. The bathroom door opened and Koor stepped in with a large Army .45 in his hand.
“Nice way to thank me for dinner,” Morgan wheezed.
Makenju looked from Koor to Morgan.
“Theo, what the fuck? I’m supposed to be out there watching Vira.”
Morgan ignored the African with the gun in his hand. “Why’s she here?”
“You know. Waitresses. Me. Vira got it in her head if she were here she could keep an eye on me. Problem is that now I gotta keep an eye on her.”
“Makenju cleared his throat. Koor leveled the .45 at him.
“Thought he was a friend of yours, Theo?”
“We’ve never met.”
“Since when do you pick up the tab for strangers?”
“Who is this man?” Makenju demanded.”
Koor looked over both men and shoved his gun in his apron.
“Theo Morgan. Runs a hotel out south. Friend of mine. The question Buddy, is who are you?”
Theo laughed.
“Royal escort. You finally classed up the joint, Koor. That lady at his table?”
“With the big church hat? Man, you ain’t no minister, are you? Can’t stand ‘em.”
Makenju laughed and holstered his weapon.
“That lady is Queen Maryum,” Morgan explained.
“Queen of what?” Koor demanded.
Theo Morgan told him.
Koor shook his head. “Well, better than a minister, that’s for sure.”
The three men laughed. Makenju put out his hand. Theo shook it.
“I’m Ibrahim Makenju. Are you from Africa?”
“No, homegrown. I just read a lot. I recognized her when I came in. I figured I’d introduce myself. If I was wrong…” Morgan shrugged.
Koor shook his head. “I’m going back out there to sell some barbecue and look out for my woman. Not in that order. You still paying for his dinner, Theo?”
“But of course.”
Koor left, still shaking his head. Makenju handed Morgan his jacket. The American produced a business card.
“How far is your hotel, Mr. Morgan?”
“Theo. Thirty miles south of the city.”
“We may be stopping in.”
“I don’t have a royal suite.”
“Even better.” Makenju felt he could trust the man. “Her majesty is here on personal business. We’d like to keep a really low profile. If you could exercise some discretion…”
Morgan nodded. “My pleasure. Look, your food is probably ready, and she’s one bodyguard short. You need me, you call me.”
Makenju nodded and held the door for Morgan.
“One thing, Ibrahim?”
“Yes?”
“We both need to lose some weight. I got a feeling a few years back that tussle would have lasted longer.”
“Either that or you would have been shot.”
“Been a while since I’ve driven,” Makenju had explained with a wry grin. His colleague only grunted.
The two men were attired in warm weather suits, which fit horribly over their shoulder rigs. The Queen sat in the rear seat, busying herself with a magazine. Her dark dress and matching hat made her appear older than her years.
“Lake Shore Drive to the museum campus, and west, right?” Akbar asked.
“Yes. East would take us straight into lake Michigan.” Makenju unbuttoned his jacket, withdrew his revolver, and flipped open the cylinder.
“Do you have to do that?” the Queen asked calmly. “Do you really think you’ve shot anyone in the hours we’ve been here?”
“Always pays to be on top of things, Majesty,” Makenju responded in a flat tone.
“What are the chances you’ll need that thing on a college campus?” she demanded testily.
“Ma’am,” Akbar began, “You’re walking the campus. We’re protecting a head of state. The major has it right. Better safe than sorry.”
Akbar wheeled the CTS onto the Midway Plaisance and looked for Kimbark Avenue.
“They allow freshmen to live off campus?” Makenju looked around and took in the leafy campus.
“Arrangements were made,” the Queen responded calmly. Makenju nodded.
“Parking is lousy around here,” Akbar grated, finally finding a spot some doors down from the building.
The flat was a on the second floor of an old but well maintained walk up. Akbar produced keys the monarch had given him and opened the security door. Makenju followed the Queen into the foyer, and then brought up the rear as Akbar opened the apartment door.
The apartment was large, with a spacious living room and dining room separated by a long hallway. A large bedroom was just off the living room. The kitchen was tiled in white and had heavy wooden cabinets from another era. The gas stove was clean.
“She has a housekeeper?” Makenju looked in the pantry and refrigerator.
“Not to my knowledge. If she chose to hire one with her allowance, that’s her business,” the Queen looked at photos hanging in the hallway. Pictures of Thandiwe and her parents on holiday. Framed snaps of her playing soccer, or out for drinks with other young women.
When the three of them walked into her bedroom, more photos adorned the wall. One was a large eight by eleven of a teenaged Thandiwe hugging a somewhat younger and slimmer Makenju, in full dress uniform, the scowl on his face unconvincing.
“Interesting,” was all the major could say.
“There’s nothing perishable in the refrigerator,” Makenju started. “You’ll want to check her personal items, but there’s no mail or magazines piled up in the foyer, either. Wherever she went, it was planned.”
“Quite right,” the Queen murmured.
Akbar was staring at a photo on the nightstand. A facial shot of Thandiwe and a young man, beaming.
“Who’s he?” The soldier handed the picture to the queen, shaking his head.
The young man in the picture had chocolate skin and dark, curly hair. He wore glasses.
His teeth were even and white, and his smile, while not as wide as Thandiwe’s, was no less sincere.
The queen took the photo and stared at it.
“I don’t know,” she said slowly. She put the photo in her large handbag.
“We’ll sit in the other room while you go through her things, majesty,” Makenju suggested.
“Very good. I shall call if I need you.”
The men left and each took position at opposite ends of the sofa. Makenju slipped his Ruger from his shoulder rig and popped the cylinder again. He shook out the six rounds and shoved them in his suit pocket, then looked down the barrel.
“She’s right, you know,” Akbar yawned.
“What?”
“That is damned annoying.”
A key turned in the lock. Makenju fed the shells back into his pistol and had the cylinder in place before the lock unbolted. Ha held the pistol in his hand at his side as he stood, and Akbar, jacket unbuttoned, stood to the right of the doorway.
A woman in her early twenties stepped in and had closed the door before she noticed Akbar. She opened her mouth in shock.
Makenju slipped his pistol in his trousers at the back of his jacket and held up his hands in a placating manner.
The woman turned to leave, but Akbar blocked the closed door.
“Who are you?” Her eyes were still wide, and her hand darted into her open purse.
Akbar pulled his jacket back so she could see the butt of the large automatic and said calmly, “Take your hand out of your bag…slowly. We are not here to harm you. We’re here for Thandiwe Oludara.”
“How do I know that?” Her hand was still buried in her bag. She was short, petite, and had skin the color of cinnamon. Her hair was short and styles well, her bands falling into her face. Her oversized sweatshirt and baggy jeans did little to conceal her figure.
The Queen came from the bedroom. “I heard a voice…” she left her sentence in mid air as she saw the young woman.
Seeing another female calmed the young lady a bit, and she pulled her hand out of her bag.
“I know you,” she said. “I mean, I know your face. You’re Thandi’s mother!”
The queen nodded in assent and the younger woman went to her.
“Thandi talks about you all of the time! It is such a pleasure to meet you. I guess it’s an honor.” She laughed nervously. “I don’t know if I should…what? Bow or something?”
Akbar and Makenju’s eyebrows raised, but they said nothing.
The Queen smiled graciously.
“Do you know who I am?” she asked graciously.
The young woman, her eyes wide again, nodded.
“Aside from being Thandiwe’s mother?”
The young lady nodded again, her smile wide.
The queen put her hands on the young woman’s shoulders and said calmly, “I am looking for my daughter, dear. These men are with me. No one here will do you any harm, child. What is your name?”
“Jessica, Jessica Montgomery, I’m Thandi’s best friend. She told me all about you! We were going to try to see if I could stay with you one summer, if it’s OK, I mean, I’ve never been overseas before, but I am sure my folks would approve, and I saw you in Ebony magazine, and Thandi always talks about what a wonderful woman you are, and…”
She ran out of words, but continued beaming.
The Queen shook her hand. “Of course, you may stay with us, my dear. Our doors are always open to Thandiwe’s friends.”
Maryam Oludara motioned for Jessica to sit, and the bodyguards each took an easy chair opposite the sofa.
“Are you really a queen?”
“Yes,” Maryam smiled, “I am.”
“And Thandi is really going to be queen herself one day?”
“God willing, my dear.”
“Did she know you were coming?”
“No, I think not. In fact, we are here just to check in on her. I have not heard from her in a while. I am concerned.”
“Really?” Jessica’s shook her head. “But don’t you have a country to run?”
“Well, dear,” Maryam took Jessica’s hands in hers, “there is no greater duty than that of a mother. You will understand that one day.”
Jessica looked at the two men sitting across from her. She stared at Makenju until it made him uncomfortable.
“You’re her…friend. The one in the picture?”
Makenju nodded. Jessica let that end of the conversation drop and turned back to the queen.
“Thandi left with her boyfriend. A while back. She asked me to come check on her mail and stuff when I got a break between classes.”
“That is kind of you. What are you studying?”
“I’m in my third year. Biology. Medical school, when I’m done, if I can get past the MCATS.”
“I am sure you will do fine, my dear. I was going through Thandiwe’s things. Would you care to join me in the bedroom and chat while I finish?”
“Sure! Your majesty…well, what shall I call you?”
The queen smiled warmly. “Mrs. Oludara is fine, Jessica. Come with me.”
Akbar had been eying the young woman. Makenju caught his eye and grinned.
“I don’t think there were any concealed weapons on her, friend.” He chuckled.
Akbar looked stonily at him and replied, “No, Ibrahim. I confine my ogling to women that can’t have me imprisoned for finding them sexy.”
Makenju laughed out loud. “That, my friend, is the wisest thing you shared since we reconnected.”
Half an hour later, the Queen emerged with Jessica, who was still chatting rapidly.
“My dear,” the monarch said when she could get in a word, “should you see or hear from Thandiwe, please tell her to contact me as soon as possible.”
“Sure!” Jessica nodded so hard Makenju thought she’d be dizzy.
“And as I have explained to you, please do not share with anyone else that we are here, or who we are. Thandiwe has shared a great confidence with you. I know you won’t betray it.”
“No ma’am!” More dizziness. Makenju felt tired.
“Can we drop you anywhere, Love?”
“No, ma’am. But remember what I told you about Kevin. He’s a nice guy and all, and he really has a thing for Thandi. I just don’t think it’s…well, we talked. You have my number, Mrs. Oludara. Call me anytime!”
Maryam smiled. “We look forward to your visit, Dear. Take care now.”
Jessica bustled out the door, and the Queen sat on the sofa.
“That child…” she began.
“Ma’am?”
Akbar was standing by the window, looking below.
“Yes Major Akbar?”
“There’s a black sedan parked a few cars back from our vehicle. It has been there since we arrived. I think it’s the State Department. Or government. Anyway, they know we are here.”
Maryam shook her head wearily.
“Can we get rid of them?”
“Best they don’t know we’re aware of their presence, Ma’am. I suggest you and Major Makenju exit via the back stairs. I will meet you in the vehicle on 57th Street.”
“As you suggest, Major. Come, Makenju. Perhaps you can put that toy of yours to good use.”
Akbar clumped down the stairs, and after ensuring the apartment was secure, the queen and Makenju left down the wooden back staircase off the back porch. Makenju opened a gate that led to a driveway, waved for Maryam, and they walked at a brisk pace onto 57th Street, where Akbar was waiting. The other car was not in sight.
“What was that all about?”
“They probably figure you sent me on an errand, Ma’am. They won’t move until they see you.”
“Why are they so interested in my comings and goings, Major?”
Makenju answered for Akbar. “This is bigger than the safety of a visiting monarch.”
Akbar wheeled the Cadillac west until he spotted Cottage drove, and then turned north.
Makenju turned around in his seat and faced Maryam.
“What happened?”
“Apparently, Thandiwe has left town with the Youngman in the photograph, a Kevin Summers. They have been dating for a while.”
“Why not just tell you she was going on holiday?”
“Well, for starters, Thandiwe has completely compromised her safety in confiding her identity to her friend. Although Jessica swears she is the only one who knows, we cannot be sure. Thandiwe has expressed concern to Jessica that Mr. Summers is interested in a very serious relationship, and her own commitments may make that impossible.”
“And?”
“Apparently, Mr. Summers is the scion of a rather notorious family in Chicago.”
“Royalty takes on all forms, Majesty.”
“So the two of them have run away to do some fool knows what. This is straight out of Shakespeare.”
“Never read him myself,” Makenju turned back around and scanned the area. “I’m just a simple murderer with bad taste in women.”
Maryam ignored him.
“So,” Akbar spoke as he headed for Lake Shore Drive’s 47th Street ramp, “the princess has connected with the offspring of thugs and they have run away to live happily ever after?” He shook his head. “Orders, Majesty?”
“I would like to dine. Somewhere…local. This Jessica girl suggested a place where the students congregate. Perhaps we can stop and procure some food and take it back to the hotel. I am quite tired and I think a meal and some rest are just the thing for figuring out our next move.”
“Where is this place?”
Maryam told him.
“Majesty, begging your pardon?”
“Yes, Major?”
“Deferring to you on all matters of protocol, Ma’am, is it fitting for my sovereign to not only eat in public, but at a place…the name alone, ma’am…the press?”
“I am a mother looking for her child. We can order the food and return to the Sheraton. I do intend to see this city, however, and I intend to find my child. Patronizing a place she frequents is a part of that, Major.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
They drove south a few miles and Akbar parked in a strip mall. Makenju’s face was bright with pleasure.
“Koor’s Big Butts and Beef Barbecue?” He shook with mirth. “I am almost tempted to leave my pistol and find a camera.”
Akbar was visible uncomfortable. ‘Let’s get this over with.”
The three of them walked into a well lit eatery, lined with leather booths and reeking of wood smoke and sizzling meat. A hostess seated them in a booth away from any windows, as Akbar instructed. There was a cross section of Chicago dining, laughing and drinking, men in suits seated at booths next to young adults in jeans and athletic shoes. A thin man behind the grill in an apron eyed Makenju steadily. Makenju held his gaze then let it drop. A short, plump, pretty woman tended the cash register.
Maryam opened a menu and studied it. “The waitresses’ uniforms are...amusing.” She smiled. Makenju grinned back at her. Akbar pretended to study the crowd.
A large bald man in a black jacket and dark slacks entered with a raven haired beauty. They were shown immediately to the booth across from the Oludara party. The man looked over, did a barely noticeable double take, and escorted the woman over to their booth. Akbar tensed.
“Might I suggest the beef brisket and baked potato, Ma’am?”
“You may, Mr…?”
“Morgan, Ma’am. Theodore Miles Morgan. This is my friend, Naomi Hopkins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, sir. I am Mrs. Maryam Oludara. These are my associates, Mr. Akbar and Mr. Makenju.”
“Are you from Africa?” The woman’s voice held a musical quality Maryam could not place. The woman wore a large wedding ring, yet Morgan’s fingers were bare.
“We are. In town on holiday.”
“What country?”
Makenju noticed Morgan shake his head slightly. Naomi proceeded to compliment the queen on her hat, and Morgan shook his head slightly again before speaking.
“Please enjoy your meal. It would be my honor to buy you all dinner.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Morgan.”
Morgan was excusing himself when the thin man in the apron came over.
“Theo, you bothering my guests?”
“No, Koor. Please put their dinner on my tab. I assume they will be ordering to go.”
Koor looked askance at Morgan and waved at the cash register. The plump woman came from behind the counter and sauntered over. Makenju’s eyes never left her. The woman had the most alluring walk he had ever seen. When she arrived at their table, Makenju noticed her makeup covered uneven tones and blemished on her face. Her hair was highlighted, her teeth were good, and she radiated something he could not place.
“Hey, Baby, these are friends of Theo’s. Whatever they order, he says he’s paying for, ok?”
“Sure honey. Welcome.” She nodded at the men and reached for Maryam’s hand. “You all come back whenever you are out this way, OK?” She patted Morgan on his arm, smiled at Naomi and went back to her register. When the thin man turned around, Makenju noticed the thin outlined of a gun butt at the small of his back.
“Who recommended this place?”
“Thandiwe’s friend Jessica. Why?”
“Black Americans, by and large, are not that receptive to Africans. The big guy seemed to know who we are and that we would not be eating here.”
“State Department?”
Akbar spoke up. “No, the men in the car were white. And I could be wrong, but the big guy and that woman are more than just friends or colleagues.”
Maryam commented she noticed that as well.
Morgan rose from his table, said something to Naomi, and headed in the direction of the mens’ room. Makenju opened his jacket and excused himself.
“Where the devil are you going?” Akbar asked.
“Wait on the food. I’m going to find out just who our friend is.”
The thin man behind the grill watched Makenju follow Morgan, and then turned his attention to the cash register before resuming his focus on the cooking food.
Morgan had just pushed the door open when Makenju barreled into him. The American pivoted and grabbed Makenju’s arm and flung him over his shoulder. Makenju sprang up and swung his left arm in an arc towards Morgan’s head. Morgan stepped back, threw his jacket in Makenju’s face and hit him twice in the solar plexus. Both men were breathing heavily when Makenju pulled his Ruger and aimed it at Morgan’s head. The bathroom door opened and Koor stepped in with a large Army .45 in his hand.
“Nice way to thank me for dinner,” Morgan wheezed.
Makenju looked from Koor to Morgan.
“Theo, what the fuck? I’m supposed to be out there watching Vira.”
Morgan ignored the African with the gun in his hand. “Why’s she here?”
“You know. Waitresses. Me. Vira got it in her head if she were here she could keep an eye on me. Problem is that now I gotta keep an eye on her.”
“Makenju cleared his throat. Koor leveled the .45 at him.
“Thought he was a friend of yours, Theo?”
“We’ve never met.”
“Since when do you pick up the tab for strangers?”
“Who is this man?” Makenju demanded.”
Koor looked over both men and shoved his gun in his apron.
“Theo Morgan. Runs a hotel out south. Friend of mine. The question Buddy, is who are you?”
Theo laughed.
“Royal escort. You finally classed up the joint, Koor. That lady at his table?”
“With the big church hat? Man, you ain’t no minister, are you? Can’t stand ‘em.”
Makenju laughed and holstered his weapon.
“That lady is Queen Maryum,” Morgan explained.
“Queen of what?” Koor demanded.
Theo Morgan told him.
Koor shook his head. “Well, better than a minister, that’s for sure.”
The three men laughed. Makenju put out his hand. Theo shook it.
“I’m Ibrahim Makenju. Are you from Africa?”
“No, homegrown. I just read a lot. I recognized her when I came in. I figured I’d introduce myself. If I was wrong…” Morgan shrugged.
Koor shook his head. “I’m going back out there to sell some barbecue and look out for my woman. Not in that order. You still paying for his dinner, Theo?”
“But of course.”
Koor left, still shaking his head. Makenju handed Morgan his jacket. The American produced a business card.
“How far is your hotel, Mr. Morgan?”
“Theo. Thirty miles south of the city.”
“We may be stopping in.”
“I don’t have a royal suite.”
“Even better.” Makenju felt he could trust the man. “Her majesty is here on personal business. We’d like to keep a really low profile. If you could exercise some discretion…”
Morgan nodded. “My pleasure. Look, your food is probably ready, and she’s one bodyguard short. You need me, you call me.”
Makenju nodded and held the door for Morgan.
“One thing, Ibrahim?”
“Yes?”
“We both need to lose some weight. I got a feeling a few years back that tussle would have lasted longer.”
“Either that or you would have been shot.”
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Chicago
Makenju started awake as the plane bumped the ground. He stretched and looked up. Akbar was shrugging into his shoulder rig and reaching for his jacket. The queen was not in sight.
“She must be in back getting herself ready for the public,” he muttered to himself. He stretched again, opened the drawer and loaded his Ruger. Habit forced him to jack a round in the chamber and safety the weapon before he stood and jammed it in his waistband.
Akbar donned a pair of oversized aviator glasses. “How do I look?”
Makenju eyed his protégé. “Like a bloody candidate for the Tonton Macoutes,” he said, stifling a yawn.
The plane cruised to a halt, and the pilots began their post flight. Minutes later, a door to the cabin at the rear of the jet opened, and Maryam appeared, clad in the khaki dress, scarf, and dark glasses. She carried the bomber jacket in the crook of her arm.
“Gentlemen?”
“Majesty.”
“Mrs. Oludara,” she gently corrected.
“Procedure, Ma’am: A member from our embassy will meet us on the tarmac. Akbar will exit first, confirm the man’s credentials, and we’ll quickly be on our way. Your luggage will travel in a separate car.”
“Where are we staying?”
“The Sheraton. Right by the lake. Security is good there. When President Clinton was in office, he and the First Lady stayed there.”
“Very good.”
“We have adjoining rooms. You in one, Akbar and I in the other. Check in has been arranged and the man from the embassy will have the keys. We will go north on Lake Shore Drive and enter through the underground garage.”
“Can’t we just go through the front door?”
Makenju eyed Akbar warily.
“Perhaps next time, Ma’am. Our job is to keep you safe, and we don’t have a full strength security contingent. Let’s take as few chances as possible.”
“Very good.”
The pilots alighted from the cockpit, side arms noticeable on their waists. Makenju and Akbar nodded at them. The co pilot undid some latches and the door swung downward. He went out first, followed by Akbar. Maryam hesitated for a moment until Akbar called into the plane, then she went down the steps, followed by Makenju.
“The pilot?” Maryam climbed into the back of a Mercedes saloon, rear door held by her other bodyguard.
“Both will stay and ensure the plane is secure and prepped for immediate takeoff.”
Makenju glanced around the tarmac one last time and hefted himself into the Mercedes. Inside, Akbar and the Queen sat in one seat. In the jump seat sat a thin black man with a large head and a florid looking white man.
“Your Majesty,” the black man began, “Welcome back to the States. My name is Alim. It is my pleasure to serve you on your visit. Allow me to introduce Mr. Rupert, US Department of State.”
“You spooks can’t get your own ride?” Akbar grumbled.
Rupert smiled, showing yellow teeth. “Good morning, Your Majesty. Major Akbar. I took the liberty of having your customs processing done. If I may have your passports?”
Akbar produced the three booklets. Rupert took them and efficiently stamped them. Alim rapped on the window separating them from the driver, and the car started east.
“Closer than O’Hare?” Makenju asked.
“Much,” Alim agreed. “More importantly, almost a straight ride to the university campus.”
“Your majesty, majors,” Rupert began, “I understand this is an unofficial, personal visit. Please understand, however, the government of the United States has a vested interest in your safety while you are here. I understand these two men,” Rupert nodded in their general direction, “will provide personal security. I must make you aware the government will have plainclothes men in close proximity for the duration of your visit.”
“It was our express intent to not arouse any attention during this trip,” Akbar growled.
“Understood, Major, and we will be discreet. We cannot, however, allow the sovereign of a foreign nation to just roam around Chicago, or any of our cities, for that matter, protected by just two men. The international repercussions, should something unfortunate occur, would be disastrous.”
Makenju nodded and looked out of the window as 55th Street whizzed by.
“So what is it you are saying, Mr. Rupert?” Maryam asked graciously.
“Just know, Ma’am that we are watching.”
Makenju did not like the sound of that, but he said nothing.
The Mercedes made a left and pulled onto the Dan Ryan expressway.
“Also, Ma’am, if you could see fit to have your embassy alert ours when you leave Chicago, we would appreciate it.”
“Fine,” Akbar groaned.
“We understand security, ma’am. But…how can I put this delicately?”
“Feel free to be candid, Mr. Rupert.”
“I know your men are armed. Rightfully so. If possible, we want to avoid any…incidents. Major Makenju’s reputation in intelligence circles is, well, one of violence.”
Akbar snorted.
“Please accept the State Department’s support,” Rupert concluded cryptically.
“Of course, Mr. Rupert,” Maryam replied gently. “And do thank your government for me. This is, however, merely a mother coming to town to check on her college aged daughter, whom she has not seen in some months. My visit is not that of a monarch but a mother. The duty that has been mine since birth dictates these other precautions. I am pleased, however, the US government has taken such an interest in my security, and I appreciate it.”
She’s lying, Makenju thought. She’s as pissed as Akbar is. We won’t be staying at the Sheraton long, that’s for sure.
“Mr. Alim,” the queen continued.
“Ma’am?”
“While I am here, I am Mrs. Oludara. I want for the embassy to provide my men with an automobile. We want to remain discreet.”
“Will you require a driver, Ma’am?”
“Thank you, no. My escorts will see to that.”
Rupert raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Please have someone meet us at the hotel with the vehicle, Mr. Alim. Thank you.”
Alim pulled a telephone from the armrest and spoke rapidly in his native tongue.
“Done, Mrs. Oludara.”
Maryam sat primly while the Mercedes merged onto Lake Shore Drive and headed north.
“That Ferris wheel is divine,” she said softly to Makenju.
“Navy Pier is one of our city’s most famous attractions,” Rupert began, “along with our museum campus, and of course, shopping on the Magnificent Mile.”
Makenju shook his head. Did this man think the Queen flew a few thousand miles nonstop to shop?
The Mercedes rolled to a stop under Wacker Drive. The State Department man got out first, followed by Akbar, Alim, and Makenju, who extended his hand to help the Queen exit the car. She took it and squeezed it gently. He noticed. It made him a bit angry.
They stepped into the parking garage and headed for the elevator, where a homeless man sat in a chair with a bundle of papers at his feet.
“Mate, if you’re going to be undercover,” Makenju grinned, “try not shaving for a day or two.”
The man stared blankly, and Rupert shook his head. Once on the elevator, he turned to Makenju.
“I told him that,” the white man grinned ruefully. “Trust me; the rest of our guys won’t be so obvious.”
“Hope not,” Akbar removed his aviators.
Rupert and Alim followed them to the doors of their adjoining suites. Akbar pulled his revolver from under his shoulder and put it at his side. Makenju did the same with his Ruger.
“I can assure you that won’t be necessary,” Rupert said nervously.
“Tell that to the Secret Service when your president visits our country,” Makenju replied calmly. Akbar went in the room, gun drawn. Minutes later, he emerged from the other door.
“Clear,” he called. The elevator opened and a dark man in a western cut suit bustled out. Makenju pushed Maryam into the open doorway, and Akbar slammed the door. By the time the man reached the door at a quick lope, Makenju’s automatic was in his face.
Alim looked shocked. Rupert groaned.
“We have to avoid this kind of thing,” he muttered.
“Can I help you,” Makenju asked pleasantly, ignoring the other two men.
Alim looked steadily at Makenju.
“This is Muhammad from the embassy,” he said slowly, “more than likely he has the keys to your automobile.”
Muhammad didn’t bat an eye. Makenju laughed to himself. What a place, this Chicago, he thought. Where gofers take having a weapon thrust in their face as just another day at the office.
“Can I reach in my pocket for the keys?” Muhammad asked with a grin.
Makenju grinned back and lowered his pistol. Muhammad’s grin got wider as he flipped some keys out of his pocket and Makenju caught them, in his free hand, mid air.
“Cadillac CTS-V. Couple of years old, but she runs good. Diplomatic plates,” Muhammad started.
“Not very discreet,” Makenju commented.
“Sorry, Major, all of the bulletproof station wagons are in service,” Muhammad never stopped grinning.
“Do I know you, son?” Makenju found himself liking the young man’s attitude.
“I did my stint in the army before going into diplomatic service,” Muhammad admitted. “Everyone knows you Major. Pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out a hand.
Makenju shoved his Ruger in his waistband and shook the younger man’s hand heartily.
“Pleasure’s all mine, soldier. But don’t,” he grinned wickedly, “ask me to tell any old war stories, deal?”
“Deal. Alim?” Muhammad turned to the thin man. “I drove the Cadillac over here. Any chance I can ride back in the limo with you?”
Alim nodded warily. Muhammad produced a card from his breast pocket.
“My mobile number is on there, major,” he said. “if you need anything, you call.” He shook Makenju’s hand again. “Oh, and by the way? That CTS has the Corvette engine in it. With those diplo plates, no one is going to stop you. I’d give it a go if I were you.”
Rupert paled. Makenju laughed. Alim started down the hall.
“What’d you do in service, Muhammad?”
Muhammad laughed and turned to follow the Alim. “Motor pool, sir.”
“So the Caddy?”
“125 like sitting in your living room, sir. ‘'Scuse me. Call me if you need me.”
Makenju waved and knocked on the door. Akbar opened it. Maryam sat at a desk in the suite, which was luxurious, but far from regal.
“All good?” Akbar grinned. Some soldiers love their work.
“Yeah. Kid from the embassy. Dropped off a nice Cadillac for us. Ma’am?” he looked at Maryam and smiled, “You OK?”
“Indeed. Thank you for saving me from one of my own people, Major.”
“I was not aware that royalty engaged in sarcasm,” Makenju mused. Akbar shook his head and opened the door to the adjoining room.
“Major?”
“Ma’am?”
“Close the door, please.”
Makenju did as he was told. Maryam stood and walked over to her. She stopped just short of her nose touching the top button of his shirt.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Makenju’s head swam.
The queen let out a soft, throaty laugh.
“How long have you been waiting to push me like that?” she asked quietly.
“Just doing my job, Ma’am.”
“Let’s remember this is a job, Ibrahim. It is something else, too.”
“I know my job, he said, “something else, where you and yours are involved, is always a bit more confusing.”
“I want to see Chicago,” she said in a small voice.
“You’re in charge, Ma’am. I’m just a hired gun. With a recently expunged military prison record, at that.”
“And?”
“You call the shots, I shoot. You want to see this city; I guess I am at your disposal.”
She smiled.
“Any chance we can lose Akbar?”
“Negative.”
“He feels like a third wheel.”
“He is here to protect his sovereign, Ma’am. From what I hear of Chicago, I’ll need all the help that I can get. ”
“May May,” she pleaded softly.
“Mrs. Oludara.”
“We have to find that silly girl…eventually.”
“It is why we are here, right? Could be wrong, but that’s why you got me out of jail?”
Maryum Oludara laid her head against the soldier’s broad chest.
“I don’t need my bodyguard. I need my friend. I need some rest from…everything. I need to find my child and make sure she is fine. Please understand, Ibrahim.”
Makenju stood still, his mind racing.
He opened his mouth, and Maryum reached up and put a finger to it.
“I don’t want to talk about your feelings. I know how you feel. You have made your feelings quite clear. That was a different time. Things have changed. You have to accept that. You cannot do anything about the past. I tried to right it as best I could. You have to move on, Ibrahim. You can continue to be angry about the time you spent or you can try to find happiness in the future.” She hugged him.
Makenju hugged her back, briefly, and said, “It is not enough. Eventually, Maryum, you have to acknowledge what happened. You have to acknowledge how I felt. May May, you have to admit the role you played in all of this. Only then will it start to get better.”
He disengaged and headed for the door to his room.
“Major?”
“Ma’am?”
“We shall leave for the university within the hour.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“She must be in back getting herself ready for the public,” he muttered to himself. He stretched again, opened the drawer and loaded his Ruger. Habit forced him to jack a round in the chamber and safety the weapon before he stood and jammed it in his waistband.
Akbar donned a pair of oversized aviator glasses. “How do I look?”
Makenju eyed his protégé. “Like a bloody candidate for the Tonton Macoutes,” he said, stifling a yawn.
The plane cruised to a halt, and the pilots began their post flight. Minutes later, a door to the cabin at the rear of the jet opened, and Maryam appeared, clad in the khaki dress, scarf, and dark glasses. She carried the bomber jacket in the crook of her arm.
“Gentlemen?”
“Majesty.”
“Mrs. Oludara,” she gently corrected.
“Procedure, Ma’am: A member from our embassy will meet us on the tarmac. Akbar will exit first, confirm the man’s credentials, and we’ll quickly be on our way. Your luggage will travel in a separate car.”
“Where are we staying?”
“The Sheraton. Right by the lake. Security is good there. When President Clinton was in office, he and the First Lady stayed there.”
“Very good.”
“We have adjoining rooms. You in one, Akbar and I in the other. Check in has been arranged and the man from the embassy will have the keys. We will go north on Lake Shore Drive and enter through the underground garage.”
“Can’t we just go through the front door?”
Makenju eyed Akbar warily.
“Perhaps next time, Ma’am. Our job is to keep you safe, and we don’t have a full strength security contingent. Let’s take as few chances as possible.”
“Very good.”
The pilots alighted from the cockpit, side arms noticeable on their waists. Makenju and Akbar nodded at them. The co pilot undid some latches and the door swung downward. He went out first, followed by Akbar. Maryam hesitated for a moment until Akbar called into the plane, then she went down the steps, followed by Makenju.
“The pilot?” Maryam climbed into the back of a Mercedes saloon, rear door held by her other bodyguard.
“Both will stay and ensure the plane is secure and prepped for immediate takeoff.”
Makenju glanced around the tarmac one last time and hefted himself into the Mercedes. Inside, Akbar and the Queen sat in one seat. In the jump seat sat a thin black man with a large head and a florid looking white man.
“Your Majesty,” the black man began, “Welcome back to the States. My name is Alim. It is my pleasure to serve you on your visit. Allow me to introduce Mr. Rupert, US Department of State.”
“You spooks can’t get your own ride?” Akbar grumbled.
Rupert smiled, showing yellow teeth. “Good morning, Your Majesty. Major Akbar. I took the liberty of having your customs processing done. If I may have your passports?”
Akbar produced the three booklets. Rupert took them and efficiently stamped them. Alim rapped on the window separating them from the driver, and the car started east.
“Closer than O’Hare?” Makenju asked.
“Much,” Alim agreed. “More importantly, almost a straight ride to the university campus.”
“Your majesty, majors,” Rupert began, “I understand this is an unofficial, personal visit. Please understand, however, the government of the United States has a vested interest in your safety while you are here. I understand these two men,” Rupert nodded in their general direction, “will provide personal security. I must make you aware the government will have plainclothes men in close proximity for the duration of your visit.”
“It was our express intent to not arouse any attention during this trip,” Akbar growled.
“Understood, Major, and we will be discreet. We cannot, however, allow the sovereign of a foreign nation to just roam around Chicago, or any of our cities, for that matter, protected by just two men. The international repercussions, should something unfortunate occur, would be disastrous.”
Makenju nodded and looked out of the window as 55th Street whizzed by.
“So what is it you are saying, Mr. Rupert?” Maryam asked graciously.
“Just know, Ma’am that we are watching.”
Makenju did not like the sound of that, but he said nothing.
The Mercedes made a left and pulled onto the Dan Ryan expressway.
“Also, Ma’am, if you could see fit to have your embassy alert ours when you leave Chicago, we would appreciate it.”
“Fine,” Akbar groaned.
“We understand security, ma’am. But…how can I put this delicately?”
“Feel free to be candid, Mr. Rupert.”
“I know your men are armed. Rightfully so. If possible, we want to avoid any…incidents. Major Makenju’s reputation in intelligence circles is, well, one of violence.”
Akbar snorted.
“Please accept the State Department’s support,” Rupert concluded cryptically.
“Of course, Mr. Rupert,” Maryam replied gently. “And do thank your government for me. This is, however, merely a mother coming to town to check on her college aged daughter, whom she has not seen in some months. My visit is not that of a monarch but a mother. The duty that has been mine since birth dictates these other precautions. I am pleased, however, the US government has taken such an interest in my security, and I appreciate it.”
She’s lying, Makenju thought. She’s as pissed as Akbar is. We won’t be staying at the Sheraton long, that’s for sure.
“Mr. Alim,” the queen continued.
“Ma’am?”
“While I am here, I am Mrs. Oludara. I want for the embassy to provide my men with an automobile. We want to remain discreet.”
“Will you require a driver, Ma’am?”
“Thank you, no. My escorts will see to that.”
Rupert raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Please have someone meet us at the hotel with the vehicle, Mr. Alim. Thank you.”
Alim pulled a telephone from the armrest and spoke rapidly in his native tongue.
“Done, Mrs. Oludara.”
Maryam sat primly while the Mercedes merged onto Lake Shore Drive and headed north.
“That Ferris wheel is divine,” she said softly to Makenju.
“Navy Pier is one of our city’s most famous attractions,” Rupert began, “along with our museum campus, and of course, shopping on the Magnificent Mile.”
Makenju shook his head. Did this man think the Queen flew a few thousand miles nonstop to shop?
The Mercedes rolled to a stop under Wacker Drive. The State Department man got out first, followed by Akbar, Alim, and Makenju, who extended his hand to help the Queen exit the car. She took it and squeezed it gently. He noticed. It made him a bit angry.
They stepped into the parking garage and headed for the elevator, where a homeless man sat in a chair with a bundle of papers at his feet.
“Mate, if you’re going to be undercover,” Makenju grinned, “try not shaving for a day or two.”
The man stared blankly, and Rupert shook his head. Once on the elevator, he turned to Makenju.
“I told him that,” the white man grinned ruefully. “Trust me; the rest of our guys won’t be so obvious.”
“Hope not,” Akbar removed his aviators.
Rupert and Alim followed them to the doors of their adjoining suites. Akbar pulled his revolver from under his shoulder and put it at his side. Makenju did the same with his Ruger.
“I can assure you that won’t be necessary,” Rupert said nervously.
“Tell that to the Secret Service when your president visits our country,” Makenju replied calmly. Akbar went in the room, gun drawn. Minutes later, he emerged from the other door.
“Clear,” he called. The elevator opened and a dark man in a western cut suit bustled out. Makenju pushed Maryam into the open doorway, and Akbar slammed the door. By the time the man reached the door at a quick lope, Makenju’s automatic was in his face.
Alim looked shocked. Rupert groaned.
“We have to avoid this kind of thing,” he muttered.
“Can I help you,” Makenju asked pleasantly, ignoring the other two men.
Alim looked steadily at Makenju.
“This is Muhammad from the embassy,” he said slowly, “more than likely he has the keys to your automobile.”
Muhammad didn’t bat an eye. Makenju laughed to himself. What a place, this Chicago, he thought. Where gofers take having a weapon thrust in their face as just another day at the office.
“Can I reach in my pocket for the keys?” Muhammad asked with a grin.
Makenju grinned back and lowered his pistol. Muhammad’s grin got wider as he flipped some keys out of his pocket and Makenju caught them, in his free hand, mid air.
“Cadillac CTS-V. Couple of years old, but she runs good. Diplomatic plates,” Muhammad started.
“Not very discreet,” Makenju commented.
“Sorry, Major, all of the bulletproof station wagons are in service,” Muhammad never stopped grinning.
“Do I know you, son?” Makenju found himself liking the young man’s attitude.
“I did my stint in the army before going into diplomatic service,” Muhammad admitted. “Everyone knows you Major. Pleasure to meet you.” He stuck out a hand.
Makenju shoved his Ruger in his waistband and shook the younger man’s hand heartily.
“Pleasure’s all mine, soldier. But don’t,” he grinned wickedly, “ask me to tell any old war stories, deal?”
“Deal. Alim?” Muhammad turned to the thin man. “I drove the Cadillac over here. Any chance I can ride back in the limo with you?”
Alim nodded warily. Muhammad produced a card from his breast pocket.
“My mobile number is on there, major,” he said. “if you need anything, you call.” He shook Makenju’s hand again. “Oh, and by the way? That CTS has the Corvette engine in it. With those diplo plates, no one is going to stop you. I’d give it a go if I were you.”
Rupert paled. Makenju laughed. Alim started down the hall.
“What’d you do in service, Muhammad?”
Muhammad laughed and turned to follow the Alim. “Motor pool, sir.”
“So the Caddy?”
“125 like sitting in your living room, sir. ‘'Scuse me. Call me if you need me.”
Makenju waved and knocked on the door. Akbar opened it. Maryam sat at a desk in the suite, which was luxurious, but far from regal.
“All good?” Akbar grinned. Some soldiers love their work.
“Yeah. Kid from the embassy. Dropped off a nice Cadillac for us. Ma’am?” he looked at Maryam and smiled, “You OK?”
“Indeed. Thank you for saving me from one of my own people, Major.”
“I was not aware that royalty engaged in sarcasm,” Makenju mused. Akbar shook his head and opened the door to the adjoining room.
“Major?”
“Ma’am?”
“Close the door, please.”
Makenju did as he was told. Maryam stood and walked over to her. She stopped just short of her nose touching the top button of his shirt.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Makenju’s head swam.
The queen let out a soft, throaty laugh.
“How long have you been waiting to push me like that?” she asked quietly.
“Just doing my job, Ma’am.”
“Let’s remember this is a job, Ibrahim. It is something else, too.”
“I know my job, he said, “something else, where you and yours are involved, is always a bit more confusing.”
“I want to see Chicago,” she said in a small voice.
“You’re in charge, Ma’am. I’m just a hired gun. With a recently expunged military prison record, at that.”
“And?”
“You call the shots, I shoot. You want to see this city; I guess I am at your disposal.”
She smiled.
“Any chance we can lose Akbar?”
“Negative.”
“He feels like a third wheel.”
“He is here to protect his sovereign, Ma’am. From what I hear of Chicago, I’ll need all the help that I can get. ”
“May May,” she pleaded softly.
“Mrs. Oludara.”
“We have to find that silly girl…eventually.”
“It is why we are here, right? Could be wrong, but that’s why you got me out of jail?”
Maryum Oludara laid her head against the soldier’s broad chest.
“I don’t need my bodyguard. I need my friend. I need some rest from…everything. I need to find my child and make sure she is fine. Please understand, Ibrahim.”
Makenju stood still, his mind racing.
He opened his mouth, and Maryum reached up and put a finger to it.
“I don’t want to talk about your feelings. I know how you feel. You have made your feelings quite clear. That was a different time. Things have changed. You have to accept that. You cannot do anything about the past. I tried to right it as best I could. You have to move on, Ibrahim. You can continue to be angry about the time you spent or you can try to find happiness in the future.” She hugged him.
Makenju hugged her back, briefly, and said, “It is not enough. Eventually, Maryum, you have to acknowledge what happened. You have to acknowledge how I felt. May May, you have to admit the role you played in all of this. Only then will it start to get better.”
He disengaged and headed for the door to his room.
“Major?”
“Ma’am?”
“We shall leave for the university within the hour.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Flight
A weary Makenju, clean, freshly shaven and polished, leaned over the desk where the Queen’s majordomo had spread several papers.
“Your passports,” he handed them each an official booklet bearing their names and photos.
“Because of my service to the state, I needed a new one,” Makenju joked.
The majordomo, a shrew of a man named Igweike, saw no humor in this.
“These are diplomatic passports,” he shrilled. “At a level only just below that of the ambassador.”
“Will Her Majesty be traveling under her own passport or an assumed name?”
The little man gave Makenju a chilly look.
“Royalty does not require passports. However, in the interests of discretion and security, Her Majesty will travel under her own name, Mrs. Maryam Oludara, on a diplomatic passport as well. The royal family does not use aliases under any circumstances, gentlemen.”
Makenju chuckled. Akbar shook his head.
“Your diplomatic status allows you to carry weapons as diplomatic security for Mrs. Oludara.”
“Good. Make mine a howitzer.”
“Standard issue Ruger automatics or Smith and Wesson revolvers are what we provide. Plus all of the ammunition you can use.”
Makenju let that pass.
“Thank God,” Akbar murmured.
“You should go on Death Row sometimes, Brother,” Makenju grinned, “release is quite…liberating. No pun intended.”
“Her Majesty will be provided with transport from the embassies. They are on alert from around the globe that she could arrive within several hours’ notice. Drivers will be provided.”
“No need,” Akbar said.
“He’s right,” Makenju agreed. “She wants it just the three of us.”
Igweike pouted somewhat, but he saw the two army officers were not going to relent.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Under the terms of our treaty with the several countries in question, as diplomats of this level you can be neither stopped nor detained for any reason whatsoever. Should you run into difficulties, please contact the nearest embassy.”
Makenju cleared his throat and spoke. “What about the media? If I have to put a bullet in some crazy to save her life…”
“The embassy will work that out. All of the embassies have considerable sway with the media in our host countries. Given your reputation, though, Major, please understand these agreements have their limits. Try not to live up to your renown as a homicidal maniac.”
“Well, there’s that,” Akbar said drily.
“Old man,” Makenju said heartily, “You don’t seem enthused at the thought of this adventure.”
“Major, I just want to get the princess home and safe. As soon as possible.” Akbar was glum.
“This is not a visit of state and again, discretion is pertinent. The Queen has arranged for a private jet, paid with her own funds, to transport you. The pilots will be from the Air Force, however, volunteers who can act as back up security if need be.”
Both majors nodded.
“I guess,” Akbar said, his chiseled ebony face grim, “We can get started.”
“Your mission?”
Grunt.
“Majesty wished that I would brief you…”
“She can’t do it on the plane?” Makenju asked. “I thought time was important…”
Few stares were more glacial than Igweike’s.
“Fine,” both majors chorused.
“Princess Thandiwe is pursuing undergraduate studies at the University of Chicago. Government.”
“No Harvard?”
“The U of C is a respected institution with a strong school of government located in an area known for discretion.”
There was that word again. Everything about the damned royal family centered on discretion, Makenju thought bitterly.
“She may attend Harvard for graduate studies before coming home to take instruction from her mother regarding her life’s role of service to her people.”
“Beauty of a matriarchal society,” Akbar said drily.
“Indeed. It appears the princess has disappeared, but no foul play is suspected. Her condominium was left in a state as if she was taking a planned trip. Mail held at the local post office. Perishables disposed of. Her luggage is gone.”
“So what’s the purpose of this trip? A junket to the States armed to the teeth at the taxpayer’s expense?” Makenju was happy to be free, but already finding himself tiring of people who took things for granted.
“Her Majesty, Mrs. Oludara, is under the impression the Princess is involved with the wrong type of young man, someone who could disgrace both the princess and the royal family should their relations continue. She wants her daughter returned to school; her security team replaced, and most importantly, wants to have an old fashioned mother/daughter conversation about right and wrong.”
“Why not just send her to school here?” Akbar was glum again. “Plenty of universities in Africa.”
“It is not my place to question the royal prerogative,” Igweike sniffed.
“When do we leave?” Makenju asked.
“As soon as the quartermaster outfits you.”
“No,”Makenju corrected. ‘As soon as I see my paperwork, signed by Her Majesty and the Vice General, reinstating me to the army with full benefits and authority due my rank.” His face grew hard.
Igweike pulled an envelope from under the sheaf of papers.
“She said you would ask.”
“She was right,” Makenju retorted. “Hmmm…a year’s retroactive pay, too. And why is it you can’t get the mail delivered on time?”
Igweike shrugged, the most plebian expression he had made since they arrived.
“To the quartermaster’s,” Makenju ordered.
An hour later, outfitted with pistols (Akbar, the better shot, opted for a 357 revolver) and duffel bags of gear, a civilian jeep sped them to the tarmac at Seko Selassie Mohammad airport. Sitting beside a smart Gulfstream devoid of any markings was an idling Rolls Royce.
“That’s certainly discreet,” Makenju muttered as he hefted his gear from the jeep. Akbar went to meet the air force officer standing at the foot of the retractable steps. Makenju waited until the driver alighted from the Royce and went for its rear door. Everyone save Makenju and Akbar was in uniform.
The Queen stepped from her vehicle unassisted, as her driver hefted a suitcase from its boot and followed her to the foot of the plane’s steps.
“Rather tall for a bodyguard,” Makenju thought, as he reached for the weapon at the small of his back.
She was beautiful. Short, plump, and every inch a monarch, with oversized dark glasses covering most of her small, delicate face and a dark green scarf covering her head. She wore a khaki dress and a smooth letter bomber jacket festooned with air force insignia several sizes larger than she against the cool night. She hugged the driver, a strange show of public affection. Stranger was the driver reached down, hoisted her up a few inches and kissed her mouth. Giggling was unregal, but she did it anyway.
Akbar stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he saluted.
“No, Major, the prince corrected, “We are just Mr. & Mrs. Oludara here. A husband dropping his wife off at the airport. We could be any other couple leaving a loved one behind to take a trip.” The prince actually grinned. His dimmed slightly when he saw Makenju .approached, duffel in tow.
“Your Royal Highness,” Makenju’s eyes met the monarch’s.
“Major.”
The royals, Makenju noted, had their issues. Adherence to protocol and respect for those serving them were not their problem.
Makenju took the lead, going up the steps of the plane, searching it thoroughly, although he knew it had already been examined. He beckoned to his queen, who then alighted, followed by Akbar. Makenju and Akbar introduced themselves to the pilots, whom the queen thanked for their service to the crown. The pilots beamed and returned to the cockpit as the monarch and her two handlers strapped themselves in. Akbar took a window seat in the living room like cabin. Mrs. Oludara took an opposite window seat that allowed her to see the Rolls Royce on the tarmac, where her husband stood, waving. She pulled off his bomber jacket and settled into the comfortable leather lounge.
Makenju looked this scenario over with mild disgust, then unholstered his pistol, ejected the magazine, ensured the slide was empty and put them in a drawer beside his chair. He tilted his head back and tried to get some sleep as the Gulfstream taxied. The aircraft was aloft in no time and banking east. The pilots had assured him theirs would be a direct flight to Chicago. The plane had been retrofitted with auxiliary fuel tanks that would land them at Midway airport sometime late the next day.
Sometime after reaching cruising altitude, Makenju felt the plane’s wings dip back and forth. He opened his eyes and saw two fighter jets bearing air force markings on either side of the Gulfstream.
“So much for discreet and privately funded,” he said aloud.
Mrs. Oludara looked up from her book and gestured that he should come sit with her. Akbar appeared asleep, but Makenju knew he missed nothing.
“How are you Ibrahim?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“Well, twenty four hours ago I was using a pail to dispose of my own excrement. Now I am in a multi million dollar aircraft with a billion dollars of machinery on either side of said aircraft. Two days ago I had a black armband and a knife made from a razor blade stuck through a toothbrush handle for protection. Today there is an unloaded 40 caliber P944 in the drawer with my fingerprints on it. Oh, yeah, I’m richer by a whole year’s salary today. Yesterday I was unemployed and wondering where I would get money for smokes.”
“I put money on your books several times. Thandiwe made me. It was a difficult transaction to carry off, but we did it.”
“Yeah, I could picture that. One of your aides discretely adding commissary money to an accused killer’s books for the lady whose husband, who happens to be the Vice General of the armed forces, had imprisoned on false charges. Is that a regular practice for him? I asked around. Place was a regular Chateau dIf. Forget the back pay. Perhaps I need to go to the tabloids.”
He kept his voice even and soft in the quiet cabin. She did the same.
“What you did is an executionable offence…”
“And I was on Death Row. Without a trial, I might add.”
“You should have known better than to let love guide you so foolishly.”
‘Love?” Makenju barked a laugh. Akbar stirred on the other side of the cabin. “Love? What could you know about love? I did not go to jail and lose everything for love, but for an offense that occurs every day, going back to Biblical times. Even King David, scoundrel he was, had the decency to send his friend to the front lines. Not jail him.”
“We are not at war,” she said softly.
“Perhaps we could start one. Been done before. Preemptive strikes then send soldiers who have sex with the wrong women to the front line. Save on prison space. Perhaps acquire new territory in the process.”
“You sound bitter,” she said sadly.
“You let your husband put me in jail. No, your husband put me in jail and you never lifted a finger.”
“I got you out.”
“When it was convenient for you!”
“No,” she said sadly, “when the timing was right. You are a career soldier, you love the Crown, but sometimes you have no concept of the burdens of duty. I have to sacrifice the benefits of the one for the good of our country.”
“Sounds good. That is why those planes are along side of us. For the good of the country.”
“It is my divine right to lead my people. I am travelling as a mother. I remain a head of state. Should war break out back at home while I am away, I am expected to stop whatever I am doing and deal with the situation involving our national security. Duty such as mine does not take exceptions for family crises.
“Stop living in the past, Makenju. Isn’t it enough you were cared for, then? It is valuable to hold a special place in a woman’s heart. You don’t have to be with her to have that.”
“Spoken truly like a woman. Keep a special place for the suckers in case you need them, or their loved ones need you, later.”
“You know better.”
“I know the women of this family, Mrs. Oludara.”
‘We used to be friends. You can call me Maryum,” she looked out of the window, sadly. “You used to call me May May.”
“You used to stand in my corner and not watch me quietly railroaded into jail for all I’ve done for this damned country.”
“Men do not understand…times come and go…you have to change with the times.”
“Please. That is not gender specific. Plenty of women fall for, and stay with, the wrong man.”
“Can we not fight?”
“Your Majesty, if you wish to not know my feelings, do not ask.”
“You seem so bitter with your honor…would you have preferred to stay in your cel and await your termination?”
“I would have preferred to have been left alone. To continue to serve my country and my love life be my own affair.”
“You wanted marriage…commitment…love, honor, respect…all of the things you could not have with someone of a social position ranked so highly above yours. Especially under those circumstances.”
“Adults make their own decisions…”
“Some adults, my dear Ibrahim, are children. One of the myths our society is that women mature faster than men. That is not so. Society provides a safety net for women, a support system on so many levels. It expects a man, however, to shoulder the burden of his actions regardless of age or station in life. Your own imprisonment, sadly, demonstrates that. There are some cases where women are offered options without responsibility. Society will protect a woman before it will embrace a man.”
Makenju stood.
“Thanks you for the sociology lesson, Mrs. Oludara. May I be excused?”
“I wish you wouldn’t hate me so, Ibrahim.” She sighed. “Yes, you are excused.”
He nodded and went back to his seat to brood as the flying living room floated above the clouds.
“Your passports,” he handed them each an official booklet bearing their names and photos.
“Because of my service to the state, I needed a new one,” Makenju joked.
The majordomo, a shrew of a man named Igweike, saw no humor in this.
“These are diplomatic passports,” he shrilled. “At a level only just below that of the ambassador.”
“Will Her Majesty be traveling under her own passport or an assumed name?”
The little man gave Makenju a chilly look.
“Royalty does not require passports. However, in the interests of discretion and security, Her Majesty will travel under her own name, Mrs. Maryam Oludara, on a diplomatic passport as well. The royal family does not use aliases under any circumstances, gentlemen.”
Makenju chuckled. Akbar shook his head.
“Your diplomatic status allows you to carry weapons as diplomatic security for Mrs. Oludara.”
“Good. Make mine a howitzer.”
“Standard issue Ruger automatics or Smith and Wesson revolvers are what we provide. Plus all of the ammunition you can use.”
Makenju let that pass.
“Thank God,” Akbar murmured.
“You should go on Death Row sometimes, Brother,” Makenju grinned, “release is quite…liberating. No pun intended.”
“Her Majesty will be provided with transport from the embassies. They are on alert from around the globe that she could arrive within several hours’ notice. Drivers will be provided.”
“No need,” Akbar said.
“He’s right,” Makenju agreed. “She wants it just the three of us.”
Igweike pouted somewhat, but he saw the two army officers were not going to relent.
“Fine,” he sighed. “Under the terms of our treaty with the several countries in question, as diplomats of this level you can be neither stopped nor detained for any reason whatsoever. Should you run into difficulties, please contact the nearest embassy.”
Makenju cleared his throat and spoke. “What about the media? If I have to put a bullet in some crazy to save her life…”
“The embassy will work that out. All of the embassies have considerable sway with the media in our host countries. Given your reputation, though, Major, please understand these agreements have their limits. Try not to live up to your renown as a homicidal maniac.”
“Well, there’s that,” Akbar said drily.
“Old man,” Makenju said heartily, “You don’t seem enthused at the thought of this adventure.”
“Major, I just want to get the princess home and safe. As soon as possible.” Akbar was glum.
“This is not a visit of state and again, discretion is pertinent. The Queen has arranged for a private jet, paid with her own funds, to transport you. The pilots will be from the Air Force, however, volunteers who can act as back up security if need be.”
Both majors nodded.
“I guess,” Akbar said, his chiseled ebony face grim, “We can get started.”
“Your mission?”
Grunt.
“Majesty wished that I would brief you…”
“She can’t do it on the plane?” Makenju asked. “I thought time was important…”
Few stares were more glacial than Igweike’s.
“Fine,” both majors chorused.
“Princess Thandiwe is pursuing undergraduate studies at the University of Chicago. Government.”
“No Harvard?”
“The U of C is a respected institution with a strong school of government located in an area known for discretion.”
There was that word again. Everything about the damned royal family centered on discretion, Makenju thought bitterly.
“She may attend Harvard for graduate studies before coming home to take instruction from her mother regarding her life’s role of service to her people.”
“Beauty of a matriarchal society,” Akbar said drily.
“Indeed. It appears the princess has disappeared, but no foul play is suspected. Her condominium was left in a state as if she was taking a planned trip. Mail held at the local post office. Perishables disposed of. Her luggage is gone.”
“So what’s the purpose of this trip? A junket to the States armed to the teeth at the taxpayer’s expense?” Makenju was happy to be free, but already finding himself tiring of people who took things for granted.
“Her Majesty, Mrs. Oludara, is under the impression the Princess is involved with the wrong type of young man, someone who could disgrace both the princess and the royal family should their relations continue. She wants her daughter returned to school; her security team replaced, and most importantly, wants to have an old fashioned mother/daughter conversation about right and wrong.”
“Why not just send her to school here?” Akbar was glum again. “Plenty of universities in Africa.”
“It is not my place to question the royal prerogative,” Igweike sniffed.
“When do we leave?” Makenju asked.
“As soon as the quartermaster outfits you.”
“No,”Makenju corrected. ‘As soon as I see my paperwork, signed by Her Majesty and the Vice General, reinstating me to the army with full benefits and authority due my rank.” His face grew hard.
Igweike pulled an envelope from under the sheaf of papers.
“She said you would ask.”
“She was right,” Makenju retorted. “Hmmm…a year’s retroactive pay, too. And why is it you can’t get the mail delivered on time?”
Igweike shrugged, the most plebian expression he had made since they arrived.
“To the quartermaster’s,” Makenju ordered.
An hour later, outfitted with pistols (Akbar, the better shot, opted for a 357 revolver) and duffel bags of gear, a civilian jeep sped them to the tarmac at Seko Selassie Mohammad airport. Sitting beside a smart Gulfstream devoid of any markings was an idling Rolls Royce.
“That’s certainly discreet,” Makenju muttered as he hefted his gear from the jeep. Akbar went to meet the air force officer standing at the foot of the retractable steps. Makenju waited until the driver alighted from the Royce and went for its rear door. Everyone save Makenju and Akbar was in uniform.
The Queen stepped from her vehicle unassisted, as her driver hefted a suitcase from its boot and followed her to the foot of the plane’s steps.
“Rather tall for a bodyguard,” Makenju thought, as he reached for the weapon at the small of his back.
She was beautiful. Short, plump, and every inch a monarch, with oversized dark glasses covering most of her small, delicate face and a dark green scarf covering her head. She wore a khaki dress and a smooth letter bomber jacket festooned with air force insignia several sizes larger than she against the cool night. She hugged the driver, a strange show of public affection. Stranger was the driver reached down, hoisted her up a few inches and kissed her mouth. Giggling was unregal, but she did it anyway.
Akbar stepped forward.
“Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he saluted.
“No, Major, the prince corrected, “We are just Mr. & Mrs. Oludara here. A husband dropping his wife off at the airport. We could be any other couple leaving a loved one behind to take a trip.” The prince actually grinned. His dimmed slightly when he saw Makenju .approached, duffel in tow.
“Your Royal Highness,” Makenju’s eyes met the monarch’s.
“Major.”
The royals, Makenju noted, had their issues. Adherence to protocol and respect for those serving them were not their problem.
Makenju took the lead, going up the steps of the plane, searching it thoroughly, although he knew it had already been examined. He beckoned to his queen, who then alighted, followed by Akbar. Makenju and Akbar introduced themselves to the pilots, whom the queen thanked for their service to the crown. The pilots beamed and returned to the cockpit as the monarch and her two handlers strapped themselves in. Akbar took a window seat in the living room like cabin. Mrs. Oludara took an opposite window seat that allowed her to see the Rolls Royce on the tarmac, where her husband stood, waving. She pulled off his bomber jacket and settled into the comfortable leather lounge.
Makenju looked this scenario over with mild disgust, then unholstered his pistol, ejected the magazine, ensured the slide was empty and put them in a drawer beside his chair. He tilted his head back and tried to get some sleep as the Gulfstream taxied. The aircraft was aloft in no time and banking east. The pilots had assured him theirs would be a direct flight to Chicago. The plane had been retrofitted with auxiliary fuel tanks that would land them at Midway airport sometime late the next day.
Sometime after reaching cruising altitude, Makenju felt the plane’s wings dip back and forth. He opened his eyes and saw two fighter jets bearing air force markings on either side of the Gulfstream.
“So much for discreet and privately funded,” he said aloud.
Mrs. Oludara looked up from her book and gestured that he should come sit with her. Akbar appeared asleep, but Makenju knew he missed nothing.
“How are you Ibrahim?” she asked, genuine concern in her voice.
“Well, twenty four hours ago I was using a pail to dispose of my own excrement. Now I am in a multi million dollar aircraft with a billion dollars of machinery on either side of said aircraft. Two days ago I had a black armband and a knife made from a razor blade stuck through a toothbrush handle for protection. Today there is an unloaded 40 caliber P944 in the drawer with my fingerprints on it. Oh, yeah, I’m richer by a whole year’s salary today. Yesterday I was unemployed and wondering where I would get money for smokes.”
“I put money on your books several times. Thandiwe made me. It was a difficult transaction to carry off, but we did it.”
“Yeah, I could picture that. One of your aides discretely adding commissary money to an accused killer’s books for the lady whose husband, who happens to be the Vice General of the armed forces, had imprisoned on false charges. Is that a regular practice for him? I asked around. Place was a regular Chateau dIf. Forget the back pay. Perhaps I need to go to the tabloids.”
He kept his voice even and soft in the quiet cabin. She did the same.
“What you did is an executionable offence…”
“And I was on Death Row. Without a trial, I might add.”
“You should have known better than to let love guide you so foolishly.”
‘Love?” Makenju barked a laugh. Akbar stirred on the other side of the cabin. “Love? What could you know about love? I did not go to jail and lose everything for love, but for an offense that occurs every day, going back to Biblical times. Even King David, scoundrel he was, had the decency to send his friend to the front lines. Not jail him.”
“We are not at war,” she said softly.
“Perhaps we could start one. Been done before. Preemptive strikes then send soldiers who have sex with the wrong women to the front line. Save on prison space. Perhaps acquire new territory in the process.”
“You sound bitter,” she said sadly.
“You let your husband put me in jail. No, your husband put me in jail and you never lifted a finger.”
“I got you out.”
“When it was convenient for you!”
“No,” she said sadly, “when the timing was right. You are a career soldier, you love the Crown, but sometimes you have no concept of the burdens of duty. I have to sacrifice the benefits of the one for the good of our country.”
“Sounds good. That is why those planes are along side of us. For the good of the country.”
“It is my divine right to lead my people. I am travelling as a mother. I remain a head of state. Should war break out back at home while I am away, I am expected to stop whatever I am doing and deal with the situation involving our national security. Duty such as mine does not take exceptions for family crises.
“Stop living in the past, Makenju. Isn’t it enough you were cared for, then? It is valuable to hold a special place in a woman’s heart. You don’t have to be with her to have that.”
“Spoken truly like a woman. Keep a special place for the suckers in case you need them, or their loved ones need you, later.”
“You know better.”
“I know the women of this family, Mrs. Oludara.”
‘We used to be friends. You can call me Maryum,” she looked out of the window, sadly. “You used to call me May May.”
“You used to stand in my corner and not watch me quietly railroaded into jail for all I’ve done for this damned country.”
“Men do not understand…times come and go…you have to change with the times.”
“Please. That is not gender specific. Plenty of women fall for, and stay with, the wrong man.”
“Can we not fight?”
“Your Majesty, if you wish to not know my feelings, do not ask.”
“You seem so bitter with your honor…would you have preferred to stay in your cel and await your termination?”
“I would have preferred to have been left alone. To continue to serve my country and my love life be my own affair.”
“You wanted marriage…commitment…love, honor, respect…all of the things you could not have with someone of a social position ranked so highly above yours. Especially under those circumstances.”
“Adults make their own decisions…”
“Some adults, my dear Ibrahim, are children. One of the myths our society is that women mature faster than men. That is not so. Society provides a safety net for women, a support system on so many levels. It expects a man, however, to shoulder the burden of his actions regardless of age or station in life. Your own imprisonment, sadly, demonstrates that. There are some cases where women are offered options without responsibility. Society will protect a woman before it will embrace a man.”
Makenju stood.
“Thanks you for the sociology lesson, Mrs. Oludara. May I be excused?”
“I wish you wouldn’t hate me so, Ibrahim.” She sighed. “Yes, you are excused.”
He nodded and went back to his seat to brood as the flying living room floated above the clouds.
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