The thin mountain air had gotten cool enough to roll up the windows of the Land Rover as they sped over the rutted road. Jameson reckoned that the border crossing was not much farther than thirty kilometers away. Both he and Catherine felt bone tired and sore from the rugged ride from an unknown Asante village near the coast. There, the road sort of ran out and what was left for them to travel on was more like a trail. Villages in that part of West Africa did not have name boards on the highway. One just knew where one was. Only in this case, Jameson was guessing. The fleeing couple needed to make time if their objective was to be reached.

Up ahead would be a closed border with a gate and perhaps a couple of guards controlling the road. Jameson shook Catherine by the shoulder rousing her from deep slumber.

"Wake up!"

"Are we there yet?"

"Trying to be funny?"

"Just a question."

"When we get to the crossing, let me do the talking."

"Okay. Can I go back to sleep now?"

Jameson shook his head. How could she be so calm? Here they were trying to escape pursuers hell-bent on claiming the prized ancient artifact the couple had spirited out of an archeological site to the south. In spite of many legitimate protests, that site was to become in two weeks, the bed of a reservoir. They had risked their lives to get it, and needed to get across the border to comparative safety. If they were lucky, the border could be crossed about dawn.

The gray sky began to lighten and in the distance the silhouette of a guard hut could be seen on one side of the road. A shaved sapling balanced on two crutch-like sticks served as a crude bar across the road. No doubt the guards’ sleep had been interrupted by the sound of the Land Rover as it laboriously climbed the grade. The two men stood outside the guard shack stretching, buttoning up their jackets, and yawning. Once more, Jameson shook Catherine awake. He just pointed at the border crossing and slowed his driving.

"What do you think? Maybe they don’t know yet what happened back in the Capitol."

"Yeah, it’s possible."

Jameson pulled up to stop at the barrier and smiled at the guard on his side of the car and waited. The guard who was no more than a teenager had his rifle of ancient vintage slung over one shoulder. Jameson decided to try to speak to him using the dialect of the local hill people. As the local custom demanded, he courteously inquired first of the village chief’s health and then the guard’s family before requesting a pass through to the other side. Thus the polite cultural courtesies were done.

The guard answered Jameson with a smile in the same language, accepting the time-honored inquiry. Then his face hardened as he proceeded to question the travelers in English with a decided British lilt.

"Let me see your passports and why are you driving this way? Haven’t you heard?"

"Have I heard what?" Catherine began to perspire freely as she felt this was not going well. Her hand slowly slipped down to a small box in the door pocket. She sensed a slight movement in the box, but did not let her eyes off the guard.

"The government has closed the borders. So you can’t leave."

"But we’ve got to get to Mobasa airport this morning to catch a flight to Algiers."

"Our orders are to allow only travelers with valid passports issued from this country to pass through. So if you have American or British passports they are no good. Either park your vehicle on the side of the road, or turn around and go back."

"Why have they closed the borders?"

"There have been some thefts from a dig about one hundred miles from here. The message called the stone pieces found there ‘Jenne’ figures." Jameson was curious how the guard got such accurate information so quickly. He could see no telephone wires leading to the hut.

"Step out of the Rover and let us search it." Smiling, he slipped his rifle from his shoulder and pointed it at Jameson. This guard was a lot more experienced than he first appeared. While this conversation was going on, the second guard had quietly circled around the back of the car and spoke in another dialect to his comrade. What he said was chilling to Jameson who understood perfectly – "This is the car. The license plate matches the numbers they sent us."

"Ah! So you are the thieves every one wants." And with a condescending laugh, "Caught by the backward primitive people you outsiders believe us to be. Our headquarters in Capitol City gives us a shack to live in, but also a wireless computer to track down serious offenders."

"Here. Is this what you wanted?" Catherine handed the small box past Jameson to the guard at the window. He put down his rifle and eagerly took the package in both hands. Catherine slightly nudged Jameson who slipped the shift into gear as the guard opened the box. Out jumped a red and green frog into his face! The dreaded poisonous Tree Frog. With a loud scream the hapless man brushed the animal from his face. Jameson gunned the motor and the Land Rover leapt ahead leaving the two men in confusion. What the fleeing couple did not know was that a second barrier lay one hundred yards ahead on the road. It was a large log too big for even the Land Rover to climb over. They skidded to a stop, throwing up a cloud of dust behind.

"I guess we’ve had it! Theft and now murder. You know that frog kills with his venom!"

"Not murder, Jameson. The guard is only frightened. Don’t forget I’m a herpetologist as well as an anthropologist. Before putting the frog in the box, I removed the venom gland so no one would get hurt." Looking back down the road, Catherine said, "Here they come, get ready to give up the artifacts we lifted and hope they don’t kill us!"

All Jameson could say was, "Oh, Shit!"