The New Jersey morning was calm, with
the warmth of the mild 1990 spring weather made all the more soothing by the
sea breeze.
Retired CIA officer and diplomat Peter Atkins, who before was
having misgivings when Clement Coulther called him over for coffee at his home
overlooking the calm waters of Morris Canal, now thought it was a good day too.
As he took a sip from his cup of coffee and bit on the croissant in his left
hand, he thought there was no reason to harbor regrets for driving all the way
from Newark. His friend had treated him to a sumptuous English breakfast of
poached eggs, sausage, and cheese, graced with salad and mandarin. When his
friend’s son Vincent-Dieudonné served them with freshly baked croissants
afterwards, he knew the family was making his day.
The young man felt at
ease calling him Uncle Steve and they even bonded a lot better than the
relationship he was having with his own sons. The fact that the young man
referred to him everywhere as his godfather warmed Peter Atkins’s heart
enormously.
Peter Atkins
remembered the day Vincent-Dieudonné and his parents—Clement Coulther and Delphine—arrived
at the US embassy in Cameroon. He had recoiled at the affection his American
compatriot showered on the young African woman and her son. But it was the
boy’s smile at him that turned everything around—it was the warmest smile he
had ever received from a child—prompting him to tickle his cheek.
Vincent-Dieudonné’s laughter from the tickle had placed the child in a special
spot in his heart in such a way that he made it a point afterwards to always
check on the family each time he flew back home from abroad or from a vacation.
He was glad when the Coulther parents asked him to become Vincent-Dieudonné’s
godfather. He even made sure thereafter that Vincent-Dieudonné and his two
younger brothers got to know his own two sons to the point of becoming very
close friends.
Therefore, the fact that Vincent-Dieudonné matured into a
fine young man who took his studies seriously and became an A-plus
medical-student in his final year at the University of Medicine & Dentistry
of New Jersey, made him proud that he stuck his neck out for the family back in
Cameroon when insecurity was a major problem as the government of the newly
independent country and its French backers battled the UPC partisan movement.
Peter Atkins smiled at
the view of Liberty State Park. It was so picturesque that he even fancied
himself buying a home nearby.
The smile was still on his face when he looked up from his
cup of coffee to find the approaching Clement Coulther, as he walked back to
the porch and settled again in his seat.
“It is from Ryan again. He had the guts to interrupt our
wonderful discussion with that stupid phone call.”
“What did he want? They are always asking for something.”
“Money! What else? It is about two weeks ago that I gave him
more than enough money for his needs.”
“Our kids! He is a lot like you in so many ways.”
“Huh!” he grunted, “The price for a day’s horniness.”
“Uh-huh!”
“The spendthrift wants to go to France this summer and could
be getting his way with it.”
“You said he hasn’t worked all year.”
Clement chortled. “He
sure knows how to get his way around the money problem. Michel offered to pay
for his flight tickets. I wonder what else he promised the sleazy fellow.”
“Leave the boys alone. They are bonding in their own way.
Besides, Ryan still has to learn to live with the person in his skin. He is
smart, energetic, and full of ideas. Knowing the world is another way of
finding his bearing in life. Just like you, my dear friend.”
“I didn’t find my way with somebody else footing the bills.”
“By the way, how is Michel doing?”
“He is done with his third divorce and preening himself for a
fourth marriage. His fiancée is German.”
“An unusual development, I would say.”
Clement nodded. “My
boy is trying to come to terms with his heritage. He told me he is even considering
picking up German citizenship as well. He plans to introduce her to the family
on Thanksgiving.”
“I am proud of you, my friend. You did a brilliant thing when
you brought him to America. That change of environment helped him build his
self-esteem and develop his love for languages, to the point where he is the
polyglot and engaging businessman he is today.”
“I should have embraced him fully as my son a lot earlier. I
was almost too late.”
“You did it when you were ready. How many Americans do you know
who adopted children fathered by Nazi soldiers that were born to French
mothers?”
“His father was a patriot just like us, or so says Michel’s
mother. It doesn’t matter that he was a German patriot.”
“What the heck!”
Clement nodded. “Now,
you were about to tell me something about Cameroon.”
Peter Atkins thought
about it for a moment and then tilted his
head a little. "Huh! I did. I certainly did. Not much to say about it,
though. We got covert information from Cameroon about elusive killers purported
to be working for the underground opposition. It appears they are responsible
for the garroting and throat-slitting deaths of two Cameroonian agents two
weeks ago.”
A strange expression of thoughtful reflection suddenly
appeared on Clement Coulther’s face. The nature of Pierre Ducros’ death still
puzzled him. His killer slashed his throat after garroting him to death. René
Roccard was shot by an unknown gunman the next day. So, when Vincent-Dieudonné
told him a week later that he met a Cameroonian at an African party in
Marseille who gladly treated him like a long-lost relative and confided in him
that he, Clement Coulther, had saved his life in Cameroon, his mind had gone
back to Gavin. That piece of information stirred so many questions and doubts
in his mind.
As he darted a look at
the puzzled face of Peter Atkins, Clement Coulther knew he dared not voice his
far-fetched suspicions. He did not want to even imagine that the bright-eyed
kid he rescued from the hands of an overzealous French lieutenant colonel could
become a killer whose activities straddled two continents.
“That country appears doomed to eternal deception until God knows when,” Clement Coulther said and
heaved a sigh.
“Uh-huh!”
“Now, we were talking about the new congress and how
President Bush differs with Reagan over the handling of relations with the
Soviet Union,” Clement drawled.
Peter Atkins started
speaking, but Clement Coulther’s mind was elsewhere, as he grappled with the
question of Cameroon, the inconclusive war against its inclusive nationalism
and his suspicions about the little boy he had not been able to trace for close
to thirty years.
No comments:
Post a Comment