Nigeria Meltdown

by Don Pendleton

  The rest of the people in the bar were either seated at ramshackle tables or standing against the wall or the bar itself, talking among themselves. Bolan noticed that a number of glances, not all of them friendly, were directed at Ekwense and himself. He was sure that it wasn’t the cab driver attracting the hostility.

  Ekwense gestured to the barman, whispered a few words in his ear and led the soldier through a beaded curtain to a room at the back, behind the bar. As he followed the cab driver, the big American noted that their trip to the back room had caused a few of the glances to change from hostile to curious.

  A fluorescent light gave the room a garish white glare that contrasted with the dingy bar area. The adobe walls cut out a lot of the noise, only the thump of the insistent bass from the jukebox cutting through. In this relative silence, he was greeted by stares from the eight men in the room. Five of them were clustered around a table on which they played dominoes, money scattered in front of them and between the tiles and beer bottles that covered the surface. The other three men were leaning against the walls and had been watching the play before Bolan’s entrance gave them another spectacle.

  “Gentlemen,” Bolan murmured as he scanned them. At least two of the men standing and two sitting were carrying weapons, either handguns or knives. That much he could see. It was a fair bet that others were also armed. He wasn’t.

  “Cool, boys,” Ekwense said. “This is the guy I was talking about. The one who had the Kano gang up his ass.”

  “Did you have to bring him here?” one of the seated men said. “That was not a good idea, Victor.”

  “Maybe it is, my friend,” the cab driver said easily. He moved forward and brushed one of the domino players off his chair. “Let my friend here sit down, Kanu. I think he has a lot in common with us, though maybe he don’t know it yet, and neither do you.”

  Kanu, his pride wounded at being treated in such a manner, eyed the solider suspiciously as he took Kanu’s seat. “You better have a good reason for being here,” he murmured in an aggressive undertone.

  “Is breaking the flight of the eagle a good enough reason?” Bolan said easily, noting the change in expressions around the room.

  Kanu’s eyes narrowed. “If you have a plan, then it’s the best reason,” he said softly.

  * * *

  OBOKO LEFT THE back office unescorted and mopped at his brow as he made his way out through the lobby without looking at the women, some of whom were now occupied with new customers. The general was unsteady on his feet, his guts griping as terror clawed at him. In no uncertain terms, it had been made clear to him that the American would have to be dealt with, and no trace left behind.

  As he left the house with narrowed eyes and an erratic gait, his condition was misread by one of the new customers. “I want the girl who did that to him,” he said excitedly. Any other time and it would have made the general laugh. Not now. This was no laughing matter.

  Outside he clambered into the back of his waiting car and sat silently for a moment. It was only when his driver coughed discreetly and spoke his name that he snapped out of his torpor and barked at the chauffeur to take him home.

  If things went badly, then it might be one of the last times he would see it.

  * * *

  “YOU KNOW, IT may be that this is the time to finally cut out the cancer.”

  The speaker was one of the men seated at the table across from Bolan. They had listened to his story in silence, the only interruption being the beat that still thumped through the wall, punctuating his words. He had begun with his encounter that morning, then backtracked to the circumstances that had brought him to Nigeria before detailing his meeting with Oruma and the mission he was to undertake.

  “You will never get them out. No matter how far you burrow, you will never get to the root of the stink they cause. That rotten shit will always be there,” Kanu said, shaking his head sorrowfully.

  “No, you are wrong,” the man who had initially spoken said softly. “This land is riddled with stupidity and greed, but it is not a place where people want to live in fear. Not anymore. We are not so young that we do not remember the army before our current president. People do not want to go back to that, but they are stirred by the fear of the Muslim, by the fear of the Christian, by the fear of the different. Men run with that. You must stop them. People here are too busy worrying about food and where they can find shelter to bother about much else.”

  Bolan found it pertinent that much of what he heard was identical to what Williams and Mars-Jones had said back in New York. Strike at the root, and the branches would soon wither.

  “So I’m left with a problem, gentlemen,” the soldier said, cutting across the pensive silence. “Tomorrow I walk into a room where I might be assigned six men whose sole job is to stop me at any cost. I have no idea if I can trust any of them. I’m going into the forest with them. What do I do?”

  “Get the first plane back to America, man,” said one of the men around the wall, with a low chuckle.

  “That, sadly, is not an option,” Bolan replied.

  The man who had spoken at length, but had still not identified himself, leaned forward, gesturing with his beer bottle. “You know, my cousin served under Oboko. The man is a greedy fool. He takes bribes—”

  “So does everyone, Samuel,” Ekwense interjected, finally putting a name to the face for Bolan.

  “No, not like Oboko. He is stupid and does not hide what he does. He is only concerned with satisfying his tiny prick and his giant stomach. He does not believe in anything except Oboko. He could easily be bought by the Brotherhood, but he would not believe in them. He would also want to keep it sweet with the military. He would play it safe. Trust none of the men he gives you, but do not assume all will be against you. What you need is someone at your back—”

  “Would you do it?” Bolan asked, looking around the room. “I know you men. You’re like me, veterans. You’ve all fought somewhere, sometime, for something you believe in.” There was a muttered agreement around the room that he allowed to die down before continuing. “It’s a lot to ask, and I can arrange for you to be paid for your time. If anything happens to you, your family will be looked after financially. The question is, would you want to take that risk?”

  Ekwense sighed. “My friend, you knew the answer to that the moment I said I would bring you here. Of course, the money will be good. It oils the wheels and lets us feed our families, whether we come back or not. Let me put it this way. We do not like what we have ruling us, but we know there would be much worse if they should fall.”

  “And the Kano boys?” Bolan asked.

  “Are you sure Oboko did not send them?”

  Bolan shook his head. “I can’t tell. He didn’t act like he was surprised I was there, and from the sound of it, he’s not that great an actor—”

  “He would have given himself away. That’s his problem,” Samuel said with a sage nod. “He is their weak link, and maybe you should work on him while you can. Once you are in the forest, then we can follow and cover, but who knows if the man or men he chooses will have his weakness.”

  “That’s something I won’t be counting on. I’ve got a worry closer to home, though. If it wasn’t Oboko who sent the Kano boys after me, then that means others know I’m here. I’m not sure Oboko knows who I am, but still there’s a leak somewhere along the line.”

  “Leave that with me, my friend,” Ekwense said with a sly grin. “I know now where the Kano boys were staying. Those who were giving them a bed know of their business. I think I will take one of my friends there and see if I can persuade them to tell me what they know.”

  Bolan nodded. “That would be good. I’ll be at my hotel until tomorrow afternoon, when I go to the barracks. They’re not sending a car for me, so I’ll need a cab. No one will think anything of your picking me up. Me
antime, I can sort out the payment so that it can be picked up.”

  Ekwense extended his hand. “I like you, Matt Cooper. If we play it like this, then maybe we’ll all get what we want.”

  “I sure hope so,” Bolan said wryly. “Because if not, my neck’s the first on the chopping block.”

  * * *

  FRANKLIN OBOKO SAT in silent darkness in his lounge. His bungalow had a large main room, two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bathroom. It was surrounded by a yard on all four sides, with a low wall that was for decoration more than any kind of security. Oboko had sent his wife to bed early, having thrown the meal she had made him to his chickens and slapped her for daring to protest. She would be waiting for him, expecting him to do his conjugal duty. His behavior for the evening had not been an unusual occurrence and was usually followed by makeup sex. The general knew that she would berate him in the morning for not following his usual pattern, but for now he was content to let her fall asleep while he sat waiting.

  It was close to two in the morning, and the general was himself asleep when he was awoken with a start by the sound of a window being carefully opened. His hand went to the SIG Sauer that he kept permanently holstered to his hip, a totem of power, but also a sign of how nervous his double life had made him.

  “Cool it, General. It is me,” a soft voice whispered in the dark. Oboko was so disoriented that he could not, for a moment, even tell which window the voice came from and turned awkwardly in his chair, swiveling his head to determine the direction.

  “You were not seen?” he said in a hoarse whisper. The general always had trouble keeping quiet, and he caught himself before he said any more, not wishing to wake his wife.

  “I was not seen. Do you think I am some kind of fool, General? I am a soldier, not like you.”

  Oboko was outraged and rose from his chair, gesturing with the pistol he had drawn. “Do you dare insult me?” he asked in a raised voice. “I will—”

  He was cut short by a hand on his windpipe that choked the words in his throat. He panicked and swung wildly with his gun hand, shocked when his arm was trapped in an iron grip.

  “Calm down, General. It does not matter what I say to you, or what I think of you. All that matters is that you have cheated your way up the ladder and are in a position to be of use to the Brotherhood. I do not like you, and I do not believe you have the faith I have in the Brotherhood. But I do know that you are my superior in the military, and I will pay you that lip service when we are not alone. I have a job to do, and your job is to brief me. You will do this now. I am going to let go of your arm and your throat, and you will speak softly, and you will not raise your hand. If you do, you might have an accident in your home. Do you understand me?”

  Oboko, finding it hard to breathe, nodded as vigorously as the soldier’s grip would allow. He was relieved when the man let him go, and he slid back down into his chair again with a sense of relief as oxygen flooded his lungs. When he spoke, it was in a croaky voice quieted against his will.

  “I was testing you, of course, and you have passed. Well done.”

  “Have it how you like, General, just do not waste my time,” the soldier said, sitting opposite him. Dressed in a black T-shirt and black combat pants with black sneakers, he was like a shadow. He leaned forward and listened intently as Oboko briefed him on the American, his mission and the part that the solider was to play in eliminating him.

  “He must vanish completely,” Oboko insisted. “There must be no trace that can be followed.”

  The soldier nodded. “What of the others? They are not Brotherhood warriors. How can I divert their attention?”

  “You will not have to,” Oboko said with a chuckle that made his throat hurt despite himself. “Remember, we are taking him into the heart of the beast. Our masters will make sure that there is much to distract them.”

  “Very well,” the solider said at length. “I will be interested to see this man tomorrow. He has already shown some initiative and will be a worthy opponent.”

  “Eh? What do you mean?” Oboko demanded.

  The solider told him of the events of that morning, adding, “You mean he did not say anything of this to you?”

  Oboko shook his head. “He acted completely normally. I would not have been able to hide such an event should it have happened to me.”

  “That much is true,” the soldier said with a tinge of humor that had been lacking from his tone so far. “I wonder if this means—”

  “I do not care what it means,” Oboko hissed. “What I want to know is why I was not told of this?”

  “The Kano boys were sent by our masters when they heard of the American’s coming.”

  “How did they know that? I did not tell them.”

  “Do you think you are the only man who would know of this?” the soldier snapped back. “His presence was known, but not why he had been sent or how much he knew. That we required from you. Now we must find that cab driver. He has seen too much. Do not worry, General. I will not ask you to do any work. There are already men on the job. You just introduce me to this Matt Cooper when he comes to barracks tomorrow, and I will be as wide-eyed and nervous of my mission as the rest of the group.”

  Eyeing the soldier speculatively, the general doubted that the man before him had ever been wide-eyed and nervous of anything. Snake-eyed and certain were the more appropriate words. But he said nothing, just watched as the soldier left in the manner he had arrived.

  Oboko sat there for some time before rising and walking slowly to his bedroom, where he undressed and climbed into bed beside his sleeping wife. He looked at her and wondered if he would miss her—more to the point, would she miss him—if something happened.

  He realized that he would miss her, and also doubted that she would miss him at all. This was a disturbing thought, but it was something else that caused him to lay, staring at the ceiling, until the sun began to rise and the rooster in his henhouse began to crow.

  General Franklin Oboko was a very scared man.

  Chapter Seven

  Unlike the general, Bolan slept well when Ekwense returned him to his hotel. Both men were sure that they hadn’t been followed, and Bolan’s simple thread traps on the door were intact. Ekwense had insisted that the soldier take the Webley and some spare ammunition, seeing as he was unarmed, and although Bolan appreciated the gesture, he kept the gun in the bedside nightstand rather than too close. At that age, even though it was a well-maintained weapon, he still didn’t trust the heavy and ancient piece.

  Bolan had the soldier’s habit of sleeping light, almost with one eye open, and woke with the sun, refreshed. He called room service and was greeted by a disgruntled night porter, not yet relieved of duty, who grudgingly took his breakfast order, delivering it with a surly displeasure after the solider had showered and dressed.

  Having sent the man on his way with a tip to sweeten his mood, Bolan got to the first business of the day. His own smartphone, which had lain unused since his arrival, was switched on, and he hit Speed dial to connect to Stony Man, America’s top covert antiterrorist organization, located in Virginia. Unlike the cell phone that Ekwense had given him, he knew that the security placed on his phone would ensure any calls were routed through a series of cutouts and scrambled, unlike the eggs he had ordered, which looked more curdled, but he still forked them into his mouth as Aaron Kurtzman finally answered.

  “You’re late, Striker. I hope you haven’t been laying waste to half of Lagos. Hal wants discreet.”

  “Hal always wants discreet. He should come into the field again, see how hard that is when others won’t play,” Bolan answered wryly. “There was a little trouble.” He related the events of the preceding day.

  “I’ll check any links we have detailed for the bike gangs in each city and any terrorist organizations,” Kurtzman promised when Bolan h
ad finished. “I doubt we’ll find anything concrete, though. These Brotherhood bastards are so far under the radar, they could be mining.”

  “I wanted to ask about that, Bear. There was nothing in the briefing that confirmed their religious affiliations. I don’t give a damn if they’re believers in Christianity or Islam, and they’ve got men in both camps. I’m going to be in the north, and that’s more Muslim than Christian right now. The last thing I’ll need is to find they’ve got a whole lot of allies we weren’t banking on.”

  Kurtzman was silent for a moment. “There’s absolutely nothing to tie them to al Qaeda or any of its offshoots. I’d put money on that part of their story being true. I don’t reckon the Christian angle, either. It gives them one hell of a foothold in the south, so it’s useful. I’d look more at the shit they’ve stolen from freemasonry. The Brits have a lot to answer for in Africa, but it’s not usually this.”

  “I’ve never met anyone with a true belief that wants to blow hell out of anyone else,” Bolan stated. “The secret society crap is a good tool for buying silence, and I guess it’s a good way of keeping the hierarchy’s real intent under wraps.”

  “And it works in military situations. Another legacy of the Brits, though we’re not immune, either,” he added bitterly.

  Bolan, who had seen enough evidence to agree, said nothing. There were reasons Kurtzman felt this way, and now was not the time to find out why. At the back of his mind, he recalled the Ugandan cult that had inducted children into their ranks, training them on weaponry before they could even walk properly, and laying waste to entire villages and communities who dared to dissent, taking the women to breed future soldiers by rape. Their leader was still at large, the most wanted man in the world according to some. That was how zealots worked when they did emerge. The Brotherhood didn’t have that M.O. But first, there was another matter needing attention.

  “There’s one other thing—an important thing. Victor’s friends are covering my back, and I said they would be well paid. They have families. If they don’t come back...”