by Terry Morgan
Ayo's stress level after Azazi's call was at such a pitch that he decided unless he spread it around, shared it or diluted it somehow, his health was in serious danger. He picked the phone up from the floor where he'd dropped it.
"Lazarus? We must meet, urgently. I fear big problems."
"But I'm dining with the Chairman of Ministries TV, Ayo. Do you know the Blu Cabana? Have you met Chairman Jacob? I will introduce you. We are eating steak and....."
"This is no time for eating, Lazarus."
"But we are discussing important things like Christian education and entertainment."
Ayo's breathing was erratic, uncontrolled, and he heard himself snort like a pig. "You want to die, Lazarus?"
"But I am not sick, Ayo. We are discussing the revival of apostolic signs, the Holy Ghost, fireworks and the unlimited demonstration of the power of God. And Jacob has offered the Good Tidings Christian Peoples Church some advertising space in return for gifts. Perhaps, if I beg his kindness he may also look kindly on Christ's Centre of Holy Visions. The pepper steaks here are very....."
Whether or not it was Lazarus's irritating voice but Ayo's voice suddenly found volume. "General Zainan Azazi," he shouted into the phone. "Do the scars on his face still make you tremble? Does the memory of being threatened with arrest by Martin Abisola from the SS still bring sweat to your brow? Do you want to die of indigestion, Lazarus?"
There was a clattering sound as if the Blu Cabana's dining table had met with catastrophe. Things rattled, something smashed.
"Excuse me, sah," Ayo heard Lazarus say, presumably to his honoured guest. "One moment while I deal with this matter." A short silence followed."Is it true, Ayo? They have returned?"
"They never went away, Pastor. They are here with more threats and they asked for you," he lied. "We must attend a meeting now."
Despite the air conditioning in his white BMW, Ayo's heart was still beating wildly and he was sweating profusely. He had been instructed to be in the Protea Hotel car park at 2pm but had become utterly lost. To compound that, the fuel was running out.
Lazarus, meanwhile, was biting each of his finger nails in turn and gibbering away in the passenger seat beside him. "What can I do, Ayo?" he whimpered."I am just an innocent Pastor proclaiming the love of God, seeking forgiveness for my small sins and trying to make ends meet."
"If you are innocent, Lazarus then I cannot imagine how much praise the Lord will hand to me when I follow you to his glorious Kingdom. Where the fuck are we?"
A dribble of saliva ran from Lazarus's finger onto the cuff of his white shirt. "But he phoned you, Ayo, not me. They know I have nothing to give but prayers."
Ayo swung the BMW off Shehu Shagari Way into a Total filling station. "You frighten yourself without realising that it is you who frightens others with your ability to feign such false innocence."
Lazarus removed his dark glasses, stared, looked puzzled but said nothing. The tank was filled, the windscreen washed for a tip and they set off again in silence.
Then: "I do not know where we are, Lazarus. This is Dikko Street and we are late because while I was eating watery fish soup you were eating peppered steak to fill the overweight sack you call your belly."
"It is the wrong way, Ayo. You must turn around."
"You did not think to tell me before?"
They were thirty minutes late arriving. Ayo drove around, saw no-one and stopped. Lazarus tugged on his sleeve "We're too late, Ayo. We're safe. They've gone."
But there was a tap on the window on Lazarus's side. He turned and the face that gave him nightmares loomed large, grinning, white teeth in a round face, the faint scars on Major General Zainab Azazi's cheeks enhanced by the tinted glass. Lazarus stared back, one finger still in his mouth. Ayo, on the other side. got out and Azazi shouted over the top of the car at him. "You're late. But I see you brought your fat friend. Follow me."
They followed the Mercedes out of the hotel car park, Ayo struggling to keep up as it headed for the outskirts of Abuja, taking turnings, right and left. It finally stopped at a high iron gate built into a concrete wall capped with razor wire. The gate opened automatically onto a driveway leading to a large but dilapidated villa that might once have been painted pink. Azazi stopped his Mercedes at the bottom of some steps and got out, beckoning Ayo to stop alongside.
That was when they saw Martin Abisola.
The SSS man was standing at the top of the steps like a soldier, legs apart, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing khaki trousers, an open-necked green shirt and a red tie that dangled sideways and he beckoned them to come up the steps. They followed him through the door, along a dark corridor, turned left and found themselves entering an even darker room at the end.
Abisola kicked a door stop, flicked a light switch, then a remote control and air conditioning hummed. Apart from a wooden table and six hard plastic chairs, the room was bare and windowless with pale pink walls and an uneven and unpainted concrete floor. This was not someone's home, a place of comfort but more like a place for questions to be asked, under duress.
"Sit," Azazi commanded and he nodded at Abisola.
The pastors sat, side by side, on one side of the table. Azazi and Abisola took up positions opposite and Azazi grinned confidently. Abisola stared. Ayo looked down at his lap. Lazarus bit his nails.
"Now then. Long time. How dem body? Dem Christian church go good?" It was Azazi speaking in his usual throaty growl.
Ayo and Lazarus nodded.
"Martin will speak," Azazi said with a wave of his hand as if announcing an honoured guest.
The ex Nigerian Army Colonel Martin Abisola stood and calmly and slowly walked around the table. He stopped behind Lazarus, bending so close that Lazarus smelled sweat and something fishy on his breath. "Do you remember my promises, Pastor?" he whispered.
"Your promise, sah?"
"Not one promise, Pastor. Many promises. Promises to find you guilty of bribery, corruption, extortion, false representation, fraud, deception, money laundering, theft of church funds and other misdemeanours if things become problematic. You remember?"
"Oh, yes sah."
Abisola moved behind Ayo. "Do you know where Pastor Gabriel Joshua is?"
"No sah. Maybe in London, sah?"
"For your information, Pastor Gabriel is in prison. In Nairobi. What do think about that?"
Ayo tried smiling. "That is good, sah."
"And do you know where Mr Dobson is?"
"Also in prison, sah?" Ayo suggested, hopefully.
"No, no. He is in Nigeria."
"Then catch him, sah. Put him in prison also."
A short pause as Abisola strolled around. Ayo followed his progress but his view was restricted by the rim of his trilby that had slipped over his forehead. He tried a touch of bravery. "Excuse me, sah, why do you want to find the akata?"
Abisola was a man of simple needs whose only adornment was the stained shred of red polyester that hung loosely around his neck. He could smarten himself up with uniform when absolutely necessary but, otherwise, saw no point in wasting time on outward appearances. Patience was Abisola's strong point but even that had its limits. And the limits of his patience had already been stretched by these two religious conmen with their rings, jewels and ridiculous hats who wafted aftershave and deodorant. He looked at Azazi and shook his head. Azazi still smiled.
"Remind me," Abisola said. "Who was it sought a meeting with the President to warn him of a plot to undermine his authority?"
"It was us, sah," admitted Lazarus proudly.
"So, was the President wise to believe you?"
"Of course, sah. The President is very wise."
"And how many of your friends had evidence of Pastor Gabriel's many frauds and corrupt dealings with the government?"
Lazarus again: "Well sah, there was me, sah, and Ayo, sah and Father Adebola of the Church of Our Lord of Mercy and Forgiveness and Bishop William of the Disciples of Jesus School of Ibadan. We met in Calabar, sah at the
home of Governor Fashola, sah......"
Azazi suddenly moved in his seat, the swathes of the cotton Boubou that wrapped his large frame rustled and he held up his hand to his face as if he'd just heard something he had no wish to hear. The fixed smile vanished and a dark cloud spread across his face. Abisola, though, was hearing and seeing everything even though his eyes were fixed on the back of Ayo's hat.
Ayo took out a handkerchief, sniffed, wiped his face and examined the piece of cloth as Lazarus continued: "Governor Fashola organised the meeting, sah. He was very pleased to help the President, He said he'd speak to a friend who had the good ear of the President."
Azazi sniffed and stood up. "That is enough," he boomed, but Abisola ignored him.
"Who was the man who had the good ear of the President?" he asked.
Lazarus looked uncertainly at Ayo who was now picking his nose with the handkerchief but Abisola persisted. "I ask you again. Who was the man who spoke to the President?"
"That is enough I think," repeated Azazi. "I think he might die of stress."
Abisola continued to ignore him. "Who did Governor Fashola talk to?"
"We don't know, sah." It was Ayo this time, looking across at Azazi as if aware of embarrassment. But Lazarus still hadn't finished putting his foot in it.
"Governor Fashola is on the Board of the State Security Organisation. Maybe you can ask him." he said.
There was a pause as Abisola looked at Zainab Azazi, the man who held the ill-defined job of Special Tasks. It was a job Abisola didn't understand the need for, nor did he know what Azazi did or how. Azazi, the President's younger brother was ex army and Abisola had known of him for several years but nowadays Azazi floated around, attending dinners and gathering friends like a self-important politician in the making.
Abisiola knew that even the President, who he admired, would consciously succumb to family pressures to avoid worse problems elsewhere. He also knew that, being the Head of the SSS - the State Security Service, put him way above Azazi. It was the President himself who had reminded him of that. "Ignore the fat men, Martin. They strut and pose because they believe they are above the law."
Calmly walking around the table, he watched Azazi nervously adjusting his gown, repositioning his hat, wiping his face and sitting down again.
"It seems no-one knows where the fucking akata Dobson is," Azazi seemingly desperate to change the subject. Abisola looked at him so hard that Azazi glanced away.
As he did so, Abisola withdrew something from his pocket, sat down next to him and continued talking as if nothing had happened.
"The background is interesting. I'll need to reflect on it," he said. "Unfortunately, due to the late arrival of these two I am now late for my next meeting. Would you excuse me?"
Then he withdrew the hand that had fixed something beneath the table, nodded towards Lazarus and Ayo and walked from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
For a while there was silence.
"A busy man, " Azazi muttered waving a hand at the door.
Lazarus nodded. Ayo shrugged, removed his trilby and scratched his head thinking about Dobson. He hated that fucking Englishman. The bastard kept coming back, shaking off assaults like water running off a duck's back. Now, according to Abisola, the bastard was back again. And then there was that other piece of shit, Osman Olande. So many bastards.
The silence continued, but Ayo's head was throbbing. He looked across the table at Azazi, another man he hated and his lips curled with bitterness. Ayo sometimes preached against hatred, taking a storyline from something he'd found on the internet, but the reality was different. Hatred and mistrust was everywhere. In this society, it was natural. He looked at Lazarus with his fat belly, his sorrowful eyes, his bitten nails and sweat. Lazarus was pathetic but at least he could be manipulated. Ayo took a deep breath and broke the silence.
"Excuse me, sah. Does Osman Olande work for you?"
Azazi gave a faint nod that Ayo decided meant nothing other than that Olande was probably a freelancer, answerable to anyone who paid. Nervously he rotated the rim of his trilby and saw Azazi raise a hand that looked like the paw of a bear.
"You ask who he works for?" Azazi said baring his big white teeth. "You want names, Pastor? Names that'll scare the fucking shit out of you?"
And Ayo watched the thick fingers of the brown paw count off names, one by one, as if tossing them across the table for inspection.
"First there are your God fearing fellow preachers. How many of those hundreds of fucking amateurs do you count as your friends, Lazarus?"
Lazarus shrank into his chair, twisting his lower lip. shocked by the insult of amateurs. "Ten sah? Twelve sah?"
"That's a start," Azazi said. "What about family members? Kenneth and Kenneth's wife Janet? You know Sammy? Matty? Tami?"
Lazarus scratched his cheek and Ayo watched as Azazi started on the next paw. "Then we have Abdul Hakim and Precious Johnson. You know Happy, Pastor Lazarus? Happy Jacob, the Chairman of Ministries TV? He says he knows you well. How about Sandy, Misty and Cozi who ensure your jewellery business doesn't suffer from criminals?"
Ayo stared. He'd never heard of Sandy, Misty and Cozi. But Lazarus's eyes watered as Azazi started on the fingers of the first paw again.
"Then you got the big, big names. Your friends, Ayo. Top names like Festus and all of Festus's group - how many? Six? Seven? Eight? Big men, big style, big budgets, big power."
Azazi's voice grew from a bear's growl to a lion's roar. "You want me to go on. Pastors? You ask who runs Osman? All of them run Osman and all of them expect their share. Yet you.........YOU." The roar increased. "YOU FAILED. Everyone else worked hard to ensure the contract was awarded to the right company but YOU have STOLEN two million dollars. WHAT DO YOU SAY?"
There was another silence as Lazarus screwed his face, bit his finger nails and looked at Ayo.
"WELL? WHAT DO YOU SAY?"
"Yes, sah. " Lazarus whined. "Very sorry, sah."
It was thirty minute before Ayo and Lazarus left the house inside the razor-wire protected wall.
Ayo stopped the car on the side of the road because of a tightness in his chest and his breathing that felt erratic. It was probably stress but he had heard about heart attacks that started with chest pains and heavy breathing. He took a deep breath, felt his chest through the sweaty dampness of his silk shirt and looked at Lazarus. "You tremble like a fat little mouse, Lazarus."
"It is because Azazi is like a big, fat cat, Ayo. I hate him."
Ayo's heart rate was slowing but, just to be sure, he drew another deeper breath that stopped when his chest wall met the steering wheel. He adjusted his trilby. "I often wonder how you ever made it as a man of God with his own church."
"My father left money when he died."
"Your father was a preacher?"
"No. A God-fearing man who owned a jewellery shop."
"How did he die, Lazarus? Please tell me."
"By a bullet from a gun, Ayo."
"Thieves? Armed men with guns?"
"He shot himself."
Lazarus then paused, apparently thinking. "No, no, no," he went on. "That is not true. I must be honest, Ayo, because that is what my dear, dead Pops taught me. Do not lie my son, he told me. A little lie is like a little pregnancy. People soon find out."
Ayo looked at him. "So how did he die, Lazarus?"
"He tried to shoot himself but missed so he cut his wrists."
Ayo wanted to laugh but found he couldn't. Things were far too serious. Two million dollars had to be found quickly or, according to Azazi, their days were numbered. But an idea was forming so he slipped the car into drive and, at the speed of a snail, moved off onto the highway. Then he turned to Lazarus.
"How much cash do you have, Lazarus?" he asked