Nigeria Meltdown

by Don Pendleton

  “Where’s your nearest stash for this mission?”

  “Cameroon. Close, but too far for me to deal with it in the time I’ve got. I need Hal to take care of this.”

  “Sure thing. What do I tell him?”

  “Tell him the situation and to pony up the cash for these guys. He can send the money to the embassy in care of Victor Ekwense. I’ll tell Victor to expect it within twenty-four hours.”

  “Consider it done, Striker. And be frosty out there.”

  Bolan checked his watch. An hour until Victor would pick him up.

  He wondered how the cab driver was spending his morning.

  * * *

  “AGAINST THE WALL, move!” Ekwense screamed, emphasizing the last word with a swing of his baseball bat that caught one of the young men across the shoulders, pitching him forward. He was too slow in getting up for Ekwense’s liking, so the cab driver hurried him along with a vicious kick in the ribs. For good measure, he lashed out at two more of the men, cracking ribs on one and smashing the other across the shoulders, hearing the crunch of a collarbone.

  “Now you will talk,” Samuel said slowly, his harsh low tones carrying more threat than Ekwense’s scream. “There is little time, and I have no patience. You understand me?”

  There was a muttered agreement from the five men and two women lined up against the wall. All were in various states of undress, their reactions slowed by a combination of weed and alcohol.

  Ekwense, Samuel and Kanu had driven up outside the house of the gang where the Kano boys had been seen. It was the early hours of the morning, but music could be heard from the open windows of the house, and the lowered lights cast shadows that enabled them to estimate the number of people inside.

  Leaving Kanu to keep watch, Ekwense and Samuel had moved toward the house and over the wire fence, past the bikes and trash that were scattered across the yard. The houses surrounding were at a distance because of their yards, and were silent and dark. The two men figured that the neighbors knew better than to argue with the gang, and so just put up with the noise.

  In which case, they wouldn’t mind a little more. Ekwense had taken one open window and Samuel another on the opposite side of the house. They avoided the door on the assumption it was barred, even though those inside had been stupid enough to leave windows open wide. Coming in from each side, they had been greeted by the sight of the women performing sex acts on two of the men while the other three watched, giggling and stoned. They only realized that they had been raided when Ekwense brought his baseball bat down on their boom box, killing the sound.

  “You will pay for this,” snarled the tallest of the men against the wall. “I will find you and rape your wife while you watch.”

  “Shut up!” Ekwense yelled, bringing the bat across the small of the man’s back. He doubled over at the pain in his kidneys, and as he did so, Ekwense hit him again, across the neck. “You will be lucky if I let you live.” He stepped back and addressed the rest of them. “Now you will tell me why the Kano boys were here.”

  “Who? I do not—” stammered the only man not to have been hit so far. His response ensured that he joined the others, Ekwense hitting him across the back of the knees, making him buckle. Samuel stood aside, watching his friend work with admiration. He had memories of their times fighting the military and had thought Ekwense had gone soft. Wrong. Samuel held a S&W Night Guard 386 model, but was pretty sure he wouldn’t have to use it.

  “Wrong answer. I know they were here. Who sent them?”

  “I don’t know,” the young man answered as he struggled to get up. “We were told to give them beds by Ehurie—”

  “Who is he?” Ekwense barked.

  “Fence,” one of the women answered in a tremulous tone. “Pimp. My boss. He ask them to do it or he keep taking what they rob.”

  “You are talkative, little woman. Why?” Samuel asked softly.

  “I don’t want to die.”

  “Then answer me,” Ekwense snapped. “Where does Ehurie live?”

  The woman stammered out an address. Samuel raised his eyebrows as he heard. It was a rich part of town. There was good money in crime, still.

  He exchanged looks with Ekwense, and then said, “You know that this is a powerful man. That is why the Kano boys come when he snap his fingers. That is why this scum does what he says without asking why.”

  “We will have to ask him why ourselves,” Ekwense said quietly. “But he cannot know we are coming.”

  “No, you said—” the young woman cried as she tried to turn around. Before she had completed a 180-degree turn, Samuel had put one shot into her head.

  Stirred out of their torpor of pain and intoxicants, the others started to yell—anger, fear and incoherent screams—as they realized what was happening. The remaining woman launched herself at Samuel, and was midair when his second shot took her in the chest. The five men were slowed by their injuries, but the pain was deadened by adrenaline, and it was all Victor could do to step back and swing at them, driving them away, as the first one took the swing full in the jaw, breaking it and blacking him out as he fell.

  Samuel stepped forward, a calm coming over him that he had not felt since his days as a guerrilla fighter. He took two of them out in two shots, knocked back another with a third, though he was still crawling, and then had to move to one side as the man with the smashed collarbone lunged awkwardly at him. He brought down the stock of the gun on the man’s neck as he fell forward, hearing the bones crack.

  The remaining two men were closing on Ekwense, and the first burst of adrenaline had started to fade, leaving them slowed by their own pain, pain that Victor was only too happy to add to, striking at each and bringing them to the floor. He finished one with a crushing blow to the temple, and the other—despite his last desperate effort—with a sweeping blow that cracked his neck.

  Samuel cleaned up the remaining pair, stepping behind each in turn and putting one shot in the base of each skull. Even before he had done that, Ekwense was halfway out the window, beckoning him to follow.

  Some lights were on in the street now, and Kanu had the engine of Ekwense’s cab running. He was in the driver’s seat, frantically beckoning them and revving.

  “Don’t flood it, fool,” Ekwense breathed as he and Samuel bundled into the back of the car. In the distance were sirens, and Kanu took off with a jolt, spinning the car so that it accelerated in the opposite direction to the approaching noise. In a nervous voice, he wondered out loud if those houses with lights could give a good description of the car.

  “Do not worry too much about that,” Samuel assured him. “We have cleaned up their neighborhood. Their eyes may be blinded by that.”

  “And they may think we will come back if they talk,” Ekwense added.

  “This Ehurie, he will be after us if he finds out who we are,” Samuel said quietly. “I think maybe we should go after him first.”

  * * *

  “YOU REALLY THINK that’s a good idea?” Bolan asked Ekwense as he sat in the back of the cab, en route to the barracks.

  “I think we have no choice.” Ekwense shrugged. “I know of this man. His home is a whorehouse that is used by many of the military as well as government officials. I have had to take men there who have reason for not wanting to use their official cars, and I keep my eyes and ears open. My mouth stays shut, until now.”

  “How soon were you thinking of going?” Bolan asked.

  “I think we have no choice in that, either. We cannot risk word getting around. We must do it tonight.”

  “If Oboko wants me to leave straight away, I’ll stall him. I want to come with you.”

  “You think we cannot handle this?” Ekwense asked, amused.

  “I think you probably can, but there’s no reason why you should have to. Besides, there may be some i
nformation of use to me when I get to the north.”

  They arrived at the barracks, with Bolan arranging contact via the cell phone for 6:00 p.m. The soldier had told Ekwense about the embassy arrangement, and in turn the solider had full details of everything the cabdriver had learned so far. All that could be put on hold for the next few hours. Now Bolan had to meet his official military team and decide if they were for or against him.

  Leaving the cab at the barracks gates, Bolan identified himself and was escorted to the section of compound where Oboko had his office. As he followed his escort, he noted the facilities and the bearing of the men he saw on exercise or drill. They were better disciplined than some African armies he had seen. That could work for or against him, depending on treachery.

  When he was shown into Oboko’s office, the general was squeezed into the chair behind his desk, sweating more profusely than usual. There was an aroma of cheap rum coming from him as he dismissed the escort in a bad-tempered bark. When he spoke to Bolan, it was in a wheedling tone.

  “Mr. Cooper, I am glad you are here—”

  “Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?” Bolan interjected.

  “No,” Oboko replied, just a little too sharply. “I will just be glad when we can get this mission underway. Keeping things quiet around here is not that easy, you know.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” Bolan murmured, ignoring the fleeting glance Oboko shot him.

  The general heaved himself out of his chair and led Bolan through a far door and into an anteroom where six soldiers waited for him. They rose sharply to attention as Oboko entered and stayed that way as Oboko introduced them to Matt Cooper from the UN, who would be their commanding officer on this mission. He then called each man to step forward so that they could be named for Bolan’s benefit.

  At the general’s order they sat down, but Bolan remained standing as this enabled him to get a better look at them as Oboko outlined the mission, using an interactive whiteboard to point out route and destination. They watched the general with rapt attention, enabling Bolan to study them without being observed.

  Two of the men were around six foot, wiry and about the same age. Emmett Habila was the younger by about a year and still a raw recruit. He sat forward, his receding lower jaw moving in silent concentration as he listened to the general. Jacob Emecheta, on the other hand, was squarer of face and more assured, sitting back and taking in everything through drooping eyelids.

  Saro Wiwa was shorter and chunkier, muscle running to fat to judge by his potbelly. He was also the oldest, although even this only made him midtwenties. He nervously picked at the skin on his fingertips as he listened. Scars on those hands, and also on the left-hand side of his face showed he had experience of close knife fighting.

  Gift Sosimi and Noah Obinna sat side by side, occasionally nudging each other and exchanging a solitary word in emphasis of something the general said. They were tall and muscular but still lean. Their camaraderie showed Bolan they had combat experience together.

  The final man was Allister Ayinde. He sat on the end, silent and stony. He was just under six feet and had the demeanor of a man who would rather be somewhere else. Occasionally he would shoot a searching look at Bolan, as if trying to divine why they were to act under orders from this white stranger. He would be the obvious pick as a traitor, if not for the fact that he could not be as stupid as to be so open. Maybe he was the only one Bolan could discount?

  It was impossible to tell from this first acquaintance, just as ridiculous as to try to guess. As the briefing ended, and the team decamped to the armory to get their provisions for their mission, Bolan figured that he would have to play it by ear and hope that operations in the field would bring out their true colors.

  When they were equipped, Oboko informed them that their flight would leave at 0800 the following morning. A troop transport would drop them in the Yobe region. Tonight, they would billet at the barracks.

  “Not me,” Bolan interjected. The team looked at him with a mixture of interest and bemusement, while Oboko seemed thrown.

  “I had assumed that you would wish to be—”

  “Don’t assume, General. I have some business to attend to this evening. It’s nonmilitary.”

  A grin spread across the general’s face. “Ah, I see... If you need to know of a place—”

  The soldier had figured the general, being as he was, would misread his words. Good. Let him think that for now.

  “It’s okay, General. I’ve been told of a place,” he answered blandly.

  Chapter Eight

  Ekwense picked Bolan up two blocks from his hotel. It was early evening, and the streets were full of people heading to the bars, shebeens and clubs that littered the main streets of the city, their shacklike appearances belying the cash they could pull in from passing trade.

  Having returned to the hotel first by foot followed by a cab that he had hailed on the streets, Bolan had been able to ascertain that he was not being tailed. And despite the crowds on this humid evening, he was pretty sure that he was still alone. He said as much to Ekwense when he settled into the backseat of the cab.

  “I have not been followed, either. We’re not being picked up now,” he added with a glance at his rearview mirror. Given the chaotic traffic at the best of times, Bolan was impressed. It said a lot about Ekwense that he was able to pick out and dismiss any possible tails among the free-flowing traffic.

  “I do not understand,” the cab driver said, “why they send a team after you and then leave you alone when they fail?”

  “I figure they wanted to get me before I made any contact and make it look like a routine mugging. People die every day from gangs like that, right? Except they didn’t figure that I’d get lucky and into your cab.”

  “You flatter me, but I’ll accept that,” Ekwense said with a grin. “So why no other accidents?”

  “Too late for that. I’ve made contact with the minister, so the only way they can avoid suspicion now is if I die in the field, which is always a possibility.”

  “They will regret that, I think.”

  “I hope so,” Bolan murmured.

  They pulled up at the bar Bolan had visited the night before and passed through into the back room without the attention that the soldier had drawn previously.

  There Samuel, Kanu and the three other men from the previous evening were waiting. This time there were no dominoes or bottled beer. A half-empty bottle of rum stood in the center of the table, and each man carried a shot glass, some of which were already empty. Ekwense glanced inquiringly at Samuel.

  “One shot each, man. Warm us up, give us courage. No more,” the rangy man replied in his menacing undertone.

  It crossed Bolan’s mind that Samuel could make “Good morning” sound like a death threat, which might not be a bad thing.

  Ekwense gave a curt nod and introduced Bolan to the three men whose names he had not caught the previous evening. Buchi, Ken and Achuaba were all heavyset men whose bearings spoke of experience in combat of some sort. Whereas they had been smiling and joking when he had seen them before, now they had serious expressions, and their gazes were flint-hard. Bolan met them with the same stare of intent, receiving nods of recognition in return.

  “Glass for me?” he asked, indicating the bottle. Ekwense slipped out to the bar and returned with two. Both men poured a shot and drank some of the fiery liquid, which slipped down their throats like molten lava.

  “You know what we are doing tonight?” Ekwense asked them, looking around the room. Their determination made Bolan feel on safer ground. “Okay, boys, then it’s time to put the old gang back in action,” he said with a wry grin and a mock British accent.

  “Our commanding officer was trained by the British and never lets us forget it,” Samuel said softly to Bolan. “He was a bastard, but he taught us wel
l.”

  As he spoke, Ekwense pulled a tattered map of the area from his pocket and spread it on the table. He stabbed at a point that came between two creases on the paper.

  “This is where we go. You know why by now. What really matters is how we get in—”

  “Have you had the chance to recon and find out what their defenses are?” Bolan asked.

  “I know some from when I have been there. There was no way to find the rest today without making them suspicious. We just assume they have everything. What they don’t have is a bonus.”

  Bolan shrugged. It was far from ideal, but he could appreciate the circumstances. “Figures,” he said. “The real question, then, is what do we have?”

  Ekwense smiled. “Ah, my friend, this is where it pays to have a past, unlike most of the time in this country.”

  * * *

  THREE HOURS LATER two cars pulled up half a block away from the brothel. Ekwense, Bolan and Kanu were in the cab, while Samuel drove an old sedan that appeared to be held together by rust, but which had a finely tuned engine resting beneath the hood. This subterfuge had served Samuel well in the past, and he was hoping that would hold true this night. With him were Ken, Achuaba and Buchi.

  Both parties got out of their vehicles and scanned the streets. There were a few lights in some of the houses, but in this neighborhood, they stood some way back from the road, with walls rather than the wire fences of poorer neighborhoods. The chances of anything being seen, unless the residents walked down their drives and onto the street, were negligible.

  Samuel and Ekwense opened the trunks of their cars and revealed an armory of smoke and fragmentation grenades, primitive gas masks and a clutch of Glocks and mini Uzis with spare magazines.

  Bolan picked up a gas mask. “Does this thing actually work?”

  Ekwense grinned. “There’s only one way to find out, my friend.”

  Bolan shrugged and took a mini Uzi and Glock, along with spare magazines for each. He was wearing combat pants, and used the pockets to store some grenades while slinging a gas mask around his neck. As he did so, the others took their own share of the weapons and ammunition. They were all carrying much the same as each other, and it crossed the soldier’s mind that a little variety—a grenade launcher, for instance, or an AK-47—would have given them a little more scope for the type of action they could take. But they had to use what they had, and in truth there was only one way they could take this building.