Unsurprisingly in such an environment, Derek had to surrender his phone on entry, pass through a metal detector, get a pat down, and sign in at reception before proceeding. As Derek entered the heart of the building, which was deliciously chilled to US standards, he had a sudden twinge of home pride and felt a little embarrassed. He didn’t want to be a rah-rah American.

A security guard showed Derek to a waiting room full of people of all shapes, shades, and sizes, many of whom, Derek guessed, were seeking the coveted American entry visa. After some twenty minutes, an attendant called his name and Derek followed him down the brightly lit hall to a door bearing Rachel Jones’s name on a polished, brass plate. The attendant knocked, waved Derek in and then left. A diminutive, fiftyish, bespectacled white woman in a cream-colored pantsuit stood up from her desk and thrust out her hand.

“Welcome, Mr. Tilson. I’m Rachel Jones.” She indicated a couple of chairs off to the side and they sat opposite each other. She crossed her stubby legs. “This is regarding your father, is that right, Mr. Tilson?”

“Correct. ‘Derek’ is fine.”

She smiled. “Then you may call me ‘Rachel’ in return. I’m assuming that since you’ve been in Ghana you’ve had no word on where he is?”

“None.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. When did you arrive in Accra?”

“May second, about three weeks ago. I’m staying at the African Regent.”

Derek explained to Rachel his fruitless dealings with the police and his decision to go with a private detective agency. He saw concern flit over her expression.

“Be careful with that,” she cautioned. “Some of these Ghanaian PI outfits are fraudulent. You might pay them a lot of money and end up with nothing at all in return.”

“I hear you,” Derek said. “The agency I’ve hired is vetted by an international organization. But I appreciate your warning me. I’m curious about exactly what my father said when he came to the embassy. I mean, what was the purpose of his visit?”

She nodded. “Your father did visit the embassy in late February. I spoke to him in this very office and took a report about his experience with this scam. I sensed he was deeply hurt and angry. Unfortunately, these cruel online cons aren’t uncommon, and I’m sorry we could not help your father to the extent of his expectations.”

“Oh? What was he expecting?”

“He wanted us to take action to address the prevalence of these scams, as in apply pressure on the police and the Ghana government to clamp down on this criminal activity. I’m sure you understand we can’t do that. We’re not in the business of law enforcement—especially not as guests in a sovereign nation such as Ghana. Furthermore, he wanted our FBI Legat to—”

“Sorry, what was that?” Derek interjected. “The FBI what?”