RAPED: The Ann McCrystal Story (When the United Nations fails)

By Augustine Sherman

After her very wealthy parents are brutally murdered, five year old Anna McCrystal is left homeless and orphaned. Her maid escapes with her from the war-torn capital to Grand Cape Mount, a faraway western region where they remained for the next five years until ECOMOG finally secures the city. On returning, ten year old Anna is yet again left alone when new hostility breaks out and her maid and guardian is killed. She is left lost, confused, walking the streets of Monrovia buck naked until Sister Rose Gabriel rescues her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 6, 2016
• ISBN: 9781365446214

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RAPED: The Ann McCrystal Story (When the United Nations fails)

RAPED

The Ann McCrystal Story

When the United Nations fails

By

Augustine Sherman

Copyright © 2016 by Augustine Sherman

This book is a work of fiction. Any person or persons living or dead closely or seemingly resembling its character or characters are purely coincidental. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

All rights reserved. Unauthorized duplication of this work is a violation of applicable laws in the United States of America, and under the international copyright law. Written permission of this literature work for reproduction, excerpts or brief quotations must be secured from the author or publisher

9th Triangle

CONCEPT GENERATION

Yorkshire · London · New York · Virginia · Accra

©

ISBN: 978-1-365-44621-4

RAPED

The Ann McCrystal Story

When the United Nations fails

A CONCEPT GENERATION HOUSE BOOK

Introduction

After her very wealthy parents are brutally murdered, five year old Anna McCrystal is left homeless and orphaned. Her maid escapes with her from the war-torn capital to Grand Cape Mount, a faraway western region where they remained for the next five years until ECOMOG finally secures the city. On returning, ten year old Anna is yet again left alone when new hostility breaks out and her maid and guardian is killed. She is left lost, confused, walking the streets of Monrovia buck naked until Sister Rose Gabriel rescues her.

Chapter One

1985, Walpole Prison, Massachusetts

Charles Tyler! Visitor! the cell door automatically opened.

The inmate got to his feet, frowned thoughtfully at his cellmate before stepping into the corridor. Edging left towards a prison guard waiting at the exit door, he walked past the man who followed him through a long hallway. Another whirr and a steel security door clicked. The guard turned the handle, pushed it open, leading the inmate into a third hall where he finally unlocked the only door at the very end.

Charles Tyler entered the waiting room.

A lone clean-cut, well-dressed Caucasian sat at a stainless steel table smiling. Charles Tyler?

Yes?

Please, sit.

Charles Tyler dropped on the steel bench opposite the man.

Rhys Williams, the man said throwing his hand across the table.

Ignoring his gesture Charles Tyler asked, What do you want, Mr. Williams?

Rhys Williams pulled out a plain business card with his name on it. At the back was a Washington DC area code and number. It had nothing else. No business name, identification or address. I could get you out of here. Think about it and call me whenever you decide.

I have a lawyer—

I’m not a lawyer.

I don’t understand, Charles Tyler said.

Rhys Williams got to his feet. If you wish to get out of here, call me—

Of course, I wish to get out of here.

The man dropped back on the steel bench. It comes with a price.

Charles Tyler sat up and sighed, Price? What price?

Solomon Doe put you in here, right?

The United States Government put me in here.

More the reason you need my help, the only way you could get out of here, Rhys Williams stressed.

Why don’t you stop beating around the bush and tell me why you’re here.

S.K. Doe, the man said shortly.

What about President Doe?

He put you here. Didn’t he?

The American Government put me here.

His government charged you with embezzlement, Mr. Tyler, and put an arrest warrant out for you, but you escaped here to the states. The American Government had no choice but to do the diligent thing by respecting another sovereign nation’s bilateral arrangement by seeking extradition. Rhy Williams paused to regard him, and then went on. But there’s a way out for you, Mr. Tyler—"

And what is that price I have to pay for a way out.

You have my number. Use the next couple of weeks to think about this conversation—

There’s nothing to consider. You just rambled on, said nothing substantive. So, what is there to think about?

Your president and former boss is increasingly becoming a worry to the government of the United States. With your education and background, you must know and understand that this man is beginning to pose a serious threat to your country, which is, inadvertently affecting relations with Liberia and the United States. Moreover, this current government’s policies—

Charles Tyler’s mind had long drifted back to the 1970s, when under the leadership of President Tolbert the Liberian Government adopted a more relaxed relationship with the United States, which proved to be a mistake. It was in 1974 when President Tolbert decided to accept economic assistance from the Soviet Union, and then, in 1978 joined other developing countries in a trade agreement with the European Community. Charles Tyler remembered his father saying although he and President Tolbert didn’t see eye to eye, he was most impressed with the man’s domestic policy, which targeted incorporating the remote parts of the country into a singular embodiment of national political life. President Tolbert’s determination to improve the economic conditions of the indigenous population was the one thing driving him. But when American-backed dissidents returned to the country and started to stir up political unrest in 1979, economic conditions were paralyzed. Riots and disobedience over the proposed increase in the prices of products, goods and services, left more than forty persons losing their lives from the ensuing violence.

Charles Tyler vividly recollected when these dissidents openly called for the overthrow of President Tolbert. As a result of this, their leader and dozens more were arrested. But a month later, April 12, 1980, a bloody military coup was staged by army personnel under the leadership of Master Sergeant S.K. Doe. President Tolbert and many of his aides were killed. It was the Americans! Charles Tyler recalled his father saying after it was announced that the president had been overthrown…

Mr. Tyler? Mr. Tyler? Rhys Williams repeated.

Charles Tyler stared thoughtfully. Was this déjà vu all over again? Looking into the man’s eyes he said, I don’t want to hear anymore.

You have my number, Mr. Tyler. If your extradition hearing doesn’t work out, call me. We could use a good man like you.

Guard! Take me back to my cell.

٭٭٭٭

1958, Arthington, Montserrado County, Liberia

Along a narrow dusty highway infested with annoying potholes, dust-covered vegetation bordering each side was a number of corrugated framed houses overlooking the isolated stretch. Except for the occasional droning from one of the jalopies plying the rout when trotting by, the few roads running perpendicular to the freeway were mostly quiet. Neighbourhood kids ran and frolicked along these peaceful streets, and were mostly fond of Barclay Road, where the Tylers lived in an old two-story zinc house. Adjacent to them were the Urey Family. Both were prominent in the small settlement. Their children played together, swam together and even spent nights at each other’s homes. The Ureys had two boys and a girl, all less than ten years old. The Tylers’ three boys were six, seven and ten. Charles was the oldest, daring and most stubborn of the lot. And all six of them had a common gathering on an old trunk of a mango tree resting parallel to Barclay Road. Occasionally, older boys and girls from the neighborhood came by and disturbed the kids’ sanctity. And each time they did, it was ten year old Charles Tyler who was bold enough to stand up to them.

At fifteen, Charles Tyler was sent away to boarding school, where he frequently got into trouble for one atrocity or the other. If it wasn’t for his father influence as a judge, he would have been expelled long before he graduated high school. At the University of Liberia, Charles spent most of his time fooling around and living a carefree life until 1971 after the death of President Tubman. His father, Judge Nelson Tyler wasn’t an ally of the new president, William Tolbert, and decided to leave the country with his family, settling in Waltham, Massachusetts. Two years later, at twenty-five, Charles Tyler entered Bentley, where after four years he earned his college degree in 1977.

Charles Tyler returned to Liberia at thirty-two years old, supporting S.K. Doe in his 1980 military coup, which led to the overthrow and murder of President Tolbert and seizure of power by Doe. Tyler was appointed Director General of the General Services Agency, but was sacked in May 1983 for embezzling a million United States Dollars, sending the funds to his personal American bank account.

Realizing what he had done could lead to further reprisal from the military leader, S.K. Doe, Charles Tyler fled to the United States but was arrested a year later by US Deputy Marshals in Somerville, Massachusetts, on a warrant for extradition to face charges of embezzlement. He, however, decided to fight extradition, suggesting that the Doe government was planning to assassinate him on arrival in Liberia. His lawyer had put up a brilliant argument in his defense, informing the court that Charles Tyler’s alleged acts of embezzlement in Liberia were political rather than criminal in nature and the extradition treaty between the two republics had lapsed.

While awaiting the conclusion of his extradition hearing, Charles Tyler mysteriously disappeared with four other inmates from the Plymouth County Correctional Facility.

Chapter Two

1985, JF Kennedy Medical Center, Monrovia

Isn’t she beautiful? Robert IE McCrystal-II murmured.

She is, replied Victoria, his wife, cuddling the new-born in her arms closer to her chest. She was a fairly good looking woman, rich voluptuous hair, dark in complexion, with bright, almost cat-like eyes. She smiled up at her husband from her hospital bed.

Anna Catherine McCrystal, he whispered.

After your mother?

Yeah.

I agree.

I’ll get the boys. They’ve been dying to see their sister, Robert said walking out of the room. He left returning momentarily with his two sons, Siafa and Bombo.

Mommy! cried Siafa, the younger of the two. Reaching the side of his mother’s bed, he tried to climb in with her to take a closer look at his baby sister. He was five.

Hi Mom, murmured seven year old Bombo, intently regarding the new-born.

She’s your baby sister, boys, Robert said. Her name’s Anna. Anna McCrystal.

A young nurse entered. It’s time to take her back into the incubator, Mrs. McCrystal, she said moving in to take the child away from her mother.

The president should be here soon, Robert informed his wife.

Her face dropped.

I know. But please, try to keep your composure.

I just had a baby. I’m sure he’ll understand if I appear gloomy.

Robert McCrystal smiled. I don’t believe you. Five years on and you’re still not giving him any slack.

Please don’t start, Victoria said. This is not the place to talk about your president. Walls have ears you know.

I’m sure the walls will appreciate that we love him very much.

Victoria stared at her husband, her face grim.

What?

I was too sick to say anything, but—

The sounds of approaching sirens tore through Victoria’s private room.

He’s here, Robert said rushing out the door, bumping into an orderly.

Mr. Via said to inform you the president is here, barked the orderly.

Yes, yes. I can hear, Robert replied hurrying down the corridor.

Outside at the entrance to the hospital, an advance presidential crew from the executive mansion were already lined up in waiting. Chief of Protocol, Samuel Logan, along with the chief administrative office of JFK Medical Center were anxiously standing at attention. Even though he was now a democratically elected leader, those who knew the president well harboured no illusions about his brutality and intolerance for citizens who didn’t know their place. Robert McCrystal came and stood next to the chief of protocol.

The motorcade pulled up in front of the double glass door leading into the hospital as SSS protecting the head of state jumped off their vehicles, scurrying in every which way. The aide-de-camp stepped out of the first Pajaro. There were four Pájaros in the president’s convoy and he was known to be in anyone at any time; often alternating to shadow his precise location at any given moment. It was known that he sometimes rode in other cars at the beginning or end of the fleet. President Doe’s paranoia of everything and everyone was rooted in his subconscious if not conscious understanding of the unnatural level of his brutality. There were rumors that the president kept live leopards and lions in the basement of the executive mansion. And those he considered his enemies or believed threatened his reign; he had no problem feeding to his beasts.

By the time the convoy came to a complete stop, the rear door of the second car to the very last vehicle at the end of the motorcade flew open and the flamboyant Chief of Staff, Harry Moniba stepped out. Looking around as if searching for someone or something, he started toward the rear. When it was clear the president wasn’t in any of the vehicles, the aide-de-camp walked down to the end of the line and waved his hand. A black tinted SUV parked along the narrow lane leading to the building rolled up, stopping at the end of the fleet. The aide-de-camp stepped to the curb opening the back door.

Stepping down from the jeep was the chubby black face president looking no older than a thirty-four year old. Whiskers above his lips were shaved off leaving untamed mustache running down both sides of his mouth. He wore tinted non-prescription glasses, a failed attempt to project sophistication. President Solomon K. Doe wasn’t particularly tall but carried his height quite well.

On seeing the president climb down from the unmarked vehicle, the chief of protocol, the administrator and other hospital executives, Robert McCrystal, along with some government officials raced down the sidewalk to greet him. The fuss over the leader, clearly coated in fear if not deception was soon quelled by bodyguards as they made way for the president to reach the entrance.

Where is Mr. Robert? the president called out, still struggling to properly execute the English language.

Here, Mr. President, Robert McCrystal squeezed his way through the hurdle as they entered the hospital reception.

President Doe looked at him. Take me to see my new goddaughter, Mr. Robert.

This way, Sir. Robert McCrystal, all too eager to please his president led him to the worn staircase. The elevator was broken and so were some of the railings leading up the stairs to the second floor, where Victoria McCrystal waited in a private room.

Welcome, Mr. President, Victoria said trying to sit up on seeing the young leader.

Please, Mrs. McCrystal, he returned. Don’t get up on my behalf. Approaching her bed he extended his hand.

She shook it. "Thanks for coming.

Where is my goddaughter?

Here she is, Mr. President. A nurse said making her way through the crowd of people that had practically sealed the corridor and door leading into Victoria’s room.

President Doe turned around just in time to face the nurse. The infant was comfortably wrapped, only her small flushed face exposed. She’s all you, Mrs. McCrystal, he observed.

Thanks, Victoria replied not quite knowing what to say.

I told her the same thing, Robert tried to participate.

The president went into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope, placing it on the baby. This should help cover her college fees, he said. Looking down on Victoria he added, I shouldn’t take any more of your time, Mrs. McCrystal. I will leave you and the baby to rest. Goodbye. He started out the room as the crowd cleared his path.

Thanks for coming, Mr. President, Victoria called.

The leader raised his hand without looking back.

I’ll be right back, honey, Robert said following their leader.

As her private room became quiet again, the baby returned to the incubator, Victoria McCrystal rested her head back on the pillow. It had been five years and counting, and still her husband wasn’t showing any signs of wanting to leave the country. She’d been hounding him to do so, but he was making no effort whatsoever, and it was becoming increasingly worrying. Every time she brought up the subject he would politely sweep it under the carpet. Like her, he knew the man wasn’t good, but for some strange reason she didn’t know why her husband wanted to remain and go on functioning under his regime.

Now, he was marauding around the city in search of God-knows-what, playing elected president when he was still the brutal dictator. William Tolbert was a family friend, and the man killed him for God’s sake. Yet, for the last five years her husband had