When he texted Helena again and received no reply, he tossed the phone onto the precisely made king-size bed and stood in the middle of the floor wondering if he was in a dream. A bad one.

TWENTY-ONE

February 17, Washington, DC

Three days after Gordon had left, Derek received an email from him.

Derek—

No doubt you’re worried sick about me. I wanted to let you know I’m doing okay—no, better than that because I met up with Helena and we’re having a wonderful time getting to know each other. Don’t have a picture yet, but I’ll send one soon! Don’t worry about anything. It’s working out fine. I’m at the Kempinski Hotel in Accra, which is first class. I’ve put you on WhatsApp, which everyone uses here, so download it and then we can send each other messages.

Dad

Gordon had included his phone number in Ghana. Unconvinced by his father’s anemic reassurance, Derek read the message again. The email glossed over the details, like varnish over blemished wood. A wonderful time getting to know each other? He didn’t have a picture “yet?”

Derek tried the phone number. It rang several times and cut off with a prim, British-accented woman letting Derek know that the number he was trying to reach was not available and he should please try again later.

Next, Derek called Cas, who didn’t answer but got back ten minutes later. “What’s going on?”

“Dad emailed me, said he was doing fine and had met the wonderful lady or whatever.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Cas said.

“I don’t believe it,” Derek said. “The message sounds fishy, like he hasn’t really met Helena and is either playing for time or too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Oh,” Cas said, with little inflection. “Well, can you send his WhatsApp contact number to me? I’ll try calling and texting him as well.”

“Thank you, Cas.”

Derek Googled “American in Ghana,” and “Gordon Tilson, Ghana,” checking for a chance news item. Nothing came up, but by serendipity, Derek found himself reading descriptions of the different types of online scams. A common theme chilled him: the number of otherwise intelligent, rational Americans and Europeans who fell for them. A retiree from Maryland spent almost all her life savings on a supposedly stranded Iraq war vet. A guy in New York fell for a scheme to buy gold ingots in Ghana, only to find himself robbed of his money and no gold to show for it.

Derek discovered something else: a bizarre phenomenon called sakawa—the use of magical powers to achieve high success in the con business. Sakawa involved going through an intermediary like a traditional priest who might prescribe bizarre, even revolting, rituals to achieve the desired goal. Derek’s lip curled as he read about the panoply of human and animal body parts used as sacrificial offerings to the gods, and in one case, a bloodstained rag from a traumatically penetrated virgin. Fucking crazy nonsense, Derek thought. At the same time, the claim that even normally smart, logical people could not resist the power of sakawa struck him. The irony was not lost because here was Gordon falling for something Derek would never have expected him to.