Nigeria Meltdown

by Don Pendleton

Shonekan thought for a moment before indicating an area four miles to the southwest of the reference Bolan had been given. “This land is covered by trees. From the air it is impenetrable. From the bush, there are ways in. There are no farms or villages within a ten-kilometer radius. There used to be problems with wildlife, but there have been no reports of any incidents for over six months. I put it down to people becoming smart and staying away. But perhaps the wildlife has been driven back, too?” he added with a questioning glance.

  “It’s worth investigation. It’s close enough to the location I was given for the enemy to intercept, engage and retreat before anyone this far off could be any the wiser or could react in any way.”

  “I would offer you men, mount a counteroffensive, but if I am honest, I cannot trust those under me. Not in this land, not now. They are Christians. I am, too, but I know myself...”

  “It’s better that we don’t arouse suspicion,” Bolan agreed.

  Shonekan poured another measure of the rice wine for the soldier and raised his glass. “I salute you, Major. I doubt that you can trust those you are with, but I suspect that you may already know that. Perhaps you have a contingency plan. It would be best if you did not tell me,” he added with a wry grin.

  Bolan said nothing as he raised his glass; but he thanked his luck for sending him an honest man in exile.

  * * *

  THREE LANDINGS IN scrub areas across the length of the country, three hurried refuelings from the tanks held in the body of the craft, and the Huey reached its destination by the next morning. Ken and Ekwense had taken turns to pilot the chopper, as they crossed low over the plains of Yobe toward the map location Bolan had given them. Ken was at the controls, with Ekwense dozing in the seat beside him. In the main body of the craft, Kanu, Achuaba and Samuel also slept. The lurching descent of the craft as Ken brought it down jolted them awake.

  Samuel looked at the empty space in the rear of the craft. Kanu caught him, saying, “You think we get here but cannot return?”

  “I wonder,” Samuel said softly. “Has the old man cheated us? We have used more than half of the tanks loaded.”

  “True, but we will carry less weight because of it,” the younger man replied. “If I am honest, I am more worried that we will not be alive to worry about the return.”

  The chopper set down and they unstrapped themselves, stretching stiff and aching muscles. As the sound of the engines and the rotors slowed and died away, Ken and Ekwense made their way back.

  “Load up. We have time to make up, if we are to be on schedule,” Ekwense said without preamble. “They have hours on us.”

  “Should we try to camouflage the chopper?” Kanu questioned as he picked out his armament.

  “There’s no way of hiding this out here,” Ken scoffed. “Besides, anyone watching will know we’re here. All the more reason to move.”

  The five-man shadow party dropped down from the belly of the chopper and onto the ground below. All around them in every direction, stretching as far as the eye could see beyond the circle cut by the chopper’s descent, was a wall of tall, thick grass that towered at head height or above. In the far distances were some clumps of trees, but they were several miles away.

  Ekwense checked his cell phone. There was a message from Cooper, sent an hour before. The brief message detailed a new departure time and a new map reference.

  “Shit happens fast,” Ekwense muttered. His mind raced as to why these two things had occurred. The reasons were maybe irrelevant. If they had any bearing, then surely Cooper would have found it necessary to explain, if only by a word or two. Still he would have felt easier if he could have explained this to his boys. His feeling was made concrete by the mixed expressions of doubt and suspicion that greeted the new intel.

  Samuel looked to the northeast of their landing point, where the new map reference would lead them.

  “I hope Cooper is sure of what he’s doing,” he said softly.

  * * *

  HOURS BEFORE, WHILE darkness engulfed the land, Major Milton Abiola sat behind his desk, the only light in the room the glow from his computer screen as he set up the Skype link to Yobe. The office was otherwise in darkness, as was the rest of the building. But Abiola was not in darkness because he wished to be secretive. He was so confident of his position that he would happily have left every light in the building ablaze. No one of any worth would dare to ask him questions.

  Regardless, Abiola liked the dark. It soothed him, enabled him to think. It masked his feelings. His scarred face was not a mirror for that at the best of times, but if he sat in darkness as he spoke, then the man he was contacting would not be able to read him. There was no reason why he should not. They had the same end in mind. But Abiola was a cautious, perhaps even paranoid man. What could not be discovered could not be used against him.

  “Good evening,” he said gently as the face of a man as lean, impassive and snake-eyed as himself came into focus—the man known to Bolan as Ehurie.

  “Major, I have been awaiting your call. I trust all is as planned?”

  “Oboko has sent the American and has a man within the accompanying party who will possibly do our work for us.”

  “Possibly?”

  “Oboko is an idiot. He still believes I am his superior, and has no idea of his real commander. I left him to put a man in place, but I am loathe to trust his judgment.”

  Ehurie agreed. “I would like his judgment to be flawed. It would suit me to meet this man sent by the interfering Americans.”

  “Even more so when I tell you what has happened to your business,” Abiola said, keeping his amusement out of his voice. As he detailed what had occurred, it entertained him more and more to see the thunder clouding Ehurie’s face.

  “What about Anita? What has happened to her?”

  “She has vanished. Presumably the American knows where she is. Perhaps you can ask him.”

  Ehurie gestured dismissively. “She knows nothing of importance. It is my pride they have hurt, not my purpose. I will find out from the American who these others were. I cannot trust you to find them.”

  Abiola’s joy turned in a second to anger. “I am not the one who was so careless as to let one man and some local boys raid my business and kill my men like they were children. You should look to yourself. You may find that our leader’s impressions of you have changed because of this.”

  “Then I will prove myself by killing this American. The time is coming when our leader will need us to prove ourselves. I can do this. You? You have already let him slip through your fingers.”

  The Skype link was broken at Ehurie’s end, leaving Abiola fuming in the darkness, because he knew that Ehurie was right about one thing. Abiola had to prove himself, and the best way to do that would be to recover the missing woman, make Ehurie look stupid and mop up the damage at this end.

  He reached for the phone. Oboko. Even the small pleasure of waking the fat fool at this hour made Abiola feel a little better.

  Chapter Eleven

  “This is not the route that the general gave to us,” Ayinde said in a truculent tone when Bolan gathered the team together and issued their new directives. “Why is it changing?”

  “It changes because I said so,” Bolan replied coldly. “Matters always change when new intel comes in.”

  Ayinde spit on the dusty soil and cast a disparaging glance back toward the base where Captain Ernest Shonekan could be seen with one of his men.

  “You think that fool knows anything out here in the back end of nowhere?”

  Bolan stepped forward so that his face was so close to Ayinde’s that he could feel the man’s breath. “It doesn’t matter where it came from, soldier. Your job is to obey orders.” His tone was cold, and he looked unswervingly into the man’s eyes. Ayinde looked away. “Good. Now let’s haul ou
t.”

  The assault team hiked out of the air base with a cloud of uncertainty hanging over it. There was an atmosphere of distrust within them, now. Why had things changed, and why had one of them questioned it in such a manner? Sosimi and Obinna held back, muttering between themselves, while Saro Wiwa formed a bridge between them and the main group, as though already uncertain of the divide. At the head of the group, Bolan set a fast pace, with Habila and Emecheta keeping to that pace while the still disgruntled Ayinde held off their shoulder.

  Under normal circumstances, Bolan would not have been happy at such disunity within a team. At this point, however, it might serve a purpose. Now he would be able to see any differences and divisions develop. It may give him some clue as to who he may, or may not, trust. Right now, he trusted none of them. To keep them at arm’s length was a good thing. His shadow team would head out to meet him, and he was sure that men from the Brotherhood of the Eagle would be headed for the location he had previously been given. An ambush was the likely object. Very well, he would play them at their own game.

  They were trekking by foot through the long grass, which was as tough and unyielding before them as any forest under the growing heat of the sun. It would have been easier to use one of the trucks kept at the base, which is what anyone would normally have assumed, but this would only signal any change of direction to a waiting ambush. It may be a greater effort by foot, but it was more likely to yield results.

  Bolan wondered if the shadow team felt the same way.

  * * *

  “MAN, THIS IS HARD.” Kanu sighed as they hacked a path through the grass.

  “Save your breath,” Samuel said shortly. “You will need it.”

  These men had no option but to take the route by foot, and they were already discovering that they had been too long in the city life. Once, many years before, they had all been military men and had trekked through forest and bush like this. The heat, the oppression of the grass as it closed around them like a blanket and the constant vigilance for an enemy either human or animal had been second nature. It would take some time to get back those old ways. They could only hope that they adjusted, before something sneaked up on them and it was too late.

  Ekwense, who was taking point, stopped and raised his hand. Behind him, the others came to a halt.

  “Listen,” he said softly.

  There, in the distance, they could hear the sound of a truck. It was a couple of klicks to the west, by the way in which the engine whined, and occasional voices carried across the savanna. As they stood listening, it came to a halt, and they could hear men dismounting.

  “So, Cooper was right,” Ekwense said quietly to his compatriots. “They will set a trap. But we will set one for them.”

  With a renewed sense of purpose, they began to move forward again, heading toward the truck. Every two thousand meters Ekwense pulled them up so that the sounds of their own progress abated, and they did not mask other noises in his way. Within twenty minutes, they could see the top of the truck above the grass. It was khaki colored, with an open back and the frame for the tarpaulin standing bare, showing that the flatbed back was empty. They could see that there was a driver, still sitting in the cab.

  Knowing that it would not be left unguarded, Ekwense directed Kanu and Samuel to move one way, Ken and Achuaba another, so that they circled in a pincer movement. Ekwense would move ahead in a straight line.

  Waiting until they were gone from sight, he began his own movement. He was slower, more cautious now. Every step through the grass before him was as light as possible. The one thing he did not want to do was disturb the savanna, motionless in the still air, and alert any enemy.

  The enemy, it seemed, was not so cautious. About three hundred meters ahead of him, he could see the heads of the grasses waving in an erratic manner. He drew the panga from its sheath on his thigh. This was no time for any weapons that made noise. The grass was moving in a wave that would bring whoever was carving that path within a few meters of him. He stood still, poised, his breath shallow as he tried not to give himself away. It was still impossible to see anyone through the thick grass before him, but a ripple of movement gave away his position.

  Ekwense waited until he was just past him, and then took a couple rapid strides forward, slashing a path before him with the panga. He knew from the trajectory that the enemy had their backs toward him. He counted on that to give him the vital fraction of a second necessary.

  It was over quickly. The grass parted to reveal a man in his early twenties, dressed in fatigues and carrying an AK-47 with the barrel pointed downward. He was tall and thin, and his body twisted as he pivoted at the waist when the sudden sound made him turn. He was still in the act of bringing up the AK when the first strike of the panga cut into his shoulder, slicing down and slipping out of the flesh, snagging for a moment on the material of his fatigues.

  He opened his mouth to scream, in pain or fear or warning, but was prevented by a second swing that sliced across his throat, blood bubbling into his mouth and stifling the sound. In shock, he began to fall. Ekwense stepped forward and drove him down, pinning him to the ground and finishing the kill with one blow before coming up quickly, tugging the AK-47 loose and stepping back into the untrampled grass.

  It closed around him and he held his breath for a second, his chest burning from the effort. There was no noise—movement, shouting, anything—to indicate that he had given himself away. Gulping in air now, he steadied himself and moved forward again, intent on finding any signs of other men.

  He reached the truck. The driver was half asleep in the cab, lazy and relying on his guards rather than his own senses. It was a fatal mistake. Before he had a chance to react, Ekwense had wrenched open the door and grabbed him, pulling him down and stabbing at him with the point of the panga so that it pierced his throat, stopping him from screaming. He stood on the man’s torso and pulled the point out before driving it into his chest. He had to tread down hard to pull it out, as the blade was not designed for such use.

  Ekwense was still breathing heavily, standing over the man’s body when the others joined him, Samuel and Kanu ahead of Ken and Achuaba. Their expressions and the blood-soaked blades they carried told their own stories.

  “It has been a long time since I had to kill a man that way,” Samuel said softly. “I had forgotten how hard it can be.”

  Ekwense nodded, then shook himself. “We have no time to waste. Disable the truck, then we head after these bastards. The sooner we kill them and meet up with Cooper, the happier I will be.”

  * * *

  “FRANKLIN, YOU LOOK like a man who hasn’t slept,” Abiola said with a humorless grin as his secretary ushered the general into his presence.

  “You know that I have not,” Oboko grumbled.

  “Sit,” Abiola commanded, and when Oboko had done as bade, continued. “You are a fool, but a useful one. You sent the American off with our agent in his party and the right map references, I take it?”

  Oboko nodded. “If that was the only reason you brought me here, I could have told you that over the phone—”

  Abiola cut him off. “It’s called polite conversation, Franklin. Of course I know that you did it. You would have had more than a late-night phone call if you hadn’t. No, I have brought you here because the presence of the American has changed things. Even though we can stop him, and without anything that would spark an international incident, he will be followed by others. That is inevitable.”

  “That is not my problem,” Oboko grumbled. “I do what I am asked, and—”

  “And you are paid well for it, you fat fool. Now be silent and listen.”

  Oboko’s eyes grew wide, and his jowls wobbled as he bit back on the anger. No one—at least, no one beneath him—spoke to him in that manner. But even though he had an explosive anger, his fear of Abiola was greater. The ma
jor knew that, and it amused him to see the fat man contain himself.

  “The Brotherhood has worked long and hard to get into a position where we could effect a simple change in power. We have men—like yourself, and like myself—in positions of power within the military. This is also true of the civil service and of many public institutions, as well as the government. There are men in positions of power who are of the Brotherhood and await only the word to make themselves known. One of them is our head.”

  Oboko looked confused. “But I thought our leader was in the north, and that was why—”

  “That is what he wants people to think,” Abiola interrupted. “That is what the Americans think because of such misdirection. That is why we will be able to launch our revolution while their puppet is being hacked to pieces by our men.” The thought made Abiola smile, for the first time with some humor.

  “But why are you telling me this?”

  “Because today we start operations, Franklin, and as stupid as you are, you have played your part well. There is still more for you to do before this is over, but before that, our leader wishes to meet you and congratulate you. Come.”

  Abiola rose and beckoned Oboko to follow. The general heaved himself out of his chair and followed Abiola out of his office and through the building. Oboko was full of himself, puffed out and expansive.

  “Of course, Milton, I have always been loyal and you know you can rely on me to carry out any tasks with an efficiency—”

  “Save it for your minions,” Abiola snapped as they reached a door. “Now be quiet.”

  The major opened the door. A man was standing, waiting, in the middle of the room. Oboko’s flapping jaw dropped and he was rendered dumb with shock.

  Abiola ushered him into the room and closed the door behind them. “Franklin, meet your master.”

  * * *

  BOLAN’S TEAM WAS only a klick and a half from the map reference that Oboko had given them, but were moving in a different direction, when Bolan halted them.