by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 14
It was clear to Kevin Parker that Tunje Fayinke was far too hung up about being monitored by a Big Brother somewhere for any meaningful mobile phone discussion.
"OK, if the CIA and MI6 are definitely on your trail, Tunj, we'd better meet up for a pint. I assume you're not doing anything else today and as you've already had your eighteen hours sleep, how about a pint or two at the One Tun, Tottenham Court Road. Just use a tortuous route from Barnet via Brixton - that'll throw them off. And, by the way, it's your bloody turn to pay.
But, for all his efforts, Kevin had been sitting at the One Tun public house for nearly an hour before Tunje arrived. He was already onto his third pint.
"Just given you up, Tunj. Thought the CIA had got you."
"Sorry, my man. Got delayed. Mine's a pint - best bitter."
They settled into the corner that Kevin had already made his own.
"Now then, what the bloody hell is going on with this guy Mohamed El Badry?" Kevin asked. "I got interrogated like I was one of his staff last night. I never got to give the talk I'd spent hours preparing and he seemed to know more about me than I did."
"Ah, that'll be me," Tunje said. "I told him about the networks."
"So much for your strict security measures, then Tunj? You keep talking about being scared of Big Brother. Well, I actually think you'll find you've been talking direct to Big Brother himself. El Badry is Big Brother personified. "
"Fuck," said Tunje. "But he's keen to do something, Kev. He's Action Man personified."
"Yes, Tunj, but I still don't fully understand what he's up to or why, where he comes from or even the how, if, what or when. Do you, Tunj?"
"Yeh, he's also Big Shot personified. He has this business - pharmaceuticals. Got research places dotted all over. Worth a mega fortune. Got a company in Nigeria, Kenya - all over the fucking place."
" And how do you know all that, Tunj?"
"He told me, Kev."
"So why does your Mister Big Shot personified come asking one Little Shot Tunje Fayinke for all the details of the Malthus Society, chairman of which is a slightly bigger Little Shot called Kevin Parker who's sitting right here next to you. Answer me that, Tunj, please."
"Clinical trials, man."
"Yes, I got wind of something along those lines last night. But you're hardly going to give him the names of all twenty eight members of the Nigerian Malthus Society for him to contact and ask if they'd be interested in helping them with his clinical trials are you, Tunj?"
"Fuck sake, Kev. Show a bit of confidence in me."
"Listen to me, Tunj. This is serious. If I recall El Badry's words from last night it went something like: 'We have been working with Mr. Fayinke to test out a few ideas.' What the bloody hell is that, Tunj?"
"Search me, Kev."
"Then he said something like 'Tunje has a lot to learn, though.' Then something about the need for security because of problems with Islamic militants."
"Ah yes, I mentioned it wasn't easy moving around up there because of Boko Haram."
"And what the bloody hell has Boko Haram got to do with it, Tunj? I'm rapidly losing the plot here."
"Yeh, Boko Haram, the Islamic insurgents, are up in the north of Nigeria. Don't you read the Guardian any more Kev? I think he wants to focus his activity on the north to start with. He may even have already started."
"He's started already?"
"I don't know, Kev. Sorry. But he seemed to have thought it all through. Very professional like."
"You mean a professional eradicator of half a million of your fellow Nigerians?"
"It'll never be that many Kev. He's only at the testing stage."
"Tunj. Listen to me. What the bloody hell is he up to? Do we or don't we know exactly what he's playing at? And who the fuck is he?"
"Yeh, I admit there are a few gaps in our knowledge at present."
"Gaps? A few gaps?" Kevin almost screamed and heads in the otherwise quiet pub turned to look. "Do you realise the potential seriousness of this? Yes, we've been demanding action for years but we've always said we wanted action by legitimate governments not by a fucking individual operating like he's a terrorist who's suddenly found a stock of nerve gas."
"Mmm," said Tunje, "Mmm, I see."
"And when did you see him?" asked Kevin trying desperately to stay calm.
"I got invited to his flat. Kev. Just like you. Nice place."
"Mmm," said Kevin deliberately copying Tunje. "So you beat a path to his luxury pad before me." He took a swig of his beer as he felt the tension inside him growing again. With beer dripping off his lower lip Kevin then said, "He said he wanted me to help him find other people like you to help out. What does that mean?"
"Calm it, Kev. It's nothing, man. All I did was tell him about the website, which he seemed to know about anyway and that if he wanted any help, leave a message or something - anyone interested could get back to him."
"Via whom, Tunj? How is he going to contact Malthus group activists without contacting me. I'm the only one who keeps a rough tab on their personal details and even I struggle to know who most of them really are."
"But that's it, Kev. That's why he asked to see you. He needs contacts - not just Nigeria but anywhere."
"What?" yelled Kevin. "Everywhere?" He took another mouthful of his beer. "Why, Tunj? Why does he need the contacts? What the bloody hell is he up to? Who the fuck is he? What does he really want, Tunj? Because, I can tell you I came away last night one minute so excited I could shit myself thinking we'd at last found a threat we could use for direct action and the next minute coming out in a cold sweat because we, or mostly you, had given away so much that we risked losing all control to some Big Shot Arab who could, unlike you and me, probably pay over the odds for a get out of jail card if it all went pear shaped."
Kevin felt so out of breath now that he swallowed the remaining half of his pint in one go. "Your bloody turn. Mine's a pint - best bitter."