by Tope Oluwole
CHAPTER 6
Eko
Fatima watched her children in the dark as they lay in their bed and crib respectively. What was she going to do now? All the money that was left when her husband disappeared was now gone.
He had managed to sell the house from right under them. Well, from under her. Thank God she had the good fortune to get the spare key to the flat on Victoria Island from the meguard.
Glory be to God she said to herself. Fatima had been praying from sunrise to sunset, and then fasted for three days, and then went to camp for an overnight vigil. The following morning she awoke to a revelation. At the Federal Palace Hotel, The Spirit told her, there would be a letter for her.
That same morning Fatima woke up her mother to let her know she would be gone for an hour or so and not to alarm the children of her departure.
Fatima crept out into predawn of Ebute Metta and used her last 5,000 Afris for an okada to the hotel. She couldn't afford a hover-taxi, and she wasn't in a life and death sort of hurry. At least she couldn't afford to be
When Fatima arrived on Victoria Island, she could feel the morning heat along with the dampness of her hair beneath her turquoise, silk scarf. She had no idea of how she would get back to Ebute Metta, short of walking the ten kilometers back. Fatima climbed the ramp to the main entrance of Federal Palace Hotel, and strolled through the sliding doors, trying to look as important as she could.
At first, Fatima didn't know where to go. She had never been inside a hotel before. Fear and doubt were beginning to creep into her head, when a teenaged boy wearing a uniform with the hotel's logo embroidered on its breast, asked Fatima in Hausa, "Can I help you madam?"
Fatima let out a smile that surprised them both. "I was sent to pick up something," she replied in Hausa as well. "Where may I collect it?" Fatima continued in English.
"Please ask at the front desk," the young man pointed. Fatima's heart pounded as she walked up to the front desk.
"Excuse me," Fatima said. A young, toned Igbo woman lifted her eyes to give Fatima the once over.
"Yes?"
Fatima swallowed, and asked, "Is there any message or post that has been left for me."
"Are you a guest of the hotel, madam?" A robot concierge appeared from behind Fatima.
Fatima's mind raced as she gazed at its lack of facial expression.
The robot concierge repeated the question in Yoruba, Igbo, and Hausa, before Fatima responded, "Blanc."
"Oh? One moment please." The Igbo woman turned around, and after shuffling through a container behind the desk. She returned to Fatima an envelope with "Mrs. Blanc" across the face of it, and the hotel logo on the back. Fatima felt her entire body shake as she reached for the envelope."
"Identification please?" The robot concierge asked, and the Igbo woman held the envelope.
"Yes, of course." Fatima pulled out her federal identification card.
The robot concierge scanned Fatima's identification card. "Thank you Misses Blanc."
Fatima took the letter from the Igbo woman, and her identification card back from the concierge. She then took a short walk to the furthest lounge chair from the desk and slowly opened the envelope. Out fell a hotel key card. After examining it, she pulled out the accompanying letter. After a deep breath, Fatima opened the letter. It was written in longhand on crisp bond paper, real paper, in handwriting she immediately recognized as her husband's. She had not seen such prose from him since they wed, years ago.
My darling,
By the time you read this I should be on a train back to you.
Then I can share the good news with you in person.
Love,
Marc
It was now a week later. Fatima still hadn't seen her husband. Fatima left her perch at the door of her children's room and strolled towards the living room. She glanced at the mail on the coffee table and, out of a need for something else to do beside worry, began fingering through the piles of unopened mail. They were a combination of junk gift mail, promotional swag, and a package about a size of a loaf of bread.
It was in a thick, pink pastel box, and post-marked Maiduguri. The package was addressed to Professor Marc Blanc, and the sender's address was the same as the recipient.
From the date stamp, it was sent less than a week ago. Fatima was about to place the package back on the table when an odd curiosity gripped her. After all, she thought, it could be something she needed to address on her husband's behalf. What kind of wife would she be if she couldn't be relied on to see to her husband's affairs in his absence.
CHAPTER 7
The Twelve-Nineteen
Ingrid's train arrived at New Lagos Terminus at 12:19 a.m., on schedule. She had enough time for a good cry about the sudden death of her lover, and the unknown that awaited her in New Lagos.
The New Lagos Terminus was populated with people arriving from major cities all over Nigeria, even at this late hour. A huge circular, crystalline display pulsed green, white, and green with "Welcome to New Lagos" scrolling across, marquee-style, followed by "The World Most Welcoming City".
Down the concourse, Ingrid guessed at least a hundred people were coming from the Maiduguri-New Lagos train, going in and out of bathrooms, eating in restaurants, and wheeling portmanteaus in one direction or another.
The site that caught Ingrid's eye was the ubiquitous Doctor Bigmann's Burgers. Who would have imagined twenty years ago, when it was on the brink of bankruptcy, that it would be in over fifty countries today?
Ingrid was starving. She hadn't eaten anything since she left Maiduguri, and would have been too upset to have eaten anyway. Ingrid didn't feel like anything greasy or heavy, so she stopped by a vending machine that called her. "Madam, would you like something tasty from my selection?" the automated vending machine asked.
"Umm...Yes," Ingrid replied. After looking over the variety of soft drinks and food, she said "I want a sour lemon drink, and..." She traced her finger across the selections in a rapid motion. "...large plantain chips."
"Very good madam," the machine replied. "Twenty-five Afris, please." Ingrid began to pull her credit card out of her bag, when she remembered her situation. She pulled out a preloaded value card instead. Ingrid pushed the soft drink box into her bag, and began devouring the plantain chips as she scurried down the main concourse towards the overhead sign marked "Taxis".
When Ingrid got to the taxi stop she headed for the first taxi she laid eyes on. After peeking into her bag she decided on a hover-okada, which she suspected would be much cheaper than a charter taxi.
Omoaiye spotted the woman who he thought might have the map. She was thin and walked fast, like she was looking for a bathroom. He planned to intercept her before she found one. As little wahalla (drama) as possible was his goal. Omoaiye quickened his pace to cut down the distance between them, as the woman headed for a hover-okada. The shadows of the night favored him, so this could be easier than he thought.
Then out of some of the same shadows, three dark shapes emerged out of the corridor she had come. They moved like black demons toward her. Omoaiye watched the three muscular demons converged on their pray with only a few meters between themselves and success.
In his mind, Omoaiye had already mapped out the assault. As he sped along the side of the corridor wall, cloaked in darkness, the hulking forms began to close in on the woman.
They could not succeed, Omoaiye thought. They would not succeed. Omoaiye pounced on the largest of the three demons and blanketed it in the tazer shock of his special suit. Unfortunately, it was good for only one shot at a time, because it took forever to recharge. The largest demon howled blowing any element of surprise Omoaiye imagined he had. The woman spun around as did all the taxi and okada drivers, and the two remaining demons.
Omoaiye saw the woman's eyes widen in terror, once some of the night light of traffic illuminated the corridor.
"No, please!" the woman screeched. The second of the demons grabbed her throat. Omoaiye swung his cu
tlass, handle first, slamming it against the second demon. The cracking of its skull was all Omoaiye needed to hear. The second demon released its grasp and crumbled to the ground whimpering. The woman fell backwards, heading for the ground. Her eyes rolled back to white. Omoaiye dove quickly just in time to save her head from hitting the concrete.
That was his mistake. Omoaiye felt pain surge through his midsection and back as the third demon rammed into him.
"Help! Help!" The woman screamed. Out of the corner of his vision, Omoaiye watched the woman recoil, while watching the second demon rummage through her bag. It found a soft drink box, and began sniffing it.
Omoaiye pulled a flash grenade out of his utility belt, and tossed it between the legs of the second demon. The white hot flash dazzled the second demon, which howled in agony. Omoaiye raised his cutlass and bore down on the demon's head, toppling it to the ground. The woman was so disoriented by the flash that she ran right into a wall, knocking herself out cold. The third demon fled once it locked eyes with Omoaiye and his cutlass.
Omoaiye looked down at the array of bodies. He pressed a button on his goggles which illuminated the immediate area. He watched the demons devolve into some area boys. Their skin ravaged with boils and sores, yellow with streaks of red. Their faces pulsed with the exaggerated busting of capillaries beneath their skin. When Omoaiye turn back to look at the woman, she still lay unconscious in the dirt. Crouching next to her, Omoaiye could see the fresh bruise on her forehead. He watched her eyelids quiver, when he placed some concoction in a small metal case, under her nose. Omoaiye nodded to himself, and then began rummaging through her bag for the map.
"YOU! YOU THERE! HOLD YOUR POSITION! THIS IS THE POLICE!" A booming voice said, and then a flood of light washed over the corridor.
As Ingrid regained consciousness she could already feel the thumping in her forehead, and the cold against he back of her head. She started to open her eyes, but the pain caused by the white light made it hard to focus. Then, there in the center of the light, Ingrid found a black mass. As her vision cleared, Ingrid could see a thin-bodied figure wearing a mask.
"Step away from her!" Ingrid heard a voice roar through her head. She winced in pain, and then saw the masked man studying her. There was no way of reading his expression, she thought. Ingrid then saw his hand reach for hers.
"No! God! Please!" Ingrid turned away, wanted to get up and run, but her legs didn't move. The masked man brought a tissue out of her bag. Ingrid pleaded, "Please, just...just take the money." Ingrid closed her eyes. She flinched when she felt the sting from something soft touch her forehead.
"Put up your hands, slowly, and move away from there!" An amplified voice said. The masked man continued to dig through Ingrid's bag.
"This is your final warning," the voice continued. Ingrid watched the masked man grab her bag, then reconsider, and then grab her PDA instead. Then he vanished in a cloud of black smoke.
CHAPTER 8
The Package
After about twenty minutes debating within herself, Fatima decided to open the package with the Maiduguri postmark. It was a digital music and video player. Fatima put the box it came in aside after she found nothing else in it. Fatima took the player in her hands, then pressed the power button. Nothing happened. She then held the player to her ear and shook it, just to make sure it wasn't broken. She then flipped it over and ran her fingers along the smooth backing, searching for an opening. When Fatima found the battery compartment she slid it open, on her third try. It was empty.
Fatima then continued to run her fingers along the top edge of the player, and then discovered a digital storage card. Fatima looked at it for a moment. She thought the house computer might be able to read the card.
In the living room Fatima placed the storage card into a small slot on the side of the media player. The display came to life and flashed a splash page with the manufacturer of the media card, a summary of it's specifications, and a list of contents. The contents contained one item labeled "Epitome". Fatima pressed play on the media player and then an audio track started.
"Sorry I'm not transmitting video. I had to think fast." Fatima gasped, putting her hands to her mouth, at the sound of her husband's voice. "If you are listening to this, it's because I was unable to get to you. It's a good chance that I am dead at the hands of my would-be benefactors."
Fatima commanded the player to rewind for five seconds, and then commanded it to play again. After the third time, she tossed the player to the couch, and then broke down in tears. "It cannot be," Fatima said to the ceiling. "How will I cope, eh?" She paced back and forth, wringing her hands all the while. "What about the children?" Back on the couch Fatima looked at the player, and shook her head. "Get a hold of yourself Fatima. Think!"
No sooner had Fatima finished her thought, that the doorbell rang. She thought maybe she had imagined it. With all her stress building up nicely, it was understandable. The bell chimed again, and Fatima when to the intercom.
"Who is there?" Fatima asked. There was no response at the other end.
Ingrid became frantic, thinking she heard a woman's voice. After her ordeal, it was understandable.
Ingrid had taken a taxi to Federal Palace Hotel, as she normally did, during her trysts with Marc. There they would have an elegant dinner with some wine before returning to Marc's flat for the night. Ingrid had a sick feeling Marc wouldn't be at the hotel. The robot concierge confirmed Mister Blanc hadn't checked in.
Maybe circumstances led him straight to the flat, Ingrid thought. Maybe he had been too exhausted, and the Inspector had just been lying to unnerve her. She would get back in a taxi, and head back to Marc's flat. When she got there he would hold her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her.
"Hello?" The woman's voice asked again. Ingrid's mind raced. She didn't know who this woman was, but she had nowhere else to go.
Ingrid shut her eyes, dropped her shoulders, and sighed. "My name is Ingrid, Ingrid Natarajian. I work with Professor Marc Blanc." She shivered as she heard the words come out from her lips. She had no idea who was at the other end of the intercom, and almost didn't care. Ingrid was exhausted and just wanted to pass out in a corner somewhere.
"The girl from Maiduguri?" The female voice from the intercom asked.
Ingrid recoiled. "Um...yes. I'm his assistant?"
After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the door buzzed and Ingrid let herself in. The outside of the building hadn't been much to look at, but inside it was nice with fresh yellow paint on the walls and terrazzo floors. Everything lined with Brazilian wood. To Ingrid's surprise, not only was the elevator clean, it was quick. A map showed local eateries and the like, in the space to the right of the elevator buttons.
When Ingrid stepped out of the elevator, she felt a sharp jolt, and then she blacked out.
CHAPTER 9
Café Okada
Inspector Morefishco and his NPF team spent the next hour canvassing the walkway between the Lagos Terminus exit and the taxi stand. All Morefishco found was the residue of the smoke bomb, "Shadow Boy", as the media dubbed him, had left behind. Morefishco requested one of the crime scene team members collect a sample and forward it to the New Lagos Local Area Government crime lab for analysis.
A phone call broke Morefishco's thoughts. "Morefishco," he answered. He then frowned. "Yes, the two oyinbos are under my jurisdiction." His eyes widened. "I'm on my way."
When Morefishco arrived at the emergency room of Saint Peju Hospital, he braced himself.
He hadn't known his American colleagues long, but they weren't going to die on his watch, not without his permission. Morefishco was recognized by the charge nurse. He led Morefishco to a private double room to the rear of the emergency wing.
When Morefishco eased into the room, he was surprised to find Churchwell and Dockery not only in one piece, but engaged in an intense discussion with another nurse.
"You both should be somewhere southwest of the Bight of Benin r
ight now," Morefishco interrupted.
"A bit of what?" Dockery replied. Morefishco shook his head. Dockery.
"We're sorry about your man, Lawanson," Churchwell added. "We never saw it coming."
Morefishco nodded. "Saw it on the news. Damn fanatics!"
"What now?" Churchwell asked.
"You both need to lay low until I can get you deputized."
"What?" Both Churchwell and Dockery said.
"Just kidding." Morefishco cracked a grin.
Morefishco dropped Dockery and Churchwell at a safe house in the stilted shantytown of Makoko, just off Third Mainland Bridge. He wasn't sure if they were really targets, or just lucky to be in the right place at the wrong time. He wasn't planning on getting lucky twice. He left a sentry robot on patrol. "I'm getting you on the first ship out of here. I'm sure the port will be cleared for travel by tomorrow night," Morefishco said. "Stay put! Ask the sentry if you need anything." Morefishco zoomed back to the Mainland for his moonlight gig.
As Morefishco sat in the dressing room at Café Okada, preparing for his cabaret show, he thought about the why. Why kill Blanc? So far, Professor Blanc's background revealed nothing more than a French expatriate who made good money at a state university. He listed no next-of-kin, but in his office he had several packages from a Blanc in New Lagos.
Morefishco finished powdering his face, putting on his lipstick, and his wig. He then stood up in front of the full-length mirror. Mona was ready for her public. Unfortunately, Inspector Morefishco would have to sleep on this and hope his trace of Miss Natarajian would lead to something.
CHAPTER 10
The Map
Early Sunday morning, Omoaiye slipped into Dejure Bakery. It was owned and operated by the Plechenko sisters, expatriates from Ukraine. Omoaiye felt a vibration in his secret pocket. He then pulled out his PDA. On the external view screen, he saw, "Abort!" After flipping open his PDA he read, "Do you have the map?" Next to the from field read, "Anonymous". Omoaiye typed in his response, "no, but I know where." Omoaiye pulled out, from his secret pocket, a sliver of net-paper and began to unroll it.