An Honourable Fake

by Terry Morgan

Pastor Ayo was adjusting the angle of his brown and gold trilby before the full-length mirror in the hallway of his six-bedroom villa when his phone rang. The Ghanaian maid who had been holding two other trilbies until he'd decided which was best was ushered away and she scuttled towards the kitchen. Ayo didn't recognise the number but soon recognised the voice. His heart missed several beats.

  "Ah, yes, sah," he stuttered. "Can I help you sir?"

  The voice of General Zainab Azazi, the head of 'Special Tasks' growled in Ayo's ear. "I do not want help, Pastor, I want information."

  Ayo removed his trilby and used the rim to scratch his nose. "Of course, sah. Information. What information, sir?"

  "Have matters been dealt with yet?"

  "Maybe, sir."

  To Ayo, his own voice sounded unusually timid. Inside his Good Tidings Christian Peoples Church his voice sounded as if it came direct from heaven. It echoed like the voice of God off the walls, the wood and the plastered ceiling. Now, he coughed to clear the stickiness in his throat.

  The fact was Ayo had no idea what to say. Everything had gone quiet since he and Lazarus had returned from London. Empty handed he reminded himself. The main distraction, the biggest worry, had been coming to terms with the theft. People in Oxford street had stopped, gathered around, offered to call the police and an ambulance as Lazarus had fallen and seemed ready to die. They had declined all offers of help, of course, and returned to the Intercontinental Hotel. Then they'd flown back to Abuja.

  Ayo flopped onto the gilt-edged chair beside the gilt-edged telephone table.

  Two million dollars had gone in the blink of an eye, snatched only two minutes after collecting it. Lazarus had barely spoken for three days afterwards. He'd jumped at every sound and whimpered like a child. And there was clearly no point in involving the police. What was gone was gone. But who had known? Who had been watching? Questions still begged for answers.

  As far as Ayo saw it, he'd done his part by ensuring that the fucking Solomon Trading company stopped trading and stopped interfering in plans to ensure government contracts benefitted the right people. The multi-million dollar FAA contract had always been the big one and many people were due to benefit if the contract went to the right organisation.

  It had been the job of Pastors Ayo and Lazarus, two innocent religious men who could come and go through UK Boarder Control sometimes with dog collars over their shirts and no questions asked. It should have been easy. Sort out two million dollars in cash for smaller beneficiaries of the deal.

  Or, at least, that was the plan until Ayo had received new instructions just before they'd left - instructions which had come from Festus that the small beneficiaries would now only get half and the balance would go into a special numbered account at Credit Suisse. None of the small people believed their money had been stolen and Festus was said to be very angry in case Pastor Gabriel and the Englishman Dobson exposed what was going on and embarrassed important people.

  The sweat on Ayo's forehead trickled onto his nose distracting him enough to return to the here and now and Azazi's growling voice.

  "Maybe is not enough, Pastor," the voice growled. "Fucking Abisola has said he wants to see you."

  "But I am on my way to my Church sir," he said.

  "Cancel it."

  Ayo, sweat oozing from every pore, decided an arrest warrant was the least he could expect.

  Taj Harding's few days as a resigned Minister had been spent on mundane local constituency matters and listening to Parliamentary debates from the backbenches. It was not enough and Harding was already bored and now having trouble sleeping.

  It was three in the morning when Daniel Bakare phoned him. "I'm going to Nigeria," Bakare announced. "Some Ministerial meetings, a meeting with the US Ambassador, a debrief from Steve Barnett and a fresh look at the terrorism threat, maybe even a meeting with the President. What are you doing?"

  "Right now, trying to sleep."

  "What are you doing in the next few days?"

  "Nothing important," he said rather sadly.

  "Why not meet me in Abuja? Meanwhile, while you think about it, some news for your ears. Gabriel's been arrested."

  "Christ almighty. When? How?"

  "Nairobi. Whilst we've ignored the arrest warrant, the Kenyans haven't, won't or can't for political reasons. We'll have a word in Kenyan ears. You might like to do the same."

  "I'm not sure I've got any influence left. Perhaps I shouldn't have resigned."

  "Never harbour regrets, Taj. But it's a pity you resigned just when things were getting interesting."

  "But I could join you, I suppose" Harding said switching on a light. "I could use the time for something else I've been thinking about."