by Dan Fletcher
‘That’s none of your damn business! Let’s just say that it’s very valuable,’ shouted the Chief, flicking back to his usual persona. ‘Take them, and those,’ he said, pointing to two sturdy looking suitcases, ‘to the Sheraton Hotel near the airport. There are two adjoining rooms booked in your name.’
‘Here are your plane tickets,’ he said, handing them to Happy. ‘You have to change planes in Washington, the details are all inside. Make sure that you look after these two very well!’
‘Yes sir, leave it with me,’ Happy replied, knowing exactly what he meant.
‘I’ll be going there tonight. Tunge and I can take you to the meeting when you arrive,’ said the Chief. He was still giving away as little of his plans as possible, even to his two most trusted men.
‘OK, no problem,’ replied Happy. Surprised that the Chief was going, it must be important.
‘Well? What are you standing there for? Get going! I have things to do before I leave,’ shouted the Chief.
Patience was already lifting the half sleeping John out of the chair. Happy pulled Alan up from his seat.
‘Oy! There’s no need for the rough stuff! I said we’d co-operate,’ Alan said, trying to pull away.
Happy stopped and looked at him with deadly calm, ‘If you want to make it to America, and see your family alive again, I suggest you shut up.’
Duly subdued, Alan allowed himself to be led through the warehouse, back to the car and waiting driver. The man looked like he hadn’t moved since they were taken inside. There was no expression on his face, just doing his job. His poker face never revealing what he really thought about the Chief, or his business dealings.
Ghani was one of the lucky people to have a job, one that paid reasonably well, although most of what he saw abhorred him. Ghani’s family needed the money, something he would never jeopardise.
‘Take us to the Sheraton Towers,’ Happy said, once they were back in the car. Ghani turned the Mercedes around and headed back into town without speaking. The Chief had already told him where they would be going.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
The Chief followed behind them and returned to the other car, where Tunge was waiting, his head leaning against the rear-door window. The Chief opened the door, causing him to nearly fall out.
‘Move over,’ shouted the Chief. Tunge slid over to the other side, as far as possible.
‘Take me home Solomon,’ instructed the Chief.
‘Yes sir,’ replied his driver, starting the car. He headed alongside the docks, towards the bridge over to Ikoyi.
‘If you ever speak to me like that in front of the men I will kill you. I don’t care if you are my son. I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?’ said the Chief, in a sinister tone.
‘Yes I’m sorry father, but...,’ stammered Tunge.
‘No buts! If you do it again I will have no choice. If one of the others had done it I would have killed them,’ he said, as if it all made perfect sense.
‘Ok, I’m sorry let’s just go home and forget about it,’ Tunge said, hoping to move on. His throat was severely bruised and swollen and his voice was sounding strange, his vocal chords shrunken.
‘We won’t be there long. We have to get to the airport and catch our plane,’ said the Chief.
‘Plane? Where are we going? I need to get back to London.’ Tunge was shocked but curiously resigned to it all.
‘There’s nothing urgent for you to do there! We’re going to Los Angeles for a short vacation. We’ll be back by the weekend, so you won’t be away long. You can deal with affairs when you get back,’ beamed the Chief, as if it would be a good opportunity for them to bond.
Tunge knew the Chief didn’t take holidays, he could never remember having one with him, even as a child.
‘One more thing I’m not happy about,’ the Chief said, suddenly remembering, ‘he told me that you have his family, I want them killed.’
Tunge paused to brace himself, ‘I’m afraid I don’t have them. By the time we got back to the house they’d gone. There didn’t seem any point pursuing them.’
‘There didn’t seem any point pursuing them? Are you mad? They’re witnesses! A soon as we are back from the States I want you to go and clear up this mess. Happy will go with you and this time make sure there are no loose ends,’ screamed the Chief, stunned by his son’s ineptitude.
‘But why do we need to kill them? They don’t know who we are, we wore masks,’ said Tunge.
‘His wife knows where he’s been working doesn’t she? It’s one of the first things the police will check when she reports it.’ The Chief was fully aware of standard lines of enquiry. Work and family were usually top of the list in any investigation.
‘She won’t. I warned her what would happen if she called the police,’ Tunge replied, not convinced himself.
‘And how long do you think that will last? Once he’s been missing for a few days she’ll call them anyway, you fool,’ screamed the Chief, ‘Happy will be in charge this time. That way I know the job will get done. He’s not soft like you!’
There was no point saying anything, so he remained silent. Whether Tunge agreed with the women and children being killed was irrelevant. Happy would make sure it was done.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
‘Everybody hold their positions! Stay where you are! I repeat hold your positions.’ Captain Dayo Osunlade held his breath, hoping that none of his more trigger happy officers would open fire. There were twenty-six of them hidden in various vantage points overlooking the warehouse. After waiting so long they would all be getting jittery. He watched through his binoculars, as the Chief came out the warehouse behind the others.
‘What should we do sir?’ said the man lying prone beside him, with the telescopic rifle.
‘Just wait!’ barked Dayo, trying to decide what to do next. They were supposed to be taking the Chief down, busting his facility. They had been waiting patiently all day, cramped and uncomfortable, for him to arrive. The sudden departure and new development, the westerners, had caught him off guard.
When Commander-General Ibisi promised the Chief faithfully that he was not under investigation, he was lying through his teeth. The Minister of Police had overheard rumours about his relationship with the Chief. Although there was no proof, it was made clear to the Commander-General that it was either his head, or the Chief’s on a plate. He was forced to start an investigation into the Chief’s activities, one that would no doubt end their profitable business arrangement. He could no longer afford to turn the other cheek.
The warehouse, mansion, and the Chief’s office had been under surveillance for months. The NDLEA only just missed getting hold of the Chief’s last marijuana shipment. The sixteen man squad arrived there in the early hours that day to find the place deserted and all the crops gone. The Chief narrowly escaped capture, having been there just hours earlier.
Dayo was tasked with heading the raid on the warehouse. Information from an informer confirmed that a large consignment of cocaine was due in from Brazil.
Dayo reached for his cell-phone and pressed the ‘1’ key, the number he previously assigned for the Commander.
‘Hello, did you get him?’ said the Commander, excitedly.
‘No, there’s been a development sir. There are two male Caucasians with him. It looks like they are being held hostage. Please advise,’ Dayo said, one of the forces’s more experienced officers. He had been with them for five years, and lead numerous operations like this one.
‘Are they still at the warehouse?’ said the Commander.
‘No they are just leaving sir. I advise we follow them and see what develops. I can leave enough men here to make sure that the cocaine doesn’t go anywhere,’ Dayo replied.
‘Ok, it sounds like the best course of action. But keep me posted. Make sure you get the Chief though, don’t let him get away,’ said the Commander. They better bloody well get him. It wouldn’t take long for the Chief to work out where the order had com
e from.
He shuddered, before returning his attention to the politicians and dignitaries sitting around the table. He was attending a function at NDLEA headquarters, celebrating their recent successes in the fight against crime. Smiling as the others laughed at a lame joke he shared no interest in, Ibisi mentally crossed himself and prayed.
‘Delta 2, are you still parked at the entrance? Over,’ said Dayo, into his radio. The device squawked and squealed in his hand.
‘Yes sir, we are still in position awaiting orders. Over,’ was the eager reply.
‘Follow the first car at a safe distance. I want to know where they’re going. When they stop, call me and let me know where you are. Do you copy that? Over,’ Dayo said, already getting up from his prone position and beckoning his lieutenant to follow him.
‘Yes sir. We’ll keep them in sight. Over,’ was the reply followed by a click.
Dayo ran down the stairs to where their Peugeot 504 was parked, out of sight behind a rusting container. They jumped in, and he roared the car into life. Tyres spinning, they sped after the second car carrying the Chief. The Mercedes hadn’t got far down Apapa road, and he slowed to match their speed, some two hundred meters behind.
They followed them, all the way to the Chief’s mansion in Ikoyi. Watching as the electric gates closed behind the Mercedes.
‘What do we do know then sir?’ said Lieutenant Efe.
‘We wait, and I’ve got a feeling we won’t have to wait long,’ Dayo replied. His instinct told him that something big was happening. The westerners must be there for a reason. What was it? He picked up the car microphone and radioed the officer tailing the other car.
‘Where are you?’ he said, as soon as the man answered.
‘We’re still behind them sir, heading towards Ikeja. Over,’ replied the officer.
‘What, the airport? Over,’ Dayo said, stiffening behind the wheel. If they were headed for the airport it might be too late.
‘No they’re just turning right up Ikorodu Road, over.’
‘Ok. Let me know as soon as they stop. Over,’ Dayo was relieved. They were probably heading for the Sheraton. As far as they knew the Chief had no property in the area.
He put his phone on the dash and made himself comfortable in the seat. Nothing could be seen through the two meter high perimeter wall. They would just have to wait.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
By the time they pulled up outside the hotel it was already dark. Not the sort of ‘dark’ you get on an English night. The sky was completely clouded over again, and without a star or the moon in the sky it was pitch black.
Not many of the townsfolk were connected to, or could afford, electricity, so there were not many lights on. The hotel stood out like an oasis, its bright floodlights announcing its splendour. Shining up at the date palms and sending their shadows across the upper floors.
The hotel was surrounded by a high security fence, with razor wire coiled along the top. They drove to the gatehouse and, after their details were taken the barrier was lifted. It was the first time Alan had seen a hotel with such defence measures. It shocked him that anyone would want to stay in a place that needed to be so heavily defended. It didn’t seem right somehow.
They drove in through the palm lined drive, past a casino on their right, at least that’s what the sign said outside. They pulled up outside the impressive smoked glass entrance. The car door was opened before they were even at a complete stop, the doorman keen to show his eagerness, and earn a good tip. Alan wasn’t expecting it, and jumped back from the door.
‘Good evening sir. May I welcome you to the Sheraton Hotel and Towers. I hope you have a pleasant stay.’ Although he must repeat the same thing hundreds of times a day, the man’s smile looked genuine and his voice intoned that he meant it.
‘Err...thanks,’ Alan said, regaining his composure and leaving the car.
Patience was supporting John, holding him with John’s arm over his shoulder and his own around the injured man’s waist. Happy sneezed, pulling a now very dirty tissue from his pocket and searched for a clean bit. Coming over to John he pulled out his gun and shoved it into his back, staying close behind him.
‘Come on then, let’s go,’ Happy said, not bothered about showing his weapon, officially he was a Captain in the Nigerian State Police and authorised to carry one wherever he went, and shoot whoever he wanted. Nobody would ever dare to question his authority if he mentioned the Chief. That wasn’t normally necessary, certainly not today, and the concierge was if anything over-friendly when he saw them come in.
‘Good morning Mr Ogunese. Glad to have you back,’ he said, using Happy’s surname.
‘Hello Jokoh. Do you have our reservation?’ said Happy.
‘Yes sir. It’s all taken care of. Two rooms on the 5th floor with an adjoining door. Here are the key cards. You can go straight up, your luggage will be brought to you later,’ he glanced at Alan and John, showing no surprise at the state they were in.
‘Do you mind having them brought up with us,’ asked Happy, not wanting to let them out of his sight.
‘Certainly sir,’ replied the concierge, beckoning a porter. ‘Take Mr Ogunese and our other guests up to their rooms please Paul.’
Alan looked across the immense foyer, there were mirrors everywhere, making it seem even grander than it was. The ceiling was made up of thousands of mirrored panels reflecting the room. Even the columns had been adorned with ribbed mirrors. A woman played piano softly in the corner, and there were numerous waiters serving drinks. Across the immense room were what looked like three restaurants, definitely two, a Chinese and an Italian.
‘Thanks,’ Happy said, turning to follow the porter and trolley to the row of lifts, behind the jewellery shop. Alan briefly glanced in the glass front as they went by. $30,000 for a necklace in this bloody place? From what he had seen outside he couldn’t imagine that many of the people could afford anything like that. The hotel seemed out of place in what was otherwise a dump.
There was a frail Dutch, or Belgian, couple, Alan could never tell the difference, in the elevator with them trying to be friendly. They were ignored by the strange looking party. John was flitting in and out of consciousness and his eye-balls kept flickering up, showing the whites, and then dropping back down, focussing again.
They left the elevator, leaving the couple giving each other perplexed looks, and headed to room 527. Happy opened the door and pushed Alan in front of him into the room. There were two large beds, a table in the middle, desk and chair, TV and patio doors leading to a balcony overlooking the pool. A typical modern hotel, luxurious, functional and well kept, but devoid of any character.
Patience threw John down onto the bed, nearest the door and bathroom. Happy opened the adjoining door and looked into the other room, which was a mirror image of the first. Satisfied it was clear, he walked out onto the balcony and looked down at the pool. There were some British Airways crew at the pool bar, with their cabin bags next to their seats, waiting to be taken to the airport. He came in and closed the door to give the air conditioning a chance. Surveying the room for anything they might use to escape, Happy removed the heavy glass ashtrays and cutlery. Making sure that the door to the hallway was securely locked, he went into the other room and checked that they would be able to cover the only exit through the open doorway. Satisfied, he re-entered the room.
Alan perched on the edge of his bed, looking at John who was stirring and trying to speak.
‘Get him some water for fuck’s sake! Please,’ he said, trying not to rub his leg which was throbbing badly. He needed something to kill the pain, but all the walking was at least stopping it becoming stiff.
‘And what about some sodding painkillers,’ he added.
‘Can’t do any harm,’ Patience said, ‘I’ll call room service and get them to bring some up.’
Happy looked like he might erupt, and then sneezed mightily. He cleared his nose, and said, ‘I suppose so. Order some food whi
le you’re at it, and make sure it’s got plenty of gari sauce!’ His appetite had got the better of him, and with another two weeks abroad ahead he might as well stock up.
‘Can I get my mate a glass of water please?’ said Alan, deciding that in this situation politeness might be the best option.
‘Make it quick and don’t go anywhere near the door or I’ll shoot you,’ said Happy. His expression suggested that he would love Alan to make a run for it. The thought had crossed his mind. If he shot them both trying to escape he wouldn’t have to go to America.
Alan pushed himself off the bed, with some difficulty, and hopped to the bathroom, where he found two complimentary glasses. He filled one and shuffled back to John, spilling half the contents on the way. Putting the glass on the bedside table, he sat beside his friend and propped him up as best he could with the pillows.
‘Here you go mate, have some of this,’ he said, lifting the glass to John’s lips.
John opened his eyes, feeling the coldness of the glass against his lips. He had been drifting in and out of dreamland for the duration of their trip. His lips parted and Alan poured a little water in, he swallowed in a reflex action, which burnt his throat. Some of it went down his windpipe and he choked, spluttering out some of the water, which dribbled down his chin.
‘There, there. Take it easy mate. Just a little bit at a time. Easy does it,’ Alan said, giving him time to recover before trying again.
This time John managed to drink without coughing any up. He could feel the isotonic reaction as his body welcomed the fluids.
‘I’ve ordered the food and they said they could bring some Nurofen, it’s the strongest pain-killer they have in the shop,’ Patience said, coming back from the other room where he had been to phone room service.
‘How long will it be?’ said Happy, his stomach growling in anticipation.
‘They said twenty minutes at the most,’ Patience replied, taking a seat beside the small writing desk and removing his shoes. He flexed his toes, they began to swell once released from their confines. He hadn’t removed them since the failed escape in Tilbury. Sleeping with them on when it was his turn to save time if necessary.