Below is a script from an atypical episode of the hit TV show ‘without a trace’ inspired by the antics and disappearing acts of none other than the Bad boy criminal of Africa, the spiv of the Middle East, the shinning black jewel of the Nile, the bodacious bandit of Sudan Mr. Omar Hassan Al-Basheer.
The show opens with Al-Basheer busting one of his world-famous moves in a concourse somewhere in the dusty bowls of Darfur. The camera moves around to capture the scene with all its relevant minutiae; the people insanely gyrating, the signs of support hoisted up and waved in the dusty atmosphere, the shrieks, the howls and a couple of monkeys on a nearby tree wahooing their support. The festive madness continues for a while as the camera takes a few more sweeps before focusing on two Darfurian locals talking to eachother.
Darfurian local 1: look at that ape, laughing and dancing to show the world that everything is ok.
Darfurian local 2: I think he looks fatter than he did before Ocampo called for his arrest, maybe he’s depressed.
Darfurian local1: are you kidding me Mohamed? I just saw the man chug a whole goat like it was a baby banana.
Darfurian local 2: I hear depressed people eat like crazy, I read that in an article in ‘Cosmogirl’ magazine.
Darfurian local 1: I love that magazine, on another note, I wish somebody would pour a sack of ammonium nitrate in that fat man’s stinky safaris.
Darfurian local 2: are you saying someone should kill him?
Darfurian local 1 leers as the camera slowly shifts focus to the sight of Al-Basheer disembarking the stage and his image fading away in cinematic disappearance.
Opening credits.
The scene opens with agent Malone and agent Taylor roaming around the arena where the president was last seen before his disappearance, the words ’36 hours missing’ appear on the screen. Vestiges of the festivities staged in honor of the president are still visible on the ground; confetti, pieces from busted balloons, discarded traditional Sudanese turbans, empty packets of lay’s chips and orange soda cans.
Agent Malone (bends down to survey a turban left on the ground): phallic symbol!
Agent Taylor (observing the long twirled-up turban): they’re packin’ alright.
Agent Taylor pokes a can of orange soda as he squats on the ground, he lifts it up with a stick and flags it in clear view.
Agent Taylor: the Afro beverage of choice.
Agent Malone: you should show it to Viv she’ll get a kick out of it.
The two agents snigger as agent Malone squats on the ground. Suddenly a giant rat jumps from in-between the sand and debris on the ground and runs towards agent Taylor who shudders and leaps backward violently.
Agent Taylor: Jesus!
Agent Malone strides forward and kicks the rat hard, hurling it far into the distance. The camera view shifts and captures the sight of an old veiled Darfurian woman in the distance glowering at the two agents.
Agent Taylor (huffs petulantly): why are we here again?
Agent Malone (puts his arm on agent Taylor’s shoulder): to find a missing dictator.
Agent Taylor: ah yes, I love this job.
The two agents walk around the arena to canvass more of the vast dusty crime scene, they spot a tall dark Darfurian standing close to the podium where the president was last seen crumping and wiggling away.
Agent Malone: hello there!
The Darfurian looks in the direction of the two agents, as they approach him, with a cold listless stare.
Agent Malone: what’s your name?
Darfurian: Mohamed.
Agent Taylor: that’s an uncommon name.
Mohamed’s stare grows colder.
Agent Malone: I am special agent Malone, this is special agent Taylor we are with the F B I (agent Malone spells the acronym very slowly) have you ever heard of the F B I?
Mohamed: yes, I was the one who called you.
Agent Malone: wonderful, tell us what happened.
Mohamed: look, I don’t want to start any trouble for no one, but I think I know someone who may have something to do with all of this.
Agent Taylor: you’re not starting trouble my friend, you’re helping us find your president, you love him don’t you?
Mohamed: not really, but I don’t want him dead either, he’s a fellow Muslim.
Agent Malone: let’s cut through the chase, tell us what happened.
Mohamed looks at agent Malone, pauses and then looks to the right in a downward angle.
Mohamed (speaks wistfully): I told him to stay away from trouble, but he wouldn’t listen, he never listens.
The camera fades into a cinematic flashback scene as Mohamed begins to recall the events that transpired a day and half ago. The flashback scene shows the festivities and the wild confluence once again, Al-Basheer doing a Stairmaster dance and sweating.
Mohamed: you have any idea how powerful that fat man is? He’s the president, if you’re caught conspiring against him they will do to you what they did to your father.
Ali: it’s a small price to pay for the freedom of my people.
Mohamed: a small price?! Remember what they did to your papa Ali? Ha? They wrapped his turban around his waist and made him belly dance for the Janjaweed before they beheaded him infront of the whole village, have you forgotten how his ass and thighs were still quivering and shaking after they cut off his head?!
Ali’s face grows dim with virulent anger.
Ali: yes I remember, that’s why I want to kill this ape.
Mohamed: you try and they will do you like they did your papa.
Ali: my papa died a hero.
Mohamed: yeah, a hero who died with his ass shaking? Did you know that Mondinga still uses that joke in his comedy routine?
Ali: that village idiot, the whole town thinks his funny, I’ll show them funny.
Mohamed: think about it, don’t ruin your life.
Ali: ruin my life? Did you know that they were going to bring Wal-Mart into Darfur but that fat Khartoum bastard spoiled the deal? Wal-Mart Mohamed, you know what that means? Open til’ midnight, sardines and tires in the same place, one-stop shopping, and Wrangler jeans, impulse buying would have changed this town but that fat fool took it all away, now he has to pay and pay he will.
Ali extends his arms sideways, flutters his lips madly, lets out a wild screechy hoot, skips and disappears into the crowd.
The flashback ends and the scene switches back to a close-up of agent Malone’s face befuddled and distraught.
Agent Malone: he was skipping?!
Mohamed: yes, Ali skips when he gets excited, he skipped for a whole day once when he fell in love with a town girl named Khadeeja, she died a few days later as a result of a circumcision gone bad and he never stopped skipping since.
Agent Taylor: Jee this Ali is one unlucky dude, where can we find him?
Mohamed (hesitates briefly): sand street 3, mud hut number 41.
Agent Taylor (chuckles): good one, no really where can we find him?
Mohamed (frowning deeply into agent Taylor’s eyes): I told you sand street 3, mud hut number 41.
Agent Malone: thanks for your help Mohamed, we’ll stay in touch.
Mohamed: yeah.
Agent Malone: one last thing, why did you call us? Why didn’t you call the Sudanese police?
Mohamed breaks into a bout of guffaw, he almost barfs.
Agent Malone (angered by Mohamed’s reaction): did I say something funny?
Mohamed: did you ever try calling the Sudanese police?
Agent Malone: no, but that’s because I live in Philadelphia.
(Mohamed’s wild jerky laughter continues): did you ever try calling the Sudanese police from Philadelphia?
Agent Malone: no.
Mohamed: my point exactly, good day gentlemen.
After a galling search the agents finally get to the address and find a tall slender man lying on the dirt inside mud hut number 41.
Agent Malone: hey there, you Ali?
The man gets up off the floor frantically.
Man: yes, who are you white people and what do you want? If you are Ocampo’s people I got some information for you.
Agent Malone: no we’re not Ocampo’s people, we’re with the F B I (agent Malone spells the acronym slowly) have you ever heard of the F B I?
Ali: yes, I had a cousin mail me a T-shirt once, a T-shirt he bought from Wal-Mart, can you guys tell me more about Wal-Mart?
Ali’s eyes start to get misty with yearning.
Agent Malone: unfortunately Ali we don’t have time to talk to you about Wal-Mart, but if you help us out I’ll send you a catalog.
Ali’s eyes brim with excitement.
Ali: sure how can I help?
Agent Malone: tell us what happened to your president.
Ali: president? Oh no, I have nothing to do with that I assure you, I can get into a flashback that will prove my innocence to you.
Agent Malone: go ahead.
Ali (begins to ruminate): it all started when I was 6 years old.
Agent Malone (interrupts): oh no no, flashbacks can only go as far back as one year, no more.
Ali: oh ok! In that case let me tell you what happened a day and a half ago.
Ali gets into a flashback and manages to eventually convince the agents that he is indeed innocent.
Agent Malone: your flashback is quite convincing Ali, but if you really want that catalog you’ll have to tell us more.
Ali: go to Khartoum, to the presidential palace, you’ll find all the answers there.
The two agents turn around to make there way out of the hut.
Ali: agents wait!
The two agents turn back.
Ali: is it true that there is this store in America that’s just like Wal-Mart but a lil’ smaller? A store called the piggly wiggly?
Agent Malone: yes there is.
Ali’s face lights up exuberantly, he puts his two hands to his mouth then extends them forward and blows the agents a big amorous kiss mmmowah!
Ali: I love America.
A local channel commercial break interrupts the show, the break features the opening of a new nuclear-plant and the opening of the first barber shop in Darfur called ‘cornrow curls’.
Meanwhile back in Philadelphia and in the absence of agent Malone, agent Vivian Johnson is temporarily and bitterly in charge as the team labors assiduously to tie the loose ends in the puzzle of the missing president on their side of the Atlantic. After turning down a few useless leads that came from a club called ‘Alexander’s Macedonian surprise’ and the Pittsburg state college for clowning and general tomfoolery, agent Johnson finally came across a useful lead in the person of a CIA agent who waited calmly in one of the offices down the hall as she and agent Fitzgerald marched down to meet him.
Agent Fitzgerald: you alright Viv? You look kinda tired.
Agent Johnson: yeah I’m ok; I just need to get some sleep, that teenage son of mine is driving me up the wall.
Agent Johnson was hiding the real reason why she looked so fatigued; her heart condition.
Agent Fitzgerald: oh yeah? What did he do?
Agent Johnson: he’s been skipping school to go hang out with friends at the park and drink, the other day I caught him there wearing a poncho and screaming ‘what you bitches want from a niga’.
Agent Fitzgerald: wow, that’s awful despite it being a rhetorical question.
Agent Johnson: tell me about it, that boy needs some ol’ school spanking; the kind that people in Abe Lincoln’s time use to give their kids.
Agent Fitzgerald (chuckles): I’ll bet.
The two agents enter the office where the CIA agent is quietly sitting and looking around.
Agent Johnson: agent, I am special agent Johnson this is special agent Fitzgerald we’re with the FBI.
The agent smiles mockingly: I know that, we are in the FBI building.
Agent Johnson (lets out a muffled laugh): I’m sorry agent, this case has been getting the best of us lately.
Agent Fitzgerald laughs.
Agent Johnson: I know you don’t want us to know your real name so how do we address you?
The agent: well, my code name is agent sour milk.
Agent Johnson: ok, fair enough, agent sour milk, how do you propose to help us?
Sour milk: please understand that I’m not even suppose to be talking to you, but after I heard that son of bitch Basheer went missing, I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.
The two agents pause as sour milk takes a deep breath and gathers his thoughts.
Sour milk: a few days ago I got a message from one of our contacts in Myanmar, a local rogue named ‘One Gook Phuck’.
The two agents look at eachother and smile ambivalently.
Sour milk (continues): One was working the local black markets and peddling opium on the side when we hired him to get us some information on Aung San Suu Kyi; prison location, health condition, stats, that kinda thing. He got us a few pictures that I think would be of help to you.
Sour milk reaches into his coat jacket and pulls out a set of pictures.
Agent Fitzgerald (scrupulously examines the photographs): these are pornographic pictures of a famous black porn star.
Sour milk: I know, if you look closer, you’ll notice a girl in the background.
Agent Fitzgerald: that’s Booty Collins, I watch her on my ipod all the time.
Agent Fitzgerald retracts sheepishly as he realizes the inappropriateness of his statement.
Sour milk: you’re absolutely right agent Fitzgerald and besides having a killer rack and a banging bumper, Booty here has a Sudanese connection that I think you guys should follow up on.
Agent Johnson (grows very uncomfortable with the situation and decides to wrap up the porn-pandering conversation): thank you so much for coming by agent, we will look into the information you’ve provided, I’m sure it will be of some use to us.
Back in Khartoum agent Malone and agent Taylor walk into the Sudanese presidential palace garden to the sound of strange tribal chants and the sight of little darker skin boys tending to a herd of sheep as they scamper around wildly and poop allover al-Basheer’s rotunda. Agent Malone is quickly accosted by one of the slaveboys who starts gawking at him and agent Taylor in a manner resembling that of a jungle boy witnessing an F16 crash-land alongside a swamp of crocs.
Agent Malone (speaking to the slaveboy): I’m special agent Malone this is special agent Taylor.
Boy continues to stare dumbly.
Agent Malone: what’s your name?
Boy: little Minni Minawi
Agent Malone: that’s a very nice name young man, we are with the F B I (agent Malone spells the acronym slowly), have you ever heard of the F B I?
Boy: yes I watch that show ‘without a trace’ all the time
Agent Malone: great, you should watch the sweeps week episode, now tell us where your president is, can we see him?
The little boy’s eyes veer around to scan the surrounding for intruders and palace spies, then he quickly gets closer to the two agents and whispers: I was waiting for the president this morning as usual, he wakes up everyday at 8 for his morning rub-down in the tub, but he never came out. I thought maybe he was sleeping the day in as he usually does when he comes back from Darfur all drunk and tired, so I waited for him to come out in time for his lunch, we just slaughtered his favorite goat for him this morning you see
Agent Malone: what happened next?
Boy: nothing we slaughtered Ocampo and began to cook it
Agent Malone: wait wait wait, Ocampo?!
Boy: yes, the president’s favorite goat, I told you already
Agent Malone: ah yes
Agent Malone looks at agent Taylor and they smile at eachother.
Boy: we waited and waited but the president never came out
Agent Malone: anyone try to go into his room?
Boy: oh God no, the last time one of the other boys, little John Garang, went into the president’s room and saw him lying sideways with his cane and dancing in his sleep, moving back and fro like so, (The boy flexes his arm and leg in opposite directions), the president suddenly woke up and saw little john, he struck him so hard on his head little John bit his tongue, he’s been lisping ever since.
Agent Malone looks at agent Taylor and scowls bemusedly.
Agent Taylor: so for all you know the president may still be sleeping in his room?
Boy: no, I mean maybe.
Agent Malone: did you try contacting the Sudanese police?
The boy laughs hard.
Agent Malone: what’s so funny young man?
Boy: nothing, but did you ever try calling the Sudanese police?
Agent Malone: no, but that’s because I live in Philadelphia.
Boy: ok, have you ever called the Sudanese police from Philadelphia?
Agent Malone: of course not.
Boy: my point exactly
Agent Malone looks at agent Taylor with an intensely flabbergasted demeanor never before seen this side of the Nile.
Agent Malone (now speaking more sternly): we need to take a look at the president’s room.
(The boy’s face shrinks and his body begins to tremble in fear, his voice now resembling that of a castrated belly goat): I don’t think you can do that.
Agent Taylor: we’ll have to look into the bedroom if you want us to help you find the president.
Boy: you will need the vice president’s permission for that.
Agent Malone: ok take us to your vice president.
The boy leads the agents along a meandering path through the presidential palace leading all the way down the hall to the vice president’s office, strands of strange animal pelt, white paint stains and pictures of Louie Ocampo with a penis drawn dangling from his lower-lip were scattered allover the floor. The boy knocks on the office door politely, then gently steers it open. A man sitting on a large looming leather chair appears, smoking a cigar and nursing a glass of grape juice.
Vice president: Who are these people little Minni?
Agent Malone: I am special agent Malone this is special agent Taylor we’re with the FBI
Vice president: FBI? What are you doing here? Get out.
Agent Malone: I’m afraid we can’t do that Mr. vice president.
Vice president: what are you doing on Sudanese soil?
The vice president places the glass of juice on the table and reaches to pluck a nostril hair that has bothered him plenty.
Agent Malone: we are here to investigate the disappearance of your president.
Vice president: disappearance? Who said the president disappeared? I was with him a while ago in his room.
Agent Malone: we would like to see the president if you don’t mind
Vice president: I do mind, you can’t
Agent Malone: look Mr. Vice president we could go downtown and get a warrant but that would take time.
Vice president: I am missing your point, is that a bad thing?
Agent Malone: I’m not quite sure, it’s just something we’re use to saying on the show
Vice president: show?
Agent Malone: I mean squad.
Vice president: get out of my office and get out of Sudan or else
Agent Malone: or else what?
Vice president: or else I’ll be forced to splash some grape juice on your tie, and that’s against the principles of our hospitable and generous culture.
Agent Malone: that’s noble coming from a man who participated in the slaughter of thousands of innocent south Sudanese and Darfurians.
Little Minni bolts out of the room as soon as agent Malone makes that statement.
Vice president: how about some pure freshly brewed African tea? You gentlemen like tea?
Agent Malone: we are not here for pleasantries Mr. Vice president.
Vice president (yells): Othman!!
A big burly dark skinned man walks into the room
Othman: yes sir.
Vice president: please fetch some of our best African tea for our two American guests.
Othman: the ‘James Polk’ brand?
The vice president pauses and scratches his chin.
Vice president: yes, why not.
Othman complies reverently and strides out of the room hooting and feigning a horseback ride.
Vice president: I assure you gentlemen that the president is doing fine, here have a cigar.
Agent Malone: no thanks.
Vice president: you know agent Malone one of the things I like best about traveling abroad is sex with minors and enjoying that which is illegal in my country.
Agent Taylor’s phone suddenly rings, he excuses himself and steps out of the room to answer it.
Agent Taylor: Taylor here
Voice on the other end: Danny it’s Samantha, we ran the presidential vehicle number plate through a DMV database dump, it almost matched a plate number belonging to a Karl Hayfork who lives in Scranton New Jersey, Karl’s aunt is a waitress who does meals on wheels on weekends, we cross referenced her number to a phone number belonging to a Leigh Maddox in Elpaso
Agent Taylor: did you check her last e-mail log?
Samantha: we were about to, she’s been missing for two days, the neighbors say that she got a pizza delivered to her house three nights ago and get this the delivery boy’s name is Alvin Bridgefoot whose uncle teaches special ed. in Maryland.
Agent Taylor: let me guess, lots of retards.
Samantha: yes and one of them likes to play sudoku.
Agent Taylor: Garns or Nikoli?
Samantha: not really sure, that’s what you guys need to find out while you’re in Khartoum, but I gotta tell you Danny, it doesn’t make one bit of sense to me.
Agent Taylor snaps back into the room with a frontal karate kick and yells: sudoku!
The vice president raises an eyebrow in quiet limp amazement.
Agent Taylor: we need to see the president.
Vice president: you were gone a long time agent Taylor, agent Malone and I were discussing the usefulness of avoirdupois.
Agent Taylor: we have to see the president now!
Vice president: gentlemen, am I being charged with something? Because if I am I believe I am entitled to a lawyer.
Agent Malone: yes I would get a lawyer if I were you.
Vice president (yells): Othman!
In walks the same big burly man who did a few moments ago.
Vice president: agent Malone, agent Taylor, let me introduce you to my lawyer.
Agent Taylor: the tea guy?
Vice president: yes, he also happens to be a marvelous attorney, we discovered that talent in him last week when he accidentally spilled tea on the mayor of the Khartoum municipality, I suggest you talk to him from this point on.
Othman sticks out his tongue, flaps it wildly and lets out a primal shriek while crossing his eyes.
Back in Philadelphia agent Vivian Johnson is still keeping her ailing heart condition a secret from her colleges and agent Fitzgerald is sourly missing Samantha who sits in the next room calling all the Vietnamese owned beauty parlors in the city to find out if a man named Louie who appears in one of the police sketches has ever come in for a pedicure, in each one of the calls made Samantha asks the beauticians if they knew or heard of a Louie who daydreams about stabbing a Basheer in the colon.
Agent Malone: Mr. vice president we are going to need a list of all people who visited the palace in the last 24 hours.
Vice president: list? Why? I told you the president is well.
Agent Malone: in that case we need to see the president’s room
The Vice president (unaware that Othman is still standing next to him) yells: Othman!
Othman: I’m right here sir
Vice president: show the gentlemen the list
Othman flicks a crumbled piece of paper out of his side pocket and hands it to agent Malone.
Agent Malone (looks at the paper with disgruntled wonder): Scarlet Johansen, Grace Kelly, Andy McDowell, these are names of actresses.
Vice president: yes it is, you asked for a list of all those who were at the palace in the past 24 hours.
Agent Malone: what is this some kind of a joke?
Vice president: yesterday was movie night here at the palace, the president likes to dress up the palace staff as Hollywood actresses, it’s a lil’ thing he has, I’m sure you saw the paint stains on the ground on your way here. You should have seen Othman here, he was Regina Hall, he’s allergic to paint you see.
Agent Malone: I’m not exactly sure what you are trying to pull here, but I assure you that if you don’t comply, you and you’re entire administration will be in a fog of trouble you won’t be able to see your fingertips, agent Taylor and I will walk out of here and personally check each and every room in this palace and if we don’t find your president, we will issue a warrant for his arrest effective immediately, need I remind you Mr. vice president that your president is under indictment and he will be arrested if he’s found anywhere outside the jurisdiction of this city.
Elsewhere in the palace another suspenseful scene burgeons as the camera captures the shadow of a heavyset man surreptitiously lurking between the bushes in the garden. The man (apparently drunk) wearing what appears to be a khaki safari suit grabs a ladder and winches it up towards one of the palace windows, he fumbles initially as he attempts to steer the weight of his body and the ladder in the right direction, finally he lifts up the ladder and places it a few inches below the window located several feet above the ground. The ladder feebly capitulates under the uncouth heaviness of the man’s weight causing him to slip and fall back on the bushes generating a loud thud.
Agent Malone: what was that?
Vice president (looks up in a clueless pretence): what?
Agent Malone: that sound!
Agent Malone and Agent Taylor storm out of the room and into the hallway.
Vice president: excuse me gentlemen where do you think you’re going?
Oblivious to the vice president’s remarks, the two agents stride on down the hall. The vice president quickly catches up with them and grabs agent Malone by the arm.
Vice president: where do you think you’re going? This is not bloody Time square.
Agent Malone lurches his arm off of the vice president’s grip touching in the motion a pointy slant on his moustache.
Agent Malone (glowering at the vice president): we need to see the president…now!
The vice president (looks around himself for a while as if he just smelt a rancid fart): Ok, but once you speak to him you get the hell out of this palace and the hell out of my city.
Agent Malone pauses as he stares at a thump on the vice president’s moustache.
Agent Malone: why don’t we let your president decide who gets to stay or leave.
The camera alternates between scenes to capture the simultaneous progressions; the heavyset man struggles to climb back on the ladder again while the vice president and the two agents pace down the hall and up the stairs. The camera continues its systematic switch, scenically stoking suspense until finally the vice presidents stops at one of the doors where he and the two agents pause and stare at eachother.
Vice president: this is the president’s room, I ask you for the last time not to disturb him.
Agent Malone: Thanks for your concern Mr. vice president, we’ll take our chances.
The vice president looks around flustered and confused as if he was recovering from the demoralizing effects of an atomic wedgie. The door creaks open slowly on an incipient view of the bedroom. The two agents are jarred with utter amazement as they stare at the president in his silky white boxers lying in bed edgewise with on arm behind his head exposing a bushel of his armpit hair in scandalous lasciviousness, his big and saggy parabolic belly protruding and straddling the bed, he looks like a cross between a model in a Modigliani painting and a giant ladle.
President: who are these people?
Vice president: they are with the FBI sir.
President: aaaah, I believe you’re here to check on me, well I am doing fine as you can see.
Agent Malone: I am special agent Malone, this is special agent Taylor, we’re just making sure you’re ok, we thought you were missing.
President (roars angrily): bullshit! You’re here to ensure that Ocampo’s orders are being followed, go to hell.
The president flutters his arm angrily.
Agent Malone: we apologize for any inconvenience we may have caused, now if you excuse us we need to be on our way.
Agent Malone signals agent Taylor to leave the room.
President: agent Malone!
The two agents turn their heads around to look at the president.
President: have you ever watched the movie ‘Ferris Bueller’s day off’?
(Agent Malone’s confusion brewing to the boiling point): yes a long time ago.
President: brilliant film, what I like most about that film is how that little rascal Ferris makes such good use of his window, he manages to sneak out of his house unnoticed, he raises all kinds of mischief and still manages to return to his bedroom on time and without ever being noticed, all because of how cleverly he uses his window.
Agent Malone (looking very pale and helpless): very well Mr. President, have a wonderful evening.
President: and one more thing agent Malone.
Agent Malone turns his neck around one more time, with aggravated peevishness.
President: please deliver this to your Zionist master Ocampo.
The president pouts his opulent and luscious African lips, tweezes his left nipple and blows agent Malone a big wet squeaky kiss.
Executive producer
Not Jerry Bruckheimer.
