From what the Portwood sergeant could now recall, MEND wanted to drastically cut oil production in the Niger-Delta region of the West African nation of Nigeria. The organization aimed to eventually expose exploitation and oppression of Niger-Deltans, as well as the devastation of the region’s natural environment by oil corporations.
“Our government and overseas oil firms promote massive economic inequalities, fraud, and environmental degradation on our lands,” Mr. Gbomoh continued. “And due to this, we are fighting for ‘total control’ of the Niger-Delta’s oil wealth, since our people have not gained from these riches under the ground as well as in our creeks and swamps.”
Kimberley rolled her eyes. What the man would never say was that MEND’s methods included kidnap-for-ransom of oil workers, staging armed assaults on production sites, pipeline destruction, murder of Nigerian police officers, and the sale of stolen oil to the black market.
“As I speak,” Mr. Gbomoh continued, “other operations are rounding up on oil installations across the Niger-Delta, and more of your fellow expatriates will soon be joining you here.”
Kimberley sighed. She could now remember the attack on the house at Bonny Island and their subsequent kidnap by armed men. Blindfolded and transported to an unknown destination, they’d met other kidnapped hostages at this location.
“So, we are hostages, Kim?” Aiden asked the Portwood sergeant and the MEND militants surrounding the hostages laughed at him.
“So na now you know?” one of them asked him in Nigerian pidgin.
“Una own don finish today,” another grumpy fellow added in the same language.
“No, Peter,” Mr. Gbomoh told this rebel. “Give them food and wait for my orders, understand? I’ll give it when the others arrive or when those fools at Abuja have carried out our demands.”
He left.
Kimberley looked at Rachel and heaved a sigh of relief when the little girl turned to stare at her with resolute eyes.
But where was the white book?
“Where’s the book?” Kimberley mouthed, hoping the little girl would get the message.
“Quiet, I say! Keep quiet,” the militant called Peter snapped at the Portwood sergeant. “Fine girl for face, no make me vex o.”
“Oga don commot,” Godspower said. “Now na me be presido.”
“Who dash you?” a fat Nigerian hostage whispered, unfortunately generating raucous laughter from the militants.
An angry Godspower slapped the man hard across the face. “Who give you permission to talk?” he snarled in Nigerian pidgin. He lifted his weapon and brandished it at the hostages. “I go kill anybody wey open mouth again!” he said in the same English pidgin.
Kimberley turned to Rachel and the little girl nodded at a heap of items on the grass some feet away from the hostages. The white book lay atop this heap. If they would have any chance against the Gray Ones, they would have to find a way to get back the ancient volume.
The militants brought Spaghetti on plastic takeaway plates and untied the hostages. As they ate, Aiden and Rachel moved closer to Kimberley under the watchful eyes of the rebel guards.
“We must find a way to get back the book,” Aiden murmured in-between mouthfuls.
“The Gray Ones will soon be here,” Rachel whispered. “What do we do?”
“We must retrieve the book and look for the guy Mariah told us about,” Kimberley outlined. “He must be around here somewhere.”
“Hey, you three,” one of the militants began, pointing at the three time-travelers. “What is going on there?” He walked over to the trio.
“Nothing, sir,” Aiden said, looking up. “We’re just enjoying the food.”
“So be quiet while doing so,” the man growled.
“Okay,” Kimberley said. “What happens to us if the government doesn’t do what you wanted?”
“Death na,” the man said without hesitation. “Ọnwụ.”
Kimberley appeared confused.
“It means ‘death’ in Igbo,” the man grumbled.
“Okay,” Aiden whispered, looking at the book lying on other personal belongings a few feet away. His mind was in overdrive, puzzling over the best way to make the armed men return it.
“What are you looking at?” the fellow hovering over them demanded, startling the boy. He went over to the heap of items and picked up the hardback volume. Turning it and flipping it open, he frowned.
“It must be clear to you now that the Nigerian government cannot protect you,” the rebel whose colleagues called Godspower said behind Kimberley. “We told you to leave our land while you can. Now you’ll die in it....”
“And what about this book?” the militant holding the white book asked Aiden.
“It’s nothing,” Kimberley replied. “Just a scrap book I record names with.”
“Names? Of who?”
“People I do business with,” Kimberley lied, looking at Rachel.
The man looked through the book’s pages. The scribbled names on these pages did not convince him. “It’s not true,” he said. “You dey lie.” His fellow militants gathered around him and the three hostages he was confronting.
“Soothe yourself,” Kimberley said, trying to sound like she cared less.
“What kind of business?” the man asked her.
“The kind that’s none of your business?” she replied, frowning for good measure.
“Of course, it is our business,” Mr. Bruno Gbomoh said outside the group of militants and hostages. “Kpakol, give me that book,” he ordered the militant holding the hardback.
“Where did he come from?” Kimberley whispered, nodding towards the MEND spokesman.
“No idea,” Aiden said.
Mr. Gbomoh flipped through the white book. He had a puzzled expression as he looked at his wet palms in turn. “Where is the water coming from?”
“It fell into a bucket of water this morning,” Kimberley lied.
“No, Kim,” Rachel opposed. “You must tell them the truth now.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because it’s…it’s getting cold now,” the little girl blurted out.
Kimberley’s heart skipped. How did she miss that?
“What are you talking about?” Mr. Gbomoh asked Rachel. “What do you mean by that?” His right hand went to the holster underneath his suit.
Kimberley glared at Rachel, but the latter ignored her and looked straight into Mr. Bruno Gbomoh’s eyes.
“They are coming,” the little girl told the rebel.
The militants erupted into roaring laughter.
“Who is coming?” the one they called Peter asked his colleagues. “Soldiers? Them no dey fear?”
“Abi na police?” another rebel wanted to know in the same pidgin language. “Those ones sabi fight?”
The militants laughed for a long time afterwards.
“Still we must not let our guard down,” Mr. Gbomoh said, turning to Kimberley. “What does your little friend here mean by what she just said, miss?”
“She meant something else, sir,” Aiden began.
“Whose names are written in this book?” Mr. Gbomoh demanded.
“You must believe us if we tell you,” Kimberley added. No need lying now.
“Oga, those names fit be people we go kidnap later,” a militant suggested.
“Not true,” Kimberley said. “My niece is right. You must hand us that book, Mr. Gbomoh, if you and your men want to survive the calamity about to befall this place.”
“Tie them up and put them back on the boats,” the MEND spokesman ordered the man he called Kpakol. “We have to move them out of here now.”
“What for?” Aiden wondered aloud.
“Keep quiet,” the rebel spokesman snapped, handing over the white book to Kpakol. “We will investigate this wet book later, but now I think we should be moving the hostages. I don’t think this area is secure any longer.”
“You cannot run away from this enemy, Mr. Gbomoh,” Kim
berley told the man. “You must give us the book and let us go.”
“Oga, allow me to slap this girl right now,” Godspower said. “Be like say she dey craze. Make I reset her brain one time.”
Kimberley felt the surrounding temperature drop and heard Rachel screaming. She grabbed the white book from Kpakol as the militant lost his balance. Everything slowed down. Mr. Gbomoh looked amazed as demonic shapes sliced through his body in midair. His frozen men and bewildered hostages had surprise pasted on their faces as the devilish storm caught them unawares, each person dealing with his or her own terror.
The book’s magical dome protected the three time-travelers as well as two other hostages who’d been sitting close to Kimberley when the Gray Ones appeared. These unearthly apparitions continued their onslaught in droves, pummeling the dome from all sides and pushing their long hands into it. They started reaching out for the book as they howled horribly.
“What is happening?” one of the hostages in the dome demanded, staring at the long hands jutting into the bluish structure now protecting her. “This is not Ikwerre magic o!”
“What’s happening to everyone out there?” her male colleague asked and she looked outside with foreboding. She screamed as another demon threw up another hostage and went through the terrified fellow with ease.
“They are so many!” Rachel cried, holding up the book with Kimberley. “This doesn’t look good.”
“It had never looked good,” Aiden said, cowering below Kimberley’s arms. “Looks like it’s getting worse instead.”
As the dreadful Booklords froze away, fresh ones replaced the ashes fluttering into nothingness. The two hostages in the white book’s dome started shouting.
“Take my place,” Kimberley told Aiden, nodding at his silent question. The boy held up the book and she moved her numb hands away from the cold emanating from the ancient relic. No need to delay their ultimate weapon any longer.
“It’s not working,” Aiden said as soon as he locked hands with Rachel. The book’s icy filaments felt as cold as ever, but this time there was no reassuring boom to cap their effort. “Why is it not working?”
“I feel tired,” Rachel confessed. “Maybe that’s why.”
“Or maybe Mariah was right about the boom,” Kimberley said, and frowned at something she just saw in the distance. “We have a new problem,” she pointed out, nodding towards the human materializing at the edge of the forest clearing.
On seeing the weird man forming out of nothing before her very eyes, the perturbed woman taking refuge in the dome with Kimberley and her friends screamed terribly, shutting her eyes and hugging herself beneath everyone.
Carl Bain moved swiftly. His repeated strikes shook the white book’s spherical protector until his fists became bloodied. Still he hammered on.
“We have got to get out of here now,” Kimberley said. “He’s going to break the dome very soon.”
“But we haven’t met the man Mariah told us about,” Rachel said. She saw the shapeless demons push Mr. Gbomoh’s body into one of the boats on the creek near the clearing.
“If only we could create the boom,” Aiden exclaimed, trying to open the mysterious book suspended by icy filaments in the middle of everything. “It’s frozen solid.” He sounded frustrated as he watched another long hand stretch out towards the book.
Carl Bain’s fists fell on the magical dome again and a crack appeared on the unearthly structure. “The beginning of the end, my friends!” the human minion bellowed with glee. “The beginning of the end.”
“Yeow,” Rachel shouted when a Booklord’s scrawny arm seared her skin before its owner froze away. Surprisingly, she was calm this time.
Carl Bain landed another blow on the dome and the two hostages sheltering in it with the time-travelers screamed.
“I wish we had a cross or an ankh,” Kimberley said, looking around.
“Or a pen,” Rachel said.
“I have a marker,” the female hostage trembling below said in a shaky voice as the mysterious human outside slammed his fists on the dome an umpteenth time. Another crack appeared on the protective hemisphere.
“Okay, give it to me,” Kimberley said. Another demonic hand pulverized when it grabbed the white book near her. The sharpie exchanged hands and the Portwood police sergeant drew a bold ankh on her palm.
She brandished the symbol and the Booklords vanished with their human minion. The mysterious dome also disappeared.
“What just happened?” the female hostage who’d been saved by the dome wondered. She stared incredulously at Aiden. “Who are you people?”
“You won’t believe me if I tell you,” the boy replied, looking around. “It’s a long story.”
The male hostage who’d also sheltered in the mysterious hemisphere stood up and walked around the clearing like a zombie. Apart from the few people the book’s dome had protected, no living thing was in the vicinity. Even the grass had all withered away. “Oh God,” the man exclaimed when he saw Mr. Bruno Gbomoh’s body in one of the flying boats on the creek near the edge of the clearing. “Witchcraft everywhere.”
“What do we do now, Kim?” Rachel wondered aloud. “The man we’re looking for could be among the dead.”
“Mariah said he’ll find us,” Kimberley said. “We just need to prepare for another attack now.” She drew an ankh on Rachel’s right palm.
“Can I have my marker back?” the female hostage survivor asked Kimberley.
“Not before this,” Kimberley told her, drawing an ankh on the woman’s palm with the marker. “This will protect you from those demons,” she explained to the Nigerian.
“Please protect me as well,” the male hostage survivor urged the Portwood cop. “I don’t know what you people are or where you came from, but I need the protection as well,” he said.
Kimberley drew an ankh on the man’s palm.
“Arụ,” the fellow said in Igbo.
“What did you say?” Kimberley demanded.
“Bad thing,” the man said. “It means ‘bad thing’ in Igbo.”
Kimberley rolled her eyes. Of course, Nigeria had so many tribes. The Igbo tribe was one of the three biggest ethnic groups in the country. “Where is Aiden?” she asked Rachel. “I need to draw an ankh on his palm.”
“Over here,” Aiden called out from a hut near the clearing. The only structure in the area. The lonely environment had started creeping him out.
“What are you doing there?” Kimberley demanded, turning towards the hut. “Aiden, you know you’re not safe there. We should always be together.”
“You need to see this, Kim,” the boy replied from the hut. “I think I’ve found our man.”
* * *
Carl Bain twisted and turned in the whirlwind he’d suddenly found himself in. The ghostly forms shrieking all around him meant only one thing. There’d been another defeat in the hands of those three meddlers. The whirlwind was the aftermath of that defeat.
The American hustler tried to stop his tumbling motion with his magic, but realized he had none. He wondered how the symbols had gradually come to affect him and his masters even when they were just drawings. He could remember back in Germany when the female cop had engraved a cross on his gloves and it could only irritate him and his masters. What changed?
Presently he stopped spinning and crashed to the ground on his back. His infernal masters appeared all around him, their high-pitched deliberations an annoying experience for him.
“What the hell?” he yelled at some point, blocking his ears with his hands. What were they arguing about? His fate? A new plan? Whatever.
Their leader shimmered before him.
“Manipulate the female cop,” it conveyed. “She is not a Bookbearer.”
“And she is confused,” another demon pronounced behind the American.
“As you wish, my masters,” the human thug said. Even if the policewoman was not a Bookbearer and this plan could fail, he might be able to retrieve his own package i
nstead.
“Retrieve the manuscript first,” the demon leader warned him.
He’d forgotten they could read his mind.
* * *
Kimberley looked down at the man whose fellow militants called Kpakol. “He must have passed out,” she figured. “I don’t think he’s dead.”
“Why do you say so?” Aiden wondered.
“He is still breathing,” Kimberley said, pointing at the Nigerian’s chest.
“Okay,” Aiden said. “Guess you’re right.”
The Portwood sergeant knelt beside the militant and took his semiautomatic rifle before shaking him vigorously. “Time to wake him up,” she said.
Kpakol started, screaming like a deranged fellow. His AK47 pointed at him silenced him. “Wetin you dey do, you this woman?” he demanded in Nigerian pidgin.
“Get up,” Kimberley ordered him, the semiautomatic unwavering. “We need to go on a journey with you now.”
The man obeyed and raised his hands in surrender.
“Any need for that, Kim?” Aiden asked.
“Whatever,” Kimberley said. “Now, move out of the hut,” she told Kpakol.
Rachel watched this party step out of the hut with incredulity. She studied the rebel whose hands were up in the air. “Is that him?”
“You tell me,” Aiden quipped. “He’s not dead, is he?”
“And so?”
“He could be our guy if he’s not dead,” Kimberley said. “Look around you.”
“Whose guy?” Kpakol began. “Are you people the police or army? Which one una be?”
“What’s going on here?” the surviving Nigerian female hostage demanded. She sat down near the hut. “Are you arresting him?”
“You should leave now,” Kimberley advised her. “The army will soon be here so leave before they come. I hear they don’t joke around.”
“Answer her question joor,” the surviving Nigerian male hostage began and Kimberley glared at him. The Nigerian female hostage started walking away and the Nigerian male hostage reluctantly stood up to follow her. “Arụ ebe n’ile,” he grumbled in Igbo. “Bad thing everywhere,” he told a frowning Aiden when he walked past the boy.
The White Book Page 27