2014 Year of the Horse

  “That’s an interesting idea,” Wesley replied. “As long as we keep it simple with a limited number of codes I think it would work. Perhaps we need to have an emergency number so that texts can also be sent if there is a need for speed.”

  The room stirred as if awakening. Brady’s voice had lulled them and most could not recall what he’d said. They waited while Brady thought.

  “What about using code names as well? Something like ‘Emery Redpath’ for emergencies and ‘Norm Greenway’ for ordinary stuff? It would be a simple matter for everyone to load those names and numbers into their contacts. We could also extend the codes further incorporating the colours red and green. Yes! I can see a whole lot of possible applications. I’ll do some research into WW2 methods, things like newspaper ads and news releases. They’ll be quicker than snail mail when time is vital for us. I think it’s important not to rely on just one methodology-”

  “We could occasionally use Facebook or blog sites instead of ads. Quicker than waiting for the newspaper.”

  Brady looked at the speaker and grinned.

  “Good point. That’s also worth investigating.”

  Wesley put the motion that risk management be Brady’s responsibility.

  “Those in favour?”

  Murmurs of approval, heads nodded and here and there a hand was raised.

  “Those against?”

  There were no votes to the contrary and no further suggestions. By the end of the day all the agenda items had been debated and Hanna had recorded their decisions. Back in his office Wesley reflected on progress. He had surrounded himself with the right people, he thought with satisfaction. Brady was the perfect deputy, invaluable and resourceful while the inner circle encouraged and supported them both. Momentarily he saw himself as a puppeteer, his hands manipulating an increasing number of strings, an invisible army biding their time for the moment when time and events ... He shook his head; better not count his chickens too soon.

  He made a mental note to add Redpath and Greenway to the staff and payroll. He pondered the necessary details. It would be easy to open accounts at different South American Banks and arrange to pay their salaries. Internet banking was a breeze and the transfers could be buried amongst numerous others. Once set up he could forget about them. A new thought flitted into his mind. Perhaps he needed ID? The answer sprang into his mind. He’d order a passport, no two passports; one for Redpath and one for Greenway. It should be easy to arrange and it would protect Brady’s plans, he told himself. No-one need know. Maybe the funds might be useful one day, but this was a line of thought he did not want to consider or explore and he turned his attention back to his report.

  Down the corridor the mellow jazz of the Oscar Peterson Trio filled Brady’s office. As the music washed over him, Brady relaxed and considered the day’s resolution. The decisions suited him, especially the risk management issue and he relished the sense of intrigue which the thought of secret codes and covert systems gave him. He’d be ready, he promised himself, when it mattered. Wesley was such a dreamer, he thought dismissively. He might be able to see solutions where others only saw problems but he didn’t have the backbone to see things through and make the hard decisions. Wesley needed him, needed his street smarts and his cunning but Brady was determined not to be a pawn in anyone else’s game. For an instant ruthless ambition twisted his face into unfamiliar lines then his mask dropped again. No-one, he thought with buoyant confidence, would be able to infiltrate or expose them once he’d finished.

  “CEO Touches Hearts and Opens Wallets.

  Washington Courier August 2010

  Last evening ESAP’s charismatic CEO Wesley Smithson spoke to a capacity audience about the desperate needs in Africa. His polished presentation received a standing ovation and judging by the comments our reporter overheard this will translate into new supporters for the organisation.

  In 2003 ESAP established its first projects in the most neglected areas of the African continent. These initial projects were successful and in 2008 ESAP responded to local requests to establish its first Regional Educational Institutes.

  Mr Smithson reported that applications far outnumber the places available. Money raised from Mr Smithson presentations goes towards funding additional placements and providing subsidies for students.

  The aim of the Institutes is to produce suitably qualified graduates who will dedicate themselves to raising living standards in their homelands. The first graduates have already provided evidence that these projects are successful.

  This is a charity organisation which is making a difference. We applaud his efforts and wish Mr Smithson continued success in his ventures ... ”

  CHAPTER 9

  Wesley closed his folder. Silence filled the large auditorium. He stood without moving, his face calm and expectant, waiting. His heart rate settled after the adrenalin high of his performance. Time seemed elastic and he could feel its rhythm thinning, stretching. The spell lasted for a moment longer. Just as he felt a wave of foreboding threaten to crash, the audience rose to its feet and their roar of applause and approval drowned the hush and washed over him. Their ovation sustained his self-belief and sense of divine calling. In that instant he was always conscious that he walked in the footsteps of the prophets.

  He remembered the missionaries and pastors of his youth, thundering from the pulpit and he knew that he had the advantage. Unlike his predecessors who had little understanding of what made a sermon successful, he knew exactly. Not for him the primitive technologies of grainy and out of focus slideshows or a few rough trinkets to woo his listeners. His advisers had studied audience psychology and knew how to use high-tech effects to enhance his credibility. This was the age of technology and mass media and he loved being part of it.

  Along the aisles ushers moved to their predetermined places. Wesley waited for the euphoria to fade then gestured for the audience to sit down. When everything was calm again, he walked away from the lectern to stand in the middle of the stage. Earlier they’d glimpsed a prophet inspired by an all-consuming revelation now they saw a figure, alone on an empty stage and their hearts responded to his humanity. Here stood a man like them.

  “Thank you for listening and identifying with the vision I have a burden to share with America. This vision remains unattainable unless you and others like you make it yours. Without your backing I can do little and my words are scattered sounds so if my message has touched you, you may wish to become a partner in our fight against oppression and poverty; a partner in our stand for all that is good and right and true.” Wesley paused. He knew to capitalize on the potential within the silence. “The ushers will be passing around donation buckets and you may wish to assist our cause by emptying your pockets.”

  Laughter rippled as Wesley mimed the process of turning his pockets inside out, finding them empty and raising his arms in a shrug. The audience was oblivious to the subtle changes occurring on stage. The skilled lighting and sound technicians enhanced Wesley’s stage charisma, spotlights changed in colour and intensity as did the subtle backing tracks.

  “Don’t feel discouraged if your pockets are as empty as mine, you can still partner us. The ushers are also passing out membership application forms and pledge cards which you can complete now and drop into the buckets or take them home and mail them back to us using the attached prepaid envelope. Alternatively you can log onto our website and use our on-line registration form. There are several terminals available in the reception hall for your immediate use tonight. One of our staff members will be on hand to assist those who wish to avail themselves of this opportunity. We truly value every donation regardless of size and those who feel moved to a deeper commitment can elect to become a ‘Poverty Buster’. It’s easy, just set up a regular payment from your bank account to ours.

  “PB’s are our lifeblood. They receive regular updates from our projects around the world and as they learn more about our work, PB’s become ambassadors and advocates helping us to reach
those who would otherwise never know about this vital work. Our objective is a better world for those living in dire poverty while at the same time we are working to ensure that our grandchildren, yours and mine, will have a storehouse of goodwill. America will need this if it wishes to influence the future.”

  Again Wesley paused allowing his message to sink in; aware they were hanging onto every word. “I assure you that ESAP is ever mindful of the future and every project is thoroughly monitored. Your money is carefully allocated and spent to ensure the best return. You can partner us knowing that we are fully committed to achieving a better, brighter future for all peoples. Fellow Americans, fellow citizens, friends will you work beside me to make this happen?” Sounds of agreement and encouragement filled Wesley’s pause. “Thank you for coming … thank you for listening … thank you for acting.”

  Again the applause swelled, intermingled with the dull sound of coins falling into the plastic buckets and muted voices as here and there friends encouraged each other to complete the forms. Wesley waited patiently on the stage. When he sensed that the moment was right he raised his arms as if in blessing. The lighting technicians dimmed the spotlight slightly changing the hue and the soft background music soared triumphantly. In the process Wesley seemed to float above the dark floor radiating warmth and light.

  When the ushers had collected the buckets the lights were turned off and an intense blackness fell. The stage was empty as one by one the words ‘Economic’ ‘Solutions’ ‘Alleviating’ ‘Poverty’ flashed up before the ESAP logo replaced them glittering brightly on the backdrop. Ten seconds later the house lights came on, people rose and conversations swelled as the auditorium slowly emptied.

  Well-wishers, staff and fans thronged the backstage area to congratulate Wesley. At the end of every presentation there were always several prosperous and influential individuals who wished to be seen supporting ESAP’s good works, who wished to be linked to Wesley’s rising star. They thought they were hardnosed and not easily fooled, yet under Wesley’s spell, they responded enthusiastically. Wesley mingled, stopping to speak with as many as he could. It seemed that he made no distinction between rich or poor, powerful or simple folks but as trained, his staff identified the movers and shakers and unobtrusively ensured that Wesley met each of them, laying the foundation for future alliances.

  Face to face Wesley was at his charismatic best. His warm and unassuming manner enhanced his magnetism, beguiling all privileged to share a moment of his time. Few forgot the intensity of his gaze or the colour of his eyes.

  The next day the analysis would begin. Video footage of his performance and the audience reactions would be compared to previous events and the takings evaluated. They had discovered that private and public perceptions were not necessarily the same. Strategically placed microphones recorded personal conversations as people left the auditorium and relevant comments were compared to the evaluation sheet responses. It might be illegal but it was their secret weapon in the fight to stay on top.

  CHAPTER 10

  Hanna was responsible for maintaining their website. ESAP had a web page, a Facebook presence and a following on Twitter. She posted links to articles in the media, reports of success, interviews with management and internally generated propaganda. As she browsed the headlines and links she was always encouraged knowing that she was part of such an inspiring organisation, an organisation with such influence. It made her proud. Especially, she enjoyed recording the successes of their graduates.

  It had become fashionable for corporate businesses to take on an occasional third world employee and Wesley found ways to ensure that his Defenders received priority consideration. Businesses quickly learned that Wesley’s recommendations could be relied on. Once appointed, they proved loyal, hard working and talented. Driven to outperform their colleagues, they were promoted to positions of influence and trusted with responsibility.

  She tapped a short staccato beat on the glass with her finger nails. Wesley looked up, over his computer screen and smiled at her. She waved the bundle of letters in the air and opened the door as he signalled for her to enter.

  “Morning Wesley. I’ve just collected today’s mail for you.”

  “Thanks Hanna. How are you today? How’s the family?”

  This was the Wesley she admired. She felt disarmed by his deep voice and warm smile. He’d been growing a beard and it suited him, she thought. He looks more like Jesus every day. It never occurred to her that Jesus might not have had blue eyes. Every illustration she’d seen in Africa had shown a white Jesus.

  “Everyone’s fine thanks Wesley. Niger leaves for Africa on the tenth. He’ll be gone for two weeks. He’s keen to catch up with the team in Mali. The books he translated have been printed and it will be a big event when he hands these over to the school students.” Wistfully she added, “I can’t wait for him to come back and tell me all the news.”

  Given the chance Hanna would have loved to return with her husband but she knew that she had no option but to keep within the safe confines of her everyday routines. If she wanted to remain in the USA she had to obey the rules; stay out of trouble, disappear in the crowded streets and avoid the attention of prying officials.

  “That’s great. ESAP’s very fortunate to have you and Niger working with us. We don’t take it for granted I can assure you.” The warmth of his smile coloured his words with conviction and he saw that they had touched her. He allowed his smile to linger on her a little longer then glanced down at the letters she had put on his desk. “Thanks for the mail Hanna.”

  He watched as she turned. Her skirt of jungle greens and browns swayed gently as she walked away and closed the door behind her. He knew that she was vulnerable. Many times ESAP had submitted proposals and reports calling for a more lenient attitude to refugees only to be overruled by vested interests. An involuntary sigh escaped. He would miss her if the authorities ever registered her existence and demanded to see her papers but he’d face that when it happened. Wasn’t it Mark Twain who said, there’s no point in wasting time worrying, it might never happen? Maybe not exactly in those words.

  His father could quote Mark Twain verbatim. Down to earth common sense, Charles Smithson would say and his mother Grace would quietly add a similar verse from the Bible, like the one about the lilies of the field. With a smile on his face Wesley turned his attention to the mail and shuffled through the envelopes sorting them into neat piles. A postcard, almost lost between two larger envelopes caught his attention. He took a deep breath and sat back, holding it before him all thoughts of Hanna forgotten. It was an unremarkable card, probably sold at any number of market outlets along the tourist route and he turned it over slowly.

  ‘Greetings my friend, Allah willing, our cricket team will be victorious. A new star has risen in the south so our hopes are high. Amed.’

  He’d been waiting for that card with its coded message. He felt an unexpected thrill to be holding hard evidence that things were starting to happen.

  He forced himself to finish sorting the mail then he took the card across to Brady’s office keen to share his excitement. To his disappointment the room was empty, the only sign of life the fish swimming in the corner tank. He shrugged to himself, hesitated then placed the postcard in the middle of the large desk pad and retraced his steps.

  When Brady returned to his office he immediately recognised the photo and picked it up. He turned it over, noted the Pakistani stamp and grinned with satisfaction. The message read, he added it to the pin board behind his desk. One day the novelty might pale but not yet.

  Later that day Wesley retraced his steps. Even before he reached Brady’s office he could hear the raw emotive growl of James Brown. There was no doubting that Brady was in. He tapped lightly on the open door and smiled self-consciously as he lowered himself into one of the armchairs. The sharp tang of peppermint reached his nose. Brady lounged behind an imposing desk in his equally grand computer chair. A slender black and white patterned lapto
p had replaced the postcard and within reach his kudu leather Filo-diary and the bespoke cedar tray holding his collection of Montblanc pens. The items were perfectly aligned with the edges of the desk. Photos of children from ESAP’s various projects watched them wide-eyed from the side wall.

  Brady reached for the remote and James Brown fell silent, replaced by the murmuring throb of the water pump as it forced bubbles of air from the tiny diver hiding amongst the water plants. The tall fish tank in the corner was bright with tropical fish. Some sashayed past the glass wall and others darted nervously through the miniature sunken ruins. For a brief moment both men watched the fish; black and white angels, sleek swordtails, platys and spotted gouramis all avoiding the bright red betta which flamboyantly displayed its beautiful fins and tail at every pass, then Wesley allowed his glance to fall on the pin board hanging on the wall behind the desk. In the centre was their inspiration, a copy of the Robert Frost poem ‘The Road Less Travelled’ surrounded by several colourful postcards.

  Brady, aware of his glance and the purpose of his visit, smirked. “Thanks for the card Wes.”

  Wesley scratched his chin. His growing beard was itchy.