Forced Out of Nassau

Forced Out of Nassau

Based on true events. Names have been changed appropriately.


Near the end of my second year working for the Ministry of Works in Nassau, I transferred my junior engineer, Tom, to another department during a reorganization. When he threw a fit, I wondered if he felt unfairly targeted or worried about his reputation. His volatile temper caused everyone to avoid him. His desk overflowed with paperwork. I searched his pile occasionally, but nothing stood out. When he begged to stay, I let him return to the Drainage Section for a few projects, thinking this would calm him.
A week later, Annie called. “Five undercover officers came looking for you.”
I snapped to full alert. “What did they want?”
“They wouldn’t say. I sent them to your office.”
“Thanks for the warning. See you tonight.”
I patiently waited for them to arrive. Besides, there was no place to hide on an island. Soon, five officers in red uniforms marched into the MOW building, their boots thunderous on the floor, and entered my office. My coworkers stared, faces drained with shock.
They crowded into my office, closed the door, and announced they were from the Drug Enforcement Unit. I relaxed—there was no drug involvement. When the leader stepped close to interrogate me, his breath gagged me.
“I’m Sergeant Grant. What’s your name?” he asked.
“Gordon England,” I replied calmly.
He followed with a series of questions.
“Where were you born? How long have you been here? What do you do?”
Being a mid-ranking government official, I wasn’t about to be bullied.
After a few minutes of question and answer, I took the offensive, spread my shoulders, and asked, “What do you assume I’ve been doing? Do you think I’m a user, buyer, seller, or what?”
“We’re investigating you.”
“What for?”
“You know who we are. That tells you everything.”
That told me nothing, except they were fishing.
Laughing, I threw up my hands. “Search me, my house, boat, car, cat, and wife. You won’t find any drugs.”
Seeing no fear in my face, they retreated to a corner for a guarded discussion.
Grant turned to me and asked, “Is there a disgruntled employee here who would turn in a false complaint against you?”
A lightbulb went off.
I smiled, “It could be Tom, across the hall.”
They opened my door and looked at Tom in his cubicle. Silence descended upon the office. Tom lowered his head, refusing to look the officers in the eye.
“We’ll look into this and get back to you.”
The officers left. Word spread, drawing curious people to our area. I walked two floors up to the Permanent Secretary and reported the incident. She became livid that the police entered without her permission. Every organization needs a protector, and PS Bernard was mine.
“They were supposed to come through me first,” she insisted. “This is blatant intimidation, not an official investigation. I’ll put an end to it. Go home and take care of Annie. I’ll call the Commodore of the Defense Force and the Police Commissioner to apprise them of this situation. I’ll let you know how to move ahead.”
Later that evening, after the tense day ended, Annie was in the bedroom when I arrived home.
She asked, “What was that about?”
I explained, then said, “We’re going to the embassy.”
“This is getting out of hand.”
“I know. Let’s see what they tell us. I don’t trust any Bahamians now.”
I wrote a detailed description of the incident. Then we went to the US Embassy and submitted my report to the Head of Security.
“This is awful,” he said. “They can’t do this to you. I’ll have the Ambassador file a complaint and attempt to resolve this issue. We’ll increase security patrols in your neighborhood, but we cannot take any official action. I’ll talk to the DEU to see what’s happening and get back to you.”
That night, as we tried to unwind, we drank rum by our pool while phone calls rolled in from embarrassed and apologetic bosses and the DEU Superintendent.
A few hours later, the PS called. “Go to the Police Commissioner’s office tomorrow morning at seven o’clock. They expect you to file a complaint against those five officers.”
“Yes, ma’am, thank you.”
I hung up my phone and turned to Annie. “You won’t believe this. The PS told me to file a harassment complaint against the police department.”
Annie blanched, “This is serious.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“Where is this going?”
“This is uncharted territory,” I said. “I have faith the PS will take care of us.”
The following day came sooner than I’d hoped. That morning, I met with the Police Commissioner, Assistant Commissioner, and the head of the Criminal Investigation Division. Wearing my government badge, I held my head high and looked indignant as I replayed the previous day’s events. Then I handed them a copy of the report I had submitted to the embassy.
With surprising sincerity, the Commissioner told me, “You’re an American visitor helping our country. Your PS called me and spoke highly of you, Mr. England. We’re very sorry about what happened to you and your wife. Those officers were not working in any official capacity. I hope you understand we don’t operate like them. You are not under investigation and should not be going through this. Do you want to file a complaint?”
I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes, I do.”
We spent thirty minutes filling out paperwork to file a formal complaint against the DEU for illegal harassment.
When we finished, the Commissioner said, “We’ll stop any more problems. A full investigation has already begun.”
“Do you think that attack on Annie last week was part of this?”
“Probably so,” he said with a firm mouth and left the room.
Annie fell into despair. Nightmares kept her awake. Mace and a cell phone stayed within reach. Her routine ended; she was afraid to leave home. I often came home for lunch to cheer her up. Each night, we gathered with Carol for wine, discussed the day, and watched for any unfamiliar people in the vicinity.
A few days later, my boss instructed me to visit the DEU office to meet Detective Butler. After sharing my story with him, he wrote a detailed report for my signature.
“Why did your fellows roust me?” I asked.
“They responded to an anonymous complaint that you were a drug dealer. Somebody coerced them into harassing you. I am very sorry this situation occurred. Your PS speaks highly of the help you are giving to our country. We’re going to sort this out.”
“Tom might be behind these problems. He’s been angry since I transferred him to another department. After looking at his contracts, I felt something was wrong with the paperwork.”
“We’ll investigate him, though we should be careful because Tom has friends in high places. Keep an eye out; there may be more attempts to harass you, possibly with planted drugs. I’ll have officers patrol your house.”
***
On August 1st, Tropical Storm Chris formed in the southern Bahamas. I had planned to visit my daughter, Melinda, in Florida on Sunday, but it was forecast to hit Nassau on Monday. I flew to Orlando on Friday to avoid the storm. By Sunday, I was relaxed at Melinda’s place.
She smiled, “Dad, look at the TV. That hurricane fell apart, but it gave us two extra days together. I haven’t seen you much since you left the States, so this trip worked well.”
“I miss you, too. The islands are beautiful, but we get homesick. It’s harder living down there than in the States. The police have been bothering us because someone at the Ministry doesn’t like me.”
“Are you going to be okay?”
“Yeah, not to worry. My bosses look after me.”
An hour later, I received a frantic cell phone call from Annie. “Gordon, different police from the Criminal Investigation Department were at our gate. Darcy and I checked their credentials, then let them in.”
“What did they want?”
They wanted you, so I told them you were off the island. They asked if you had a nickname of "Snow" and wanted to search your jeep for a reported shotgun. Instead of checking inside, they examined your spare tire and found a bag of marijuana. When the officer held up the bag, I asked him to handle it carefully for fingerprints. He just stared, then smeared the bag with his own prints. Darcy and I think they planted the dope.
“Oh man, this is not good.”
Her voice trembled. “The police threatened to arrest me. I opened my shirt to show my swimsuit and said, ‘Arrest me and take me to your third-world jail with mud floors and rats. First, give me your badge numbers.’ They let me write them down, and then repeated that they wanted to arrest you, but I convinced them you were off the island. Unsure, they left.” She sobbed. “What should I do? Why won’t they leave us alone? Why is this happening? I wish you were here.”
“Annie, you are so brave. Here are the cell phone numbers of the Police Commissioner, PS Bernard, and the US Embassy. Call them right now and keep me updated.”
I gave her the numbers, then walked outside, pacing Stephanie’s yard.
She followed me and asked, “Dad, what’s happening?”
When I explained my predicament to her, she blanched. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m helpless, but I know the PS will try to take care of her. So far, she can’t seem to stop this harassment.”
Thirty minutes later, Annie called again. “I talked to PS Bernard, and she was furious. She called the Commissioner, and he’s sending Detective Butler. My boss, Howard, is on the way, too. He’s an expat and understands my situation.”
“What about the CID police? Are they still there?”
“No, but I got their names and badge numbers.”
“Stay strong. Help will be there soon. I love you.”
Stephanie and I were nervous wrecks that evening as we waited for further word from Annie. She finally called at 10 o’clock. Her scratchy voice and shallow breathing showed her exhaustion.
“Gordon, I wish you were here.”
She was tired of being brave without me to help her.
“Tell me what happened,” I said, my voice filled with concern.
“The Assistant Police Commissioner came here and isolated me upstairs for questioning. It felt like an interrogation. Detective Butler arrived to take Darcy’s written statement, then questioned me. He was furious at the police who had left earlier.”
“All this time?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me about it.”
Her voice trembled. “Butler was nice and let Howard watch. I was so upset. When he told me to sit and calm down, I asked, ‘How am I supposed to calm down? Police are all over my house, accusing Gordon of being a drug dealer. He’s no more of a drug dealer than you are. I don’t want to sit down.” I told him my side of the story and gave him the CID Officer badge numbers. He spent two hours writing a laborious statement for me to sign. He was very understanding and said he worried this might happen again.”
“Go on.”
“The Detective said the Police Commissioner was worried about my situation. I told him, ‘Not as distressed as me.’”
“They’re going to launch a full investigation. The Detective put a guard in our driveway tonight after everyone left. I’m glad Howard was here. We ex-pats must hang together.”
Talking about her day relaxed her.
“They’re a big help. You shouldn’t be alone. Why don’t you stay at Carol’s tonight?”
“Good idea. I’ll go over there, but I’d rather you were here.”
“I know. I am helpless. I should be with you, but I’m across the ocean. Try to get some sleep. I’ll talk to the PS again to get her advice. I love you, sweetheart.”
“I love you, too.”
At 10:30, PS Bernard called. “Mr. England, this doesn’t look good. Someone is out to get you, and we can’t guarantee your safety. I don’t think you should return to Nassau for a while until we sort this out. Maybe later, things will cool down. We’ll patrol your house to protect Annie until you get her out. I’m truly sorry about this situation.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bernard, for everything you’ve done for us. I appreciate your honesty with me. I’ll work on bringing Annie back to Florida.”
The next day, I called Annie. “PS Bernard said I shouldn’t come back. It seems our time on the islands has come to an end. I wish I could be there to hold you.”
“I wish you were here also,” Annie replied with a shaking voice. “I’m afraid and exhausted.”
“I know. You’ll have to stay strong. You would struggle to get me out of jail if I were there. Lock the place tight at night. Put knives and mace beside your bed and turn on the outside lights. The police will patrol, and Carol is next door. Call me if you need to. I’ll have somebody come down there to help you get out as soon as possible.”
I tossed and turned all night, replaying the phone calls in my mind. I felt awful that Annie was going through hell while I was helpless in Florida. A voice from a little plastic box was my only contact with Annie’s reality. I wanted to be there to fight whoever was doing this to us, but all I could do was look at the phone and hear Annie’s story.
Good luck, and a hurricane’s feint had pulled me away from Nassau two days early, keeping me out of jail. Should I go back? Or stay in Florida while Annie tried to move our possessions herself? What about our cars and boat? Could Annie take care of them? We had thousands of dollars in utility and rent deposits, as well as money in Bahamian and American dollar bank accounts. Annie couldn’t close those accounts out because they were in my name. Who could we trust to pack our possessions? A moving man might be Tom’s cousin. He would load our belongings and disappear with them. Could he pass our belongings through the awful headache of customs inspections if he were a real mover? I remembered how difficult it had been when we moved to Nassau. What would that cost? Could I sneak back to The Bahamas? One call from someone’s cousin to Immigration, and they’d arrest me as soon as I landed. I might fly into the Abacos and rent a boat to sneak into Nassau. What was I thinking? I wasn’t James Bond. I’d be thrown into some god-awful prison. What the hell was I going to do? These problems didn’t happen to ordinary people. Sleep was elusive as I struggled to plan Annie’s rescue.
The next day, I called Annie’s sister, Joyce. “We have a big problem.”
“Oh no, what is it?”
After telling her our story, I said, “Annie needs help to leave Nassau. The Bahamian government won’t be much assistance. The US Embassy will do as much as possible to assist, but the primary responsibility will be on Annie to pack and move. You’ve been to Nassau before and know your way around. I need a huge favor.”
“Sure.”
“Would you fly down tomorrow and help Annie leave Nassau?”
“This is terrible! Of course, I’ll go. How’s she doing?”
“Thank you, thank you. I can’t do anything from here. Annie’s terrified but unhurt. I have faith you’ll help her. I’ll make your flight arrangements.”
With nowhere else to go, I left Stephanie the next day and moved back into our condo in Cocoa Beach. My only possessions were my laptop and three days' worth of clothes.
The following day, Joyce flew to Nassau to rescue Annie. They began the grueling logistics of moving between countries. Our embassy recommended a legitimate mover to take our belongings through Bahamian and US Customs and Immigration, then load them on a barge and ship them to Cocoa Beach. Predictably, the movers required a cash payment in advance before scheduling our work, with a two-week lead time. The paperwork for Customs was endless. Annie had to label all boxes with every inside item, its value, and the country of origin. Once the moving barge reached Miami, there would be another two-week delay for our belongings to clear US Customs before being delivered to Cocoa Beach. Annie would need to pack enough clothes and essentials for both of us in her four-suitcase plane limit and box the rest for the movers. I remembered the six-week delay we experienced when moving our household to Nassau in 2004, which was caused by the hurricanes Francis and Jeanne that delayed shipping. I hoped it would be easier this time.
The next night, Carol’s gas tank cap was missing. The next three nights, Annie’s car alarm rang after midnight. No one else in our compound was sleeping well, either. After four nights of harassment, I called PS Bernard again.
“I’m so grateful for your help. Unfortunately, we have not seen any police over the last week. I am disappointed with the lack of protection Annie has received.”
She growled, “Let me check into this.”
The police did not show up, and mysterious cars drove around Annie’s compound at night. She hired a bodyguard recommended by our embassy for nighttime protection. He patrolled our yards and streets for the next twelve nights, running off suspicious men and cars. Two nights later, Bahamian police started surveillance of our house. They came by five times a day to check on Annie. US Embassy security personnel also patrolled regularly, providing her with much-needed comfort.
A few days later, Annie called me.
“The Police Commissioner told me not to let any policemen inside the house without checking their badges. He couldn’t control his men. They might plant drugs in our house like they did in your car. He said I should move out of The Bahamas as soon as possible. Thank God for Xanax.”
“Please get on a plane tomorrow and come home? If you stay there long enough, something bad will happen again.”
“We have been over this. What do you want me to do about our cars, boat, bank accounts, and household items? Thieves will take everything as soon as I’m gone. I’m giving a lot of things to my maid and neighbors. Besides, it’ll take me a couple of weeks to get shots and permits for Lucy Belle to leave the island. I’m not returning without her, so stop asking me to leave sooner.”
“Okay. Call Doc. See if he’ll take our boat and keep it at his house. He already said he would sell it for us. There’s no one else I can trust to sell that boat and hold the money for us. Carol will watch our cars until I find buyers. Just hurry up and come home. My nerves can’t get any tighter.”
“You think your nerves are a wreck? You don’t know the half of it. We’re so paranoid that we won’t leave the house. Joyce has been helping me organize and pack my belongings. Last night she reached her wall. She packed at midnight, and Carol took her to the airport. Joyce spent the night in the terminal to take the first flight out this morning. Can you believe it? My sister didn’t even say goodbye.”
I was aghast. “Oh no. You’re alone again.”
“Yes, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get our things back. I’m not returning empty.”
“Okay. Take another Xanax and stay cool. I’ll send someone else to help you.”
“You'd better. I can’t do all this by myself.”
“I will, babe. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said and hung up.
The next day, the PS told me, “It’s still unsafe for you to be here. We can’t underestimate the fury of revenge that some people have. I wish this wasn’t happening. You’ve been perfect for our country. I’m sorry to lose you.”
I had to stay in Florida, even though I wanted to be in Nassau to protect Annie. I had no job, no clothes, and nothing to do except worry. I did not know when my possessions would arrive from Nassau. I was in limbo and nervous as hell. A week later, Detective Butler called me.
“Mr. England, we think we have your situation under control. Why don’t you think about coming back?”
“Are you crazy? Why do you think you have it under control?”
“We’ve been investigating Tom. It appears he had a kickback scheme going with Ministry contractors. That money was paying for his new house. When you took those contracts away from him, he lost his house payments. That made him angry enough to take drastic actions against you. We haven’t made an arrest yet, but we interrogated and watched him. It should be safe for you now.”
“No way. We can’t live like this. We’re leaving Nassau.”
“I understand, Mr. England. I’m truly sorry. We’ll keep Annie safe. I’ll call again soon.”
I knew the real reason the government wanted me to return. My Chippenham project was still under construction. The contractor had torn up roads, water, and sewer lines that needed replacement, and citizens complained because the work was behind schedule. The project had ground to a halt without me on site, and the contractor complained about his delayed payments. Nobody in my office could close out this massive construction project except me.
I visited Mark Daniels, a fishing buddy in Cocoa Beach. He was a retired CIA officer now consulting for the defense industry. We sat on his porch overlooking a canal and cracked open a couple of beers.
“You look like you need one of these.”
“You wouldn’t believe what I’m going through.”
“I thought you were still in the islands. What’s going on?”
I told him my story.
“I want to bring Annie home, but I don’t know if I’ll be picked up at the airport. I can’t tell good guys from bad guys over there. Can you check into it for me?”
“Yes, you have a bit of a mess. I’ll investigate it for you. Need a place to stay for a while?”
“Thanks, but I’m in our condo again.”
“Tomorrow, I’ll have an answer for you.”
The next day, I returned and asked, “Find out anything?”
“I made some calls. You aren’t flagged in the States or in The Bahamas. Nobody is officially watching for you. The things that have been happening to you are amateurish. If the Bahamian police wanted you, they would have pulled Annie in. You should be clear at the airport.”
“That’s the best news I’ve had in weeks. I’m a wreck, caught in limbo. I’m afraid to fly back, so I’m sending someone down to help Annie. She has a bodyguard at night.”
“That should be enough. Annie will be fine.”
“Thanks, Mark. I feel relieved already.”
A week later, Annie had arranged for her cat permit and movers. I called an old friend, Ron Sparks, and asked him to fly to Nassau and extract Annie. He flew in on Friday to help Annie and Lucy Belle fly out on Saturday. I was worried that Immigration or Customs people might prevent Annie from leaving. I asked PS Bernard and the Police Commissioner for help passing her through the airport. They assured me Annie wasn’t on a stop list and could leave the country without trouble. As far as I was concerned, she would not be out until her plane’s wheels left the ground.
After Lucy Belle received her shots and permits on Saturday, Ron and Annie took a taxi to the airport, unsure of what to expect. She called me that afternoon while waiting to board her plane.
“Where are you?” I asked.
“We’re getting ready to board. You wouldn’t believe how hard this has been.”
“I know the airport’s a mess.”
“There are no porters, so it took us two hours to carry luggage through checkpoints for Bahamian Customs, US Customs, and US Immigration. Lucy Belle and her paperwork had special inspections by the Bahamian and US Customs. They thought there might be a bomb in her travel case. I had to remove Lucy from the case three times to clear it through the security monitors. She was a good girl and didn’t bite anyone.”
“That would have served them right.”
“I couldn’t have done it without Ron. He’s a lifesaver. I can’t believe I’m leaving Nassau for good. I tried so hard to make this work for us. It’s tearing me up.”
“I know you did. We both did. Our adventure’s over. I’m so glad I’ll see you soon.”
“I can’t stand this. I must go; we’re boarding.”
I drove to Orlando and circled the airport, waiting for Annie and Ron to leave the terminal.
My phone rang. “Gordon, you just drove by us again,” Annie said. “Why didn’t you stop?”
“I don’t see you. What color is your shirt?”
“Blue. Come around again and stop this time.”
On my next loop, I spotted her blue shirt. I was stunned. Annie had aged ten years, and her hair had turned white. I pulled next to the curb and jumped out of my car. I grabbed Annie in my arms and squeezed her tight.
With tears, she said, “I’m so glad to see you. Our trip was horrible. When I boarded the plane, I held my breath until the plane left the ground. I looked out the window and cried as paradise faded away. When we landed, I kissed the ground of the United States.”
“I’ve been so worried about you. I can’t believe you’re back. Ron, we’ll always owe you a debt of gratitude for this. Let’s go home.”

***

Three months later, Howard persuaded me to return to Nassau to finish the paperwork for my Chippingham project. As expected, the other Ministry engineers had avoided my project like the plague. Jumping into the middle of someone else's construction project was more work than they could handle. I was the only person who could determine if hundreds of thousands of dollars in invoices were legitimate. The contractor pressured upper government officials with daily calls for payments. I returned reluctantly, telling only Howard my travel details. When I walked through the front doors of the Ministry office building, my fellow workers were shocked.
Some ran through the building shouting, "England here! England here!"
After processing paperwork for most of the day, I took a taxi back to the airport for a late afternoon flight. The last thing I wanted was to spend another night in Nassau. While waiting in the terminal to board a plane, I stayed on full alert, scrutinizing anyone near me. I stayed ready to flash my government badge and pitch a fit if anyone bothered me.
Just before boarding the plane, a security guard with a serious face pulled me aside and said the words dreaded by criminals and spies around the world, “We needs to check yo luggage.”
Be cool. It had to be a random security check. My nerves were strung tight, but I put on my harried businessman face while he searched my bags and papers. Relief flooded over me when he waved me on board. I found my chair and buckled up, one step closer to freedom. My heart pounded until the island faded from my window. I survived again. Then I ordered rum to settle my stomach and congratulated myself for surviving more excitement in the islands.
My flight was uneventful, but things turned interesting when we disembarked. Nassau's bad vibes continued to haunt me. We deboarded and were told to stay in the international flights building. Then, TSA and DEA agents with a drug dog entered our room. We lined up in a hall and entered a small room, ten people at a time. We were told to put our carry-on luggage on the floor and stand behind our bags. A dog sniffed them one by one.
I sweated bullets again, thinking about the crooked police who planted drugs on my car, harassed my wife, and tried to arrest me. I was lucky to have been in Florida, where they couldn’t throw me into prison. I realized that my computer bag had been left unattended in the office for several hours today. If drugs were found in my computer case, I’d be busted. The DEA would never believe my story.
A pilot once told me that when the Bahamian police suspected someone was smuggling drugs out of The Bahamas, the police let them leave the country unmolested. Bahamians would rather have the US DEA make the bust upon landing in the States than deal with an international flap.
I looked out of a window in the building. Our luggage lay on the ground next to the plane so agents could inspect the bags outside the building. Passengers became nervous during this unplanned search, but we all passed the dog test. I desperately tried remembering if I had left my computer case unattended that morning. I had placed it in Howard's office during the meeting, where people came and went freely. We made our way to a baggage carousel and waited for our suitcases. And waited. And waited. After thirty minutes, passengers from my flight had become quite irritated. There might be a problem with the bag inspection, or a bust could be underway. I had been harassed with drug problems twice before in Nassau. Could it be happening again?
I whispered, “Lord, let me be clean.”
Where had my suitcase been today? It was sterile when I packed it the night before. I checked out of the hotel, put it in my car, and then drove to my office. Nobody could have followed me through the heavy traffic. I had locked it in the car while I was inside. I was confident that my bag was clean when I checked it in at the airport two hours earlier. Could someone have tampered with it before it was loaded onto the plane?
Another twenty minutes passed with no luggage spinning down the carousel. I looked around the baggage area for undercover agents. Most people looked like tourists, but two men with short hair and large muscles could have been cops. I remembered a County Attorney telling me paranoia was a good thing.
Finally, our carousel started moving. The bags came out one at a time, every two to three minutes. How long could they prolong this? All the luggage from our flight spilled out except mine. The rest of the passengers grabbed their bags and left me alone by the carousel. This is not good.
I took out my business cards for the Police Commissioner, Assistant Police Commissioner, and US Embassy Head of Security, for easy access in case of trouble.
I had no choice but to wait in line at the Delta office to notify an attendant that my bag had not shown up.
“I’ll check into it,” he said. “Go to the carousel and wait.”
My nerves screamed, but I had to look cool. Another fifteen minutes passed. I couldn’t believe this was happening. How could my bag have been planted with drugs? I dialed the Police Commissioner's number on my cell phone and waited to push the call button.
An announcement sounded on the PA system. "Gordon England, please report to the Delta claims office."
I had no choice but to respond. I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and marched in, expecting the worst. No dogs or cops awaited me.
When I approached the counter, an agent said, "Mr. England, we’re sorry your bag didn’t come in on this flight. The plane was too heavy, so we removed your bag to save weight. We’ll have it delivered to your home tomorrow.”
What? Am I being busted? My bag is just lost! Incredible relief flooded through my veins. I was ecstatic, not mad, that my bag was missing.
I took a deep breath as fear turned to exhaustion. In a fog, I retrieved my car and drove an hour on autopilot to Cocoa Beach late that night. Sure enough, they delivered my bag to my home the following day. In the future, Bahamas Air will be my airline.
I returned to Nassau two weeks later to sell our cars and boat and close out our bank accounts. That was the simple part. The hard part was taking the next eighteen months chasing security deposits back from my utilities. The utility companies had no incentive to return money to an expatriate. My choices were to go to their offices in person or kill them with kindness during phone calls every other day. Eventually, they tired of my many calls and returned my money. As a bureaucrat, I learned that a squeaky wheel gets the grease.
Howard rejected my resignation twice, so I completed the last year of my contract by working from home in Florida, managing various Nassau projects via phone and email. My incident appalled the Bahamian government. They rewarded me with a lucrative contract to develop a Stormwater Masterplan for Nassau. That contract financed the start of my new consulting business.
A new government was elected, new Ministers came and went, PS Bernard and the Police Commissioner retired, and life moved on. I became just another obscure government consultant.
A year later, I received a call from Howard Barrett.
“Brother England, I have a favor to ask.”
"This doesn't sound good. What's up, Howard?"
“Lookie here. It’s time for Tom’s annual Review. Will you come to Nassau and do this for me?”
“Stop. I don’t want to come to Nassau to evaluate the guy who ran us off the island. It’ll be hours of agony going over his lousy work performance. He’ll be furious.”
"Come on; it won't be that bad. We have not reviewed Tom's performance in three years, so he is not eligible to receive a raise. He's raising a ruckus, and my boss is on me to finish Tom’s paperwork. I'll be there to keep the peace."
After a long pause, I moaned, “I want protection at the airport if crooked police are waiting for me.”
"Not to worry, man, I’ll be there with a DEU detective. You know how the Public Service Commission protects government employees. If you don’t give Tom a critical review, I won’t be able to get rid of him. He needs a highly negative review before I can transfer him to another department.”
“You want me to be the bad guy? Are you crazy?”
“Come on, just this one last thing. Do it for me, Brother. You were his supervisor, so nobody else could give him a review. Please.”
I can’t believe he’s talking me into this.
“Does Tom know I’m coming?”
“No, he thinks I’m going to give him this review. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“You want to surprise him?” I asked in shock. “Okay. I'll do this because Emelia Schurton from Human Resources will be present to keep the Review documented and under control. Then I’m catching the next plane out. Don’t you tell anyone I’m coming to town.”
I hung up and remembered that sometimes I had more brass than brains.
On Thursday night, Howard and Detective Butler met me at the Nassau airport.
I asked, “Are you sure Tom doesn’t know I’m here?”
"No, mon. We didn't know you were coming until yesterday, and we don’t know what hotel you’re staying at.”
The next day, I appeared unannounced at my office, creating a stir with other staffers who regretted losing my engineering expertise. Tom’s eyes bugged out when he entered the conference room and saw Amelia and me waiting there. Howard had declined to partake of the roast. Tom sat back in his chair, scowled, and squeezed his eyes into slits like a primitive lizard.
He hissed at Amelia, “Mr. England doing my review?”
“Yes.”
“He don’t work here no more.”
"He was your boss, so he's the best person to do your review."
“Do I need my lawyer?”
“You’re free to call him, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”
Tom grimaced, then said, “Let’s get this over with.”
We settled into a two-hour session documenting two years of Tom's work, or lack thereof, under my supervision. I felt like being in a room with a wicked, pissed-off snake and poking it with a stick.
The Annual Review system existed to protect employees. Tom could not receive a score lower than average unless I filed a written reprimand against him. Unbeknownst to Tom, I had previously documented issues with his attitude and poor work performance. When I produced those memos, he glared daggers at me.
A Review was an extraordinary work of bureaucracy. An example question was a category for the number of days an employee had skipped work, with classes of Excellent (1-5), Good (6-10), Average (11-15), and Poor (>15). Tom reluctantly admitted his poor work attendance. He received his first poor review and stomped out of the room at the end of the ordeal.
On my hurried exit to the Ministry’s back door, I stopped to see Howard.
“I’m leaving now before he has time to plan revenge. You owe me on this one, Brother."
"Thanks, Gordon. This is the only way I can get rid of him.”
Two months later, Howard transferred Tom to the landfill, where he continued to cause problems. They moved him back to the Ministry, where he regained his old position and resumed harassing contractors.

***

Three months later, Howard begged me to return to Nassau to finish paperwork for my Chippingham project. As expected, the other Ministry engineers avoided my project like the plague. Jumping into the middle of someone else's construction project was more work than they could handle. I was the only person who could determine if hundreds of thousands of dollars in invoices were legitimate. The contractor pressured upper government officials with daily calls for payments. My professional pride overrode my fear of more trouble in paradise, so I called Howard.
“Howard, all is well with you?”
“Oh yes, Gordon. You are also well?”
“I’m fine. I’ve been thinking about how much trouble you are having with Chippingham, so here is my proposal. I’ll give you 24 hours’ notice on when I am flying in. You and someone from the PS office will be waiting at the plane's doors when I land. No one else is to know I am coming. You take me to Chippingham, and I will inspect the work. Then take me to the office to inspect the invoices. If the paperwork is acceptable, I will sign off for payment. Then you take me to the airport. I will call you when I get home to tell you the flight was okay. Does that work for you?
“Yes, Mr. England, that be wonderful. You make all of us happy when you come back. I make sure you get off that plane safe. Thank you, brother.”
“You are welcome, brother. I’ll call you soon.”
While this felt like the right thing to do, it might also be a foolish move on my part. I had made no progress in a job hunt and kept in mind they had not accepted two resignation letters. My salary payments were still landing in my Bahamian account. A few days later, I made the call to Howard, and the game started.
On the flight over, my whole body shook with fear for the first time in my life. Who would be waiting for me? Would the DEU agents take me to prison? How would I get out? My hands shook hard by the time the plane landed. I walked to the plane door, took a deep breath, pulled my head up high, and stepped out. The sight of Howard and his boss at the end of the ramp brought overwhelming relief. With a large smile, we exchanged greetings and went to their car.
When the doors shut, I said, “Hello, Howard. I can’t say I am glad to be here, but seeing you takes a thousand pounds off my back.”
They chuckled, and Howard said, “The Minister and Prime Minister will be happy to know you are here to help us. They are in a real jam, and they won’t forget what you are doing.”
We drove to the project site and surprised the contractor when I stepped from the car.
“Mr. England, I be really happy to see you. You gonna get me paid?” he asked.
“You been doing the work right like I asked you to do?”
“Yes, sir. We stopped working now, but the work be done like the plans say and the invoices are square.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll walk through the project and then go to the office to get you paid.”
“Yes, sir. Let’s go now.”
After inspecting and approving the work, we went to the office. When I walked through the Ministry’s front doors, my fellow workers were shocked.
Some ran through the building shouting, "England here! England here!"
After processing paperwork for most of the day, I took a taxi back to the airport for a late afternoon flight. The last thing I wanted was to spend another night in Nassau. While waiting in the terminal to board a plane, I stayed on full alert, scrutinizing anyone near me. I stayed ready to flash my government badge and pitch a fit if anyone bothered me.
Right before boarding the plane, a security guard with a serious face pulled me aside and said the words dreaded by criminals and spies around the world, “We needs to check yo luggage.”
Be cool. It had to be a random security check. My nerves were strung tight, but I put on my harried businessman face while he searched my bags and papers. Relief flooded over me when he waved me on board. I found my chair and buckled up, one step closer to freedom. My heart pounded until the island faded from my window view. I survived again. Then I ordered rum to settle my stomach and congratulated myself for surviving more excitement in the islands.
My flight was uneventful, but things turned interesting when we disembarked. Nassau's bad vibes continued to haunt me. We deboarded and were told to stay in the international flights building. Then, TSA and DEA agents with a drug dog entered our hall. We lined up and entered a small room, ten people at a time. We were told to put our carry-on luggage on the floor and stand behind our bags. A dog sniffed them one by one.
A pilot once told me that when the Bahamian police suspected someone was smuggling drugs out of The Bahamas, the police let them leave the country unmolested. Bahamians would rather have the US DEA make the bust upon landing than deal with an international flap on the island. I sweated bullets again, thinking about the crooked police who planted drugs on my car, harassed my wife, and tried to arrest me. I was lucky to have been in Florida, where they couldn’t throw me into prison. I realized my computer bag had been unattended in the office for several hours today. If drugs were found in my computer case, I’d be busted. The DEA would never believe my story.
I looked out a window in the building and saw our luggage on the ground next to the plane for inspection outside the building. Passengers, including me, became nervous during this unplanned search, but we all passed the dog test. We made our way to a baggage carousel and waited for our suitcases. And waited. And waited. After thirty minutes, passengers from my flight were quite irritated. There might be a problem with the bag inspection, or a bust could be underway. I had been harassed with drug problems twice before in Nassau. Could it be happening again?
I whispered, “Lord, let me be clean.”
Another twenty minutes passed with no luggage spinning down the carousel. I looked around the baggage area for undercover agents. Most people looked like tourists, but two men with short hair and large muscles could be cops. I remembered a County Attorney telling me paranoia was a good thing.
Finally, our carousel moved. The bags spilled out one at a time, every two to three minutes. How long could they prolong this? Finally, all the luggage from our flight came out except mine. The rest of the passengers grabbed their bags and left me alone by the carousel. This was not good.
I took out my business cards from the Police Commissioner, Assistant Police Commissioner, and US Embassy Head of Security for easy access in case of trouble.
I had no choice but to go to the Delta office to report that my bag had not arrived.
“I’ll check into it,” he said. “Go to the carousel and wait.”
Nooo. I had to look cool. Fifteen more minutes passed. This can’t be happening. How could my bag have been planted with drugs? I dialed the Police Commissioner's number on my cell phone and waited to push the call button.
An announcement sounded on the PA system. "Gordon England, please report to the Delta claims office."
With no choice but to respond, I took a deep breath, straightened my back, and marched in, expecting the worst.
No dogs or cops awaited me.
When I approached the counter, an agent said, "Mr. England, we’re sorry your bag didn’t come in on this flight. The plane was too heavy, so we removed your bag to save weight. We’ll have it delivered to your home tomorrow.”
What? Am I being busted? My bag is just lost! This had happened to me before. Incredible relief flooded through my veins. I took a deep breath as fear turned to exhaustion. In a fog, I retrieved my car and drove an hour on autopilot to Cocoa Beach late that night.
Sure enough, they delivered my bag to my home the following day. In the future, Bahamas Air would be my airline instead of United.
I returned to Nassau two weeks later to sell our cars and boat and close our bank accounts. That was the simple part. The hard part was spending the next eighteen months chasing security deposits back from utility companies with no incentive to return money to an expatriate. My choices were to go to their offices in person or kill them with kindness during phone calls every other day. Eventually, they tired of my many calls and returned my funds. As a bureaucrat, I had learned that a squeaky wheel gets the grease.

***

I completed the last year of my contract by working from home in Florida, managing various Nassau projects via phone and email. My incident appalled the Bahamian government. They rewarded me with a lucrative contract to develop a Stormwater Masterplan for Nassau. That contract enabled me to start a consulting business.
A new government was elected, new Ministers came and went, PS Bernard and the Police Commissioner retired, and life moved on. I became just another obscure government consultant.
A year later, I received a call from Howard.
“Brother England, I have a favor to ask.”
"This doesn't sound good. What's up, Howard?"
“Lookie here. It’s time for Tom’s annual Review. Will you come to Nassau and do this for me?”
“Stop. I don’t want to come to Nassau to evaluate the guy who ran me off the island. It’ll be hours of agony going over his lousy work performance. He’ll be furious.”
"Come on; it won't be that bad. We have not reviewed Tom's performance in three years, so he is not eligible to receive a raise. He's raising a ruckus, and my boss is on me to finish Tom’s paperwork. I'll be there to keep the peace."
After a long pause, I moaned, “I want protection at the airport if crooked police are waiting for me.”
"Not to worry, man, I’ll be there with a DEU detective. You know how the Public Service Commission protects government employees. If you don’t give Tom a critical review, I won’t be able to get rid of him. He needs a highly negative review before I can transfer him to another department.”
“You want me to be the bad guy? Are you crazy?”
“Come on, just this one last thing. Do it for me, Brother. You were his supervisor, so nobody else could give him a review. Please.”
I can’t believe he’s talking me into this.
“Does Tom know I’m coming?”
“No, he thinks I’m going to give him this review. He doesn’t suspect a thing.”
“You want to surprise him?” I asked in shock.
“Oh yes.”
“Okay. I'll do this because the Human Resources Director will be present to keep the Review documented and under control. Then I’m catching the next plane out. Don’t you tell anyone I’m coming to town.”
I hung up and remembered that sometimes I had more brass than brains.
On Thursday night, Howard and Detective Butler met me at the Nassau airport.
I asked, “Are you sure Tom doesn’t know I’m here?”
"No, mon. We didn't know you were coming until yesterday, and we don’t know what hotel you’re staying at.”
The next day, I appeared unannounced at my office, creating a stir with other staffers who regretted losing my engineering expertise. Tom’s eyes bugged out when he entered the conference room and saw the HR Director and me waiting for him. Howard had declined to partake of the roast, and I could not blame him. Tom sat back in his chair, scowled, and squeezed his eyes into slits like a primitive lizard.
He hissed at Amelia, “Mr. England doing my review?”
“Yes.”
“He don’t work here no more.”
"He was your boss, so he's the best person to do your review."
“Do I need my lawyer?”
“You’re free to call him, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”
Tom grimaced, then said, “Let’s get this over with.”
We settled into a two-hour session documenting two years of Tom's work, or lack thereof, under my supervision. I felt like being in a room with a wicked, pissed-off snake and poking it with a stick.
The Annual Review system existed to protect employees. Tom could not receive a score lower than average unless I filed a written reprimand against him. Unbeknownst to Tom, I had previously documented issues with his attitude and poor work performance. When I produced those memos, he glared daggers at me.
A Review was an extraordinary work of bureaucracy. An example section was the category for the number of days an employee had skipped work, with classes of Excellent (1-5), Good (6-10), Average (11-15), and Poor (>15). Tom reluctantly admitted his poor work attendance. He received his first poor review and stomped out of the room at the end of the ordeal.
On my hurried exit to the Ministry’s back door, I stopped to see Howard.
“I’m leaving now before he has time to plan revenge. You owe me on this one, Brother."
"Thanks, Gordon. This is the only way I can get rid of him.”
Two months later, Howard transferred Tom to the landfill, where he continued to cause problems. They moved him back to the Ministry, where he regained his old position and resumed harassing contractors.
Some things never changed in the islands.