by Terry Morgan
Craig Donovan was collecting his bags at Gatwick Airport when Mark Dobson phoned him
"We've got an appointment," Dobson said, "But let's first meet at Colin's place for a catch up and get our thinking straight."
"Asher's GCHQ? SIS? Langley? You bet. Show me how he does it on a shoestring."
Dobson had barely finished talking to Donovan when his phone rang again. It popped and squeaked with echoes for a few seconds until he recognised Vigo's voice. "Sore news for your ear, Mercedes."
"What's up?"
"Mr Balogun."
"Is he dead?"
"Civic let him go after he went to the bank and withdrew our ten percent. But Balogun he got big, powerful friends, Mercedes. Someone just picked up Civic in Abuja."
Dobson's heart missed a beat but he'd half expected some sort of reaction. Even in Abuja you can't just go into someone's house, assault the wrong person and expect to get away with it even if they thoroughly deserved it. "Who picked him up?"
"Ekay in disguise."
Vigo meant special police or, more likely, someone's protection gang.
"Ekay who work for big fat guys with deep pockets and fancy suits," Vigo went on but then paused. Amongst the pops, squeaks and echoes he sounded out of breath.
"Listen, Mercedes, I'm short term fucked here. I gotta move. Short term fuck story is this: Civic got forced to say things. Don't ask me details 'cus I don't know. Civic mentioned that Danny helped with the squeezing of Balogun so Danny then got pulled in and somehow things got around to mentioning Pastor Gabriel. Then........I'm not sure you want to know this, but a connection was made to the Pink Lips Club and then to Chelsea Scumbag and....."
By then Dobson was walking in small circles around his flat.
He'd been in the business long enough to know what they were up against now. In his mind, Dobson could see these guys because he'd seen them in real life before. Big guys wearing jeans and leather jackets with hand guns tucked in their belts - men like Osman Olande in fact. He knew they'd been sailing close to the wind but hoped it wouldn't come to this. A sweat formed and he opened the window to let fresh air in but only got heavy west London traffic, noise and fumes. He shut it again. "Where's Chelsea?"
"I don't know."
"And Civic?"
"Still in Abuja. They're asking about Pastor Gabriel and Solomon."
"How do you know all this?"
"Civic was allowed a phone call. He called Mazda, pretending Mazda was his Pops. Mazda thought he was crazy until I slapped him to remind him that calling him Pops was our secret call sign when things got fussy. They was definitely fussy."
Fussy was an apt description. Osman Olande types didn't allow phone calls without good reason. Tracing calls was easy and it sounded to Dobson that Vigo's call was being listened in to. In which case........
"And I don't know what Danny told them," Vigo went on, breathing and wheezing like he'd just run a marathon. "They already closed Gabriel's business down, now this. Looks to me like they're after him big time. Why? Gabriel decide to run for President or something? Someone needs to tell him he don't stand a chance. He wasted twenty years being nice and sensible and making people nod their heads when he should have been one big bastard and smacked them or paid dash if they shook their heads. What the fuck's he doing to upset them?"
"Doing things in his own style," Dobson replied.
"I don't do politics, Mercedes, but, listen, I gotta go. I'll phone you."
Dobson was about to switch off when he heard Vigo shouting. "Mercedes? You still there? I forgot something."
"Still here."
"You wondering why Balogun took money out to pay us with no gun stuck in his back?"
"Why?"
"It's 'cus Danny stayed behind with Balogun's wife. Her name's Janet, Mercedes. Janet Balogun. She was on your list. Remember? And another thing. Balogun got so shit scared he said the big man was not him but Festus Fulani. And Festus he have a boss too, but Balogun say he don't know name."
Then the phone cut.
Two hours later, Mark Dobson was pointing at a small, nondescript upstairs window in a nondescript block on Edgware Road.
"Asher & Asher HQ," he told Craig Donovan as he rang the bell on the door that sat between the 'Red Sea' frozen fish shop and the red and white striped pole that marked Ali's Barber Shop. "And that's where Colin gets his haircut. He's hardly got any hair left but he still visits once a week because, he says, the Islamic reading material's useful for business. He sits and makes notes of names and websites."
Over tea and chocolate chip cookies Colin Asher went through his updated spread sheet. "It's Festus Fulani who intrigues me," he said pointing at the screen "He's a phantom. Fulani's not just an average, corrupt Nigerian who took advantage of a job at the FAA. Just look at his more recent interests - oil, gas, transport, shipping, healthcare, telecommunications. It explains why he can afford properties around London. But what else is he doing with his money? And is he the top guy or is there someone even higher?"
"Today's information from Vigo suggests Festus may not be the one sat on the top of the tree," Dobson added.
"What do the official security forces think?" Donovan asked.
"He's one name on a list of thousands," Dobson replied.
"So, no-one's focussed on him?"
"Not as far as I can tell," Asher said. "But gut instinct tells me we should."
"And is this just big time corruption or is there more to it?" Asher asked.
"I reckon it's politics," Dobson said. "Something's going on. Otherwise why bother with Gabriel? Simple commercial competition is easy to kill off without going to extremes of arrest warrants "
"Which reminds me of something Fernandez said," Craig Donovan added. "He said there were 'complicated security issues' at stake. Issues that Gabriel would not be aware of. It sounded to me like political security not military." He paused for a moment. "I'm wondering if a call to my successor at the US Embassy, Steve Barnett, might be useful."
They sat back.
"Decision time," Colin Asher said. "You know Gabriel better than me. Do you want to leave him and Solomon to face their own predicament or........?"
"I respect him too much," Donovan said. "His intentions are perfectly honourable. His only sin is underestimating what he's up against."
Dobson agreed.
"But neither of you know what Plan B is."
"No idea."
"And the personal risks?"
"Yours is greater than mine, Mark," Donovan said.
"I'll risk it," Dobson said.
"So, what do I tell our new client in South Korea, Mark?"
"Stall him for a while" said Dobson. "This job's not finished yet."
Not a mile away as a London pigeon might fly, Gabriel and Solomon were emerging from the Underground station into grey skies and rain when Solomon's phone rang. It was a bad line, crackly and echoing. They moved into the shelter of a shop.
"I think it's Bill, Femi but it's a bad line. He's talking but I can't hear." He passed the phone to Gabriel to listen but there was nothing but static.
"Try phoning him back, Sol."
Crowds of wet pedestrians pushed past with dripping umbrellas and sodden coats and jackets as Solomon pressed numbers. Nothing. Then Gabriel's phone rang. It was Mark Dobson. "Craig's here," he said. "We'll see you at Blossoms."
Solomon was already nudging Gabriel, holding out the other phone. "It's Bill, Femi."
"Bill?" Gabriel shouted, dodging the spike of someone's umbrella.
"Don't shout man, I hear you. Listen. Where the hell are you?"
"London."
"You seen the news?"
"Tell me."
"Mali. The COK went in today. Another town gone down. Black flags everywhere. Locals shot. A hundred locked up inside a football stadium. But you know why I think they chose this place? There's a gold mine close to the Burkina Faso border. It only opened a year ago. They'll keep it open and ship stuff up to Chad
and Libya. Nice little earner."
"Doesn't the mine have security?"
"It won't be good enough, Vicar"
Gabriel listened, rain bouncing off his uncovered head, cold water trickling inside his suit jacket. "What town?"
"Banfola. Check the map. I could move men in if we had the transport and.........."
"I know, Bill. I know. Just gotta be patient man." Gabriel wiped running water from his face.
"You telling me to be patient, Vicar? Where's my mobile clinic? Where's my fucking drone with its neat digital camera? I don't need much - just something we can send up to scout the area from above. And I got three Ethiopian medical guys trained in Tel Aviv waiting to join. And what's happened about the COK camp we found? Will the USA knock it out? You want me to meet you in Nairobi next week like we discussed? You made any progress with Ghana? What about the USA funding? How's our friend from California doing with his lobbying? Did you talk to the UK Ministry of Defence?"
Gabriel was getting colder and wetter. Larsen, probably sitting in 40-degree dry heat, was still talking.
"Listen, Vicar, I'm starting to feel isolated out here. I need to get over to Addis to sort these medical guys. It's not like London here, Vicar. It was forty-two degrees a few hours ago, no-one's seen decent rain for three years and the water supply was running low. I sorted it but....... Christ. You understand my bloody problem? We need to meet."
Gabriel blew air and watched the steam disappear on the wind. Then a red bus passed and sprayed a gallon of frigid water on his legs. "I know, Bill. I know. We're up to our eyes in problems here."
"I heard."
"You know?"
"For sure I know. We've got our own intelligence officer here. She's only sixteen but Christ she's good."
"Give me a day or so, OK?"
"OK, OK. You go careful, Vicar. And go and watch the news right now. I hate watching those murderous bastards swinging weapons and waving black, bloody flags. And I fear for those folks locked up in that stadium. Mark my words something evil's about to happen there. I sense it. And you know why I sense it, Vicar? They're mostly Christians. Persecuted for years but brave enough to try and organise a meeting in Banfola just this week."
"So where are the French?"
"You got time for another of my opinions? The French were deliberately distracted by false intelligence reports and an incursion up north. They sent a whole force up there to counter it. By the time, they got there they'd mostly fled back to Algeria. Meanwhile the COK moved into Banfola. We're up against clever tacticians, but I don't expect any of my devious opinions to be listened to."
By the time, they arrived at Blossoms and rang the bell, they were dripping water but Sammy from Sokoto answered the door in a pair of Bermuda shorts. "Two guys called here just now," he said.
"What colour?"
"White."
"They give their names?"
"Craig and Mark. I sent them to your room."
"OK, but if any Nigerians turn up tell them we already checked out."
Inside the cramped room 3 it was as hot and humid as a tropical rain forest. Mark Dobson's umbrella that he'd shared with Craig Donovan was still dripping. Gabriel and Solomon stripped off, hanging wet suits up to dry off.
Solomon then announced he'd go out for four takeaways - goat curry. Gabriel settled on one of the beds, hurling wet socks onto the floor as Dobson and Donovan sat side by side on the other bed.
"We just heard there was a COK incursion in Mali," Gabriel said. "A hundred Christians rounded up in a football stadium, but there'll be nothing on TV. They're more interested in tonight's football match......."
"Gabriel, we know," Dobson said deliberately interrupting another Gabriel lecture in its early stages. "Listen. The car, the Mazda 6 that visited your office. It's a rental car taken out by someone called Osman Mohammed Olande. Olande organised my abduction and assault in Lagos a few weeks back. Olande also organised a second attempt a few days ago, this time with a gun.
"Olande's address given to the rental company is a house in Essex owned by Festus Fulani. What did the driver of the Mazda look like?"
"Big, jeans, leather jacket."
"This him?" Dobson pulled up a photo on his phone.
Gabriel looked. "We didn't see his face."
"This him?" Another photo, a big man standing, leaning on the open door of another car chatting to a smaller black man in a suit.
"Festus Fulani," Gabriel said. "And....."
"Osman Olande, talking to Festus Fulani," Dobson interrupted again. "This is a police photo from Colin's friends in the financial irregularities team. They were checking out Festus not Olande. Festus knew he was being watched which is why he's disappeared.
"The picture is also interesting because it was taken on a derelict industrial estate in Dagenham, Essex where Kenneth Eju's body was found. Colin spoke to his police friends and they've also made the connection. Trouble is, Festus Fulani's disappeared. There's no trace of anyone leaving the UK on a Nigerian passport in the name Festus Fulani. But Festus has other IDs, other passports. He might be in Nigeria or somewhere else. Wherever he is I think he's used influence to undermine my own local team in Lagos. Some of them were pulled in by a bunch of heavies earlier today. I'm worried for them. And the London police can't find Olande. He's also disappeared."
Dobson stopped and looked hard at Gabriel trying to convince him of the severity of what was going on.
"But he was in Croydon with two con men who......."
Again, Dobson gave him no time. "Pastors Ayo and Lazarus," he said.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeh. I upset them once. They deserved upsetting. Sol believes they were involved in the FAA deal."
He'd not mentioned either Ayo or Lazarus before or anything about insulting them and a bunch of other fake preachers.
Solomon returned with the carry-out Jamaican goat curry. He lay the food out on the floor and they all sat to eat alongside Dobson's phone with the photos still on the screen. Solomon saw it, picked it up and with no further explanation said. "I've lost my appetite."
Mark Dobson took a spoonful of curry but then put it down. "Listen," he said. "Let's summarise."
It was a phrase he always used when he felt he'd done about as much as he could for a client and was winding things down.
He began with the commercial side - the FAA contract. The Kaplans with financial muscle and few ethics working amongst the politics of mining, uranium supplies for French power stations and ready to cut murky deals with anyone for money. There were the people not respecting confidences, people expecting bribes as a way of life and just as many not wanting to see things cleaned up.
"All fairly normal," Dobson said. "But then there's the politics. You're being made out to be an extremist, Gabriel. Whilst many people cheer your views, others regard you as an intolerable nuisance hell bent on undermining their status, their authority and their ability to make big money - best ignored but, the longer you carry on, best destroyed. So, let me ask you something," Dobson paused to make an impact. "Why do they want to destroy you? Why?"
"It's power," Solomon answered.
Dobson nodded. "Exactly. But these people are common criminals, conmen, money launderers, frauds, murderers."
"Like everyone in Nigeria," muttered Gabriel.
"But they're afraid of losing power," Solomon said.
"Exactly" Dobson repeated. "So why do they think you are becoming too powerful?"
"Because Femi could win a Presidential election," said Solomon.
Solomon, the quiet one, the thoughtful and rational one, the one who could put things into perspective, the perfect counterweight to Gabriel, then stood with his lanky form towering above Gabriel, Mark Dobson and Craig Donovan who were still sitting on the floor. He pointed at Gabriel.
"They're scared, Femi. Don't you see that? They watch you talking common sense. They hear people cheering you. They think you're powerful enough now to force radical changes.
; "For thirty years, you've done nothing but talk about a new sort of society, one that offers a brighter future, more jobs, less corruption and better security for ordinary Africans."
Solomon walked to the window, looked through the rain spattered glass and out into the growing darkness. Then he turned and pointed two fingers like a gun at Gabriel.
"You remember something else Femi? Something you seem too scared to tell Mark or Craig or anyone else?"
Gabriel shook his head and so Solomon looked at Dobson, then at Donovan.
"Femi is a fucking idiot," he said with just a faint sign of a smile.
"I thought so. Tell us," Dobson encouraged him. "Let the fucking idiot listen to you for once."
"We met President Azazi six months ago," he said calmly. "Our own Nigerian President Hamed Massoud Azazi. It was just after he was elected. You remember, Femi?"
Gabriel nodded almost shyly as if he knew what was coming next.
"You know what he told Femi? 'You're still young,' he said. You remember his words, Femi? 'It takes time to change things.' he said. 'Old men like me do not have enough time. Change will take a generation, maybe longer. So, stand up. Be brave.'"
Solomon paused for just a few seconds. "President Azazi's a fine man," he said. "Problem is he struggles because he feels so alone. But he sees Gabriel as an ally, as a friend, maybe even a successor."
Dobson couldn't help himself. He stood, punched Solomon lightly on the shoulder and nodded. That was it. It went some way to explain both Gabriel's and Solomon's sheer bloody mindedness. But Solomon still hadn't finished.
"You remember something else, Femi?
"You remember once when we flew back into Lagos from USA or somewhere? We went to fetch the car. We stopped at Ogba to buy bread and there was an old man standing at the shop door. He saluted us and clicked his heels like an old soldier. Then he held the door open for us and when we left the shop he followed us to the car. Then he asked for his tip. He was kind, he was gentle, he was quiet and polite. But he wanted a tip. For opening the door and saluting. And we gave him something, not much, but he thanked us, smiled and walked away to start again. You remember, Femi?"
Gabriel nodded.
"And do you remember that old lady, Femi? The one in the dirty buba and iro who asked for money to go home. Tears in her eyes. Weak. Almost falling down. And you gave her a hundred Naira and she bowed to you, Femi. Like you the king or something. This little old lady with no name who came from nowhere, just appeared beside us and then disappeared again. You remember, Femi? You remember what you said as we drove away? 'This is Nigeria, Sol,' you said to me. 'Quiet little people who come from nowhere and go back to nowhere, living off small gifts of kindness'"
Gabriel turned his face away.
"That's it Femi," Solomon said. "Sometimes you need to cry to understand what the fuck we're doing here? You want to carry on or you want to give up?"
And Gabriel stood, walked over, put both his arms around Sol and lay his head on his shoulder. "We carry on, Sol."
It took them all a minute or so to recover their wits and Gabriel was still trying to control his sniffing when Craig asked the question that really bothered him. "So, what's Plan B?" he asked.
"Plan B?" Gabriel replied after one final sniff. "We're meeting the Chinese tomorrow morning."
Craig Donovan was still dragging his flight bag with him when they left Blossom's around midnight. It was still raining and he was easily persuaded to stay at Dobson's flat overnight. The taxi dropped them outside the Turkish restaurant in Queensway.
"The Dobson residence," Dobson announced pointing to a small, darkened window above. "Entrance is round the side, up the fire escape by the trash bins. It's secluded."
They clattered up the iron stairway and at the top Dobson's phone rang. He fumbled for the key and opened the door. "Flick the light switch on the left," he told Donovan. "This'll be Colin, it's his time of night."
"I've had a familiar voice on my phone," Colin Asher said.
"Not your ex wife, was it?"
"Worse than that. It was Osman Olande, asking after you. I said you'd had a productive few days, thank you very much, and had flown on somewhere on other business. Then the phone went dead."
"So, he's in London?"
"We traced it to Oxford Street but it's now disappeared. He probably removes the battery between calls. What happened tonight?"
Dobson gave a brief summary. "Nearly had us all in tears," he ended. "And Plan B is the Chinese. They've got a meeting tomorrow."
While Mark Dobson made coffee, Craig Donovan took a shower, returning in a fresh shirt with wet hair hanging like an old grey dog. He'd obviously been thinking. "You think the Nigerian SSS are in town?"
"You'd know them of course," Dobson said. "But if you're thinking Olande's SSS I don't believe it."
"Nor me, but it'd only take a phone call to Steve Barnett to find out, and get a view on what Fernandez hinted at."
Sipping coffee, Donovan pressed some numbers on his phone and checked his watch. It was the middle of the night in Abuja, Nigeria. "Steve won't mind," he said as he waited. "If he's like I was he waits up for calls from Washington.
"Steve? Craig Donovan.....Yeh, how you doing buddy?......Long time.....Listen, I need some information......Sure you can for an old pal.....Doing some private investigation work.......The SS cropped up."
Donovan switched the speaker on so Dobson could listen in.
Craig paused, laughed. "Just a name or two. Osman Olande mean anything to you?....... No? So, who's flavour of the month right now?......Martin Abisola. Christ, yeh, I remember him. He back in favour?......Six months huh? Christ, time flies when you're retired. You know where Abisola is right now?....Jesus, you're following movements that close?......Why would he be in London?......Something to do with Gabriel? Sure, I knew him. You can't miss him. He's still shouting from the rooftops."
What followed were a few irrelevant reminiscences and the usual America style offers to return favours that were usually forgotten. That was until Donovan finally asked his other question. "One last thing, Steve. Where's COK funding coming from?.......Sure you can for the guy who warmed the seat for you........Is it that problematic?.........So what's the COK up to?............Yeh, well, they're all bastards. I wish you luck, Steve. Thanks for the help."
Donovan switched off. "Martin Abisola," he said. "Now there's an interesting guy. He was a Colonel in the Nigerian Army. He's a close friend of the current President. He had officer training in England but disappeared while I was there. He turned up again after the election."
"And recently in London?"
"Probably gone back now but it's something to do with Gabriel. And Steve mentioned Gabriel probably because he's tasked to check Gabriel out."
"Tasked by the US Government?"
"By the CIA. That's where his orders come from. But Gabriel's not in Nigeria as we know."
"I thought the CIA were not that interested."
"Maybe they just got interested."
"And you got nothing fresh on the COK," Dobson said. "Or maybe he just didn't like talking to you on an insecure line."
They fell silent for a moment until Donovan said, thoughtfully. "I reckon we know more than they do."
"We certainly know about Osman Olande and Festus Fulani and friends in high places."
"And we're sure Kenneth was shot by Olande."
"And Olande visited God's office with a gun and a couple of fake pastors with a grudge against Gabriel."
"And Olande was behind two attempts to eliminate you."
"And Olande just phoned Colin asking about me."
They looked at one another. "You lock the door, Mark?"
"No but if someone stands on the mat outside, that light comes on." Dobson pointed to a small black box on a shelf."
"Snug as a bug in a rug then, Mark."