by Bayo Fasinro
“No, I haven’t,” he said.
“Well, sir, you are in luck,” she replied. “We just so happen to have a package for you today. Give me a minute and I will give you a proposed flight plan.”
After about thirty seconds, Anita came back on the line.
“Sir, thank you for holding, I have that flight plan for you. You will be leaving from MSP on Delta Flight 434 on Friday at 3:45 p.m. CST and flying into Charles de Gaulle Airport. There will be a two-hour layover before you hop on a flight to Lagos, Nigeria. Sir, would you like us to book a hotel and car service for you also?”
Peters said, “No, that would be all. Just the flight details are what I needed. Thank you for all your help. I’ll call you back if I decide on taking the trip,” he added. “And oh, one more thing, Anita, tell your boss to give you a huge raise. You have been very helpful and I won’t forget it.”
That last statement was for Tyson’s ears, as he was surely listening in on the call. Peters hung up. The details that Anita provided were in his memory, all in perfect detail. Whoever wanted Baba dead had sent hit men to America, too. And Sarah was almost surely killed by mistake. A good team would have watched the house and tracked movement patterns, studying the person they were going to kill—what car they drove, when they left the house, and what time they came home. Where they shopped, who they met—the whole nine yards.
There was no way they would have known, however, that Peters was driving her car that day. After going back and checking his home security cameras that faced 101st, he saw the Chrysler idling on the street when he’d left the house. He was undone. If only he had checked the security cameras before leaving… But instead, he had just pulled out and turned left instead of his usual right turn, heading for the gas station on 93rd instead. Sarah had followed a similar route, and they followed what they knew to be Peters’ car—and never even knew it wasn’t him in the driver’s seat. It would have been poor tradecraft to pull alongside the car to verify the driver, because the risk of getting made was too great. So they just pulled out behind Sarah and stayed back until it was time to make their move.
All considered, Sarah had died because her car was out of gas.
*
Peters called the chief right away. He told her he needed to take some time off and would be traveling—he said his father had passed away and he wanted to be with his siblings in the city of his birth. The chief wasn’t happy about it, since it meant that many of the department’s investigations would stall, but she understood why he had to make this trip.
As they talked, he looked at the clock. Time to pack. He told her he didn’t know how long he’d be gone but hoped to have his job back when he returned.
“Peters,” she said. “As long as I’m sitting in this chair, you will always have a place to come home to.”
They both laughed, knowing how much her cheesy response really did cheer him up.
“Thanks, Chief, I appreciate it. I’ll talk to you soon, I promise.”
Peters also promised himself to come clean with her when he got back, if he got back at all. He might end up in a Nigerian jail, which would be like a vacation anyway. He always said you haven’t been in a real jail until you have spent a night in a Black prison in the Baltics, even undercover.
After packing, he was tempted to call an Uber but decided against it—no one but Chief Brown should know that he was traveling. He’d already programmed his house lights to come on and turn off at different intervals so it seemed inhabited; he’d routed his mail to a large PO box. The lawn service would take care of the outside, as usual. And his rental car would be in the airport’s long-term parking lot. For anyone who might still be watching the house, it would be animated by a ghostly chorus of modern programs and conveniences. His final task was to put the urn that held Sarah’s ashes in his gun safe in the basement. He thought about asking the chief to keep it at her house until he returned—but that might be too big of a request. He decided against it and told himself the urn would be safe in the basement, locked up behind bulletproof steel.
Chapter 27
Nigeria
Femi and Kwesi started for the city as the sun was setting. The club was only open two days a week for the party crowd, and they timed their journey so they’d arrive at dark. They found a parking spot just off to the left of the club that would give them a good view of the front and the VIP entrance. Niyi was already checking out the back of the club while visiting his boyhood friends; he’d rendezvous with Femi and Kwesi later. His friends were happy to reconnect with him, and they had no idea he was using them to get a closer look at the property’s rear wall. While they drank beer and smoked on the balcony, Niyi would be able to casually gather the information he needed.
Femi was hoping to see Lanre’s girlfriend tonight. He knew they were using the party atmosphere and the expected chaos of Friday nights to sneak her into the club to visit with Lanre. Femi wasn’t sure why they didn’t just drive her in through the underground parking, or take her through the back to Mama’s private elevator straight to her residence. Femi doubted they were stupid and careless—maybe they just didn’t trust her. Or it could be that they didn’t think anyone would recognize her, but Femi did.
He would grab both of them if the chance came tonight. He knew those were long odds, but he could hope. Even a blind goat sometimes finds tasty blades of grass by being in the right place at the right time.
If he had to choose, he would rather grab Lanre then his girlfriend. Otherwise, they ran the risk of spooking Lanre into taking flight. If Femi grabbed her, he’d have to pump her for information fast—or Lanre and Mama would know something was wrong. If Lanre was indeed being harbored by Mama in one of the third-floor apartments, or inside her personal residence on the fourth floor, they would take the club by force. There would be no negotiating.
Sade’s grief made her wish for revenge all-consuming, but Femi knew that her good sense would prevail and veto a few of his contingency plans: burning the whole place down just to smoke him out, or even just killing everyone inside. But it was not Sade’s style, nor a truly viable option. All they cared about was Mama Kojo. There wasn’t a need to take innocent lives. Yet Sade mulled the brutal plan until Femi spelled out a better one: a plan that was Al Pacino, Godfather-style, in that if the opportunity appeared, perhaps they could take out the council all in one hit. None of them could escape vengeance that way. Additionally, it would guard against a failed hit that might endanger her reputation, and also against alerting the others by trying to take the council down one by one. Her enemies had the means to disappear and live outside of Nigeria for years and years if needed. No, it was best to move in a more limited, deft, but complete way. They would first need find out what Lanre knew, however, to determine who all was involved. Then they would plan a devastating punishment.
Niyi’s knock on the back window scared Femi. Kwesi was so startled he spilled half his Fanta in his lap.
“Look what you made me do, Niyi!” he barked. Niyi slid into the back of the car, laughing.
As Kwesi looked for something to wipe the orange stain out of his trousers, Niyi launched into his findings.
“The back of the building is not very well lit. It’s like they don’t want to call attention to that back door,” he added. “I saw only one CCTV camera, but surprisingly, it didn’t look top class. It’s stationary and doesn’t oscillate. I don’t think a cheap one like that would have infrared night vision. And there’s more good news—the fence doesn’t have any barbed wire or shards of glass on top. So, our best option is still in the back of the club.”
Femi and Kwesi agreed. As they continued to review Niyi’s report, something caught Femi’s eye.
He said, “There she is!”
Kwesi leaned closer for a view of what Femi was looking at. Niyi, sitting in the back seat, moved closer to the window facing the club.
“The blue brocade dress,” Femi said, “with the black heels.”
“I see her,
I see her,” Niyi confirmed. “Kwesi, she is right there…next to those two men smoking. She is behind the one with the turban.”
Kwesi blurted out what everyone in the car was thinking. “Let’s grab her now!”
Femi had a different idea. One of them would go into the club to look around and see if they could spot her. See whether she was talking to anyone, and maybe overhear the conversation.
Niyi agreed to go because Kwesi wouldn’t get past the doorman with his Fanta-soaked pants. Femi was pleased with the arrangement for other reasons. Kwesi was a hothead. Niyi would follow instructions and not deviate from a plan unless he had to. All he was supposed to do was find her, see if she spoke to anyone inside the club, and draw no attention to himself.
Just like that, Niyi was off, heading toward the club. He always dressed to impress no matter what day it was. He shouldn’t have any problems getting in. And indeed, after a few words and a few nairas going into one doorman’s hand, Niyi was in.
Chapter 28
Palace Gates
Eight-foot wooden doors set with frosted glass swung wide open, and Niyi stepped into the club. The music thudded in his chest like a second heartbeat. The first thing that caught his eye was the chandelier. It looked like it belonged in a museum or a ceiling in a California mansion. It glittered like snow, trembling with the bass line.
A voice was shouting at him, right next to his ear.
“Oga, what is your drink?” the woman said, smiling at him from ear to ear.
It took Niyi a few seconds—but what felt like minutes—for him to understand what she meant. The club had set up drink coolers right as you walked in the door. The coolers held every imaginable choice of beers from all over the world. And the friendly hostess made sure you got what you wanted.
The people around him all looked were young and beautiful, no older than university-age. Niyi noticed their sexy outfits—silver and sparkling like diamonds when they moved. He felt like he could order anything, even an Efes Pilsen. It was Turkish and unusual for most bars, but Niyi preferred a Heineken to any other beer. He stuck with the Heineken. As he paid for it, the hostess leaned closer to him and shouted in his ear.
“Oga, it’s much easier to come back and get your drinks here.” She went on to say that the bars available to guests got very busy and that the wait could be long. The hostess flashed him a flirtatious smile as Niyi was walking away.
Niyi descended into the belly of the club. A large dance floor was just to his left and down three flights of carpeted stairs with lights. The place was already packed with bodies moving all kinds of ways to the music. The club shook and vibrated, and the stair lights flashed on and off triggered by his feet. The DJ booth was placed in the middle of the dance floor and run by two female DJs. They were doing something right—everyone was on the dance floor. There were Asians, Indians, Americans, Russians, Germans, British, Canadians, and so on. Club Xpat knew its clientele.
Two bars were placed strategically along the sides of the club. A third and final bar was strictly for the VIP booths, tables, and plush-couched rest areas, you could only get your drinks from the other two bars.
Niyi parked himself in a corner close to the bar to the right of the DJ booth by a group of Asians. He knew they wouldn’t pay him any attention as he texted Femi that there was nothing to report at this time. He enjoyed his Heineken and scanned the place for Lanre’s girlfriend. The place was packed, and he didn’t know if he would ever find her with so many people in the place. Niyi decided to have a walkabout. He just prayed no one spilled their drink on him in the process.
And there she was.
It was hard not to miss that dress. She came out of the coat-check area. He knew something was funny about that space. No one checked coats as no one would be wearing a coat in this heat. That room was something else. What was she doing in there? Was it a secret passageway to another area of the club? As he started to get closer to her, she noticed him and smiled. Niyi smiled back but didn’t know what to do next. Should he try to speak to her or just keep walking past, ogling her like any other guy? He decided to keep walking and act like he was already heading somewhere.
As he walked toward the washroom, he noticed her going up a flight of stairs with two men following close behind. Their earpieces and black attire matched the doormen’s: they must be in-house security. The upper floors seemed to be closed off to guests or partygoers. How was she allowed in that area? Their suspicions might be correct, if she was able to meet someone up there. He hurriedly entered the washroom and sent a text to Femi: the details of what he saw. He asked whether he should stay and see if she comes down.
Femi told him to leave the club. They had what they came for. Confirmation that it was her and confirmation that she was there to meet someone. Femi thought it was time to move to the next phase.
Chapter 29
Boss Lady
Sade was up hours before the sun. Sunday mornings were a day of rest. Baba never planned any meetings or visits on this day, and he’d spend the morning in his study reading the papers and drinking cup after cup of tea. He made it himself so that the staff could have the day off. He just wanted peace and didn’t want anyone fussing over him. So, Sade did the same.
No one knew she was up as she quietly made her tea and headed toward the office. She hadn’t been able to sleep well since Baba died. Coming down to his private office every morning was her therapy. She’d just sit there for hours. She had a lot on her mind. She still didn’t know if Baba died of natural causes or if there was some kind of foul play.
She would have to look into the banker, Mr. Aturu. She also made a mental note to look into the assistant who brought in the tea and water to the conference room. How long had she worked there? Who was she? Was she connected in any way to his death? Sade thought it was odd that the assistant would set empty tea cups down on the conference room table next to each person in the room yet not pour any tea. Yet at the time, no one in the room had looked askance at the service because they were busy. Mr. Aturu simply stood up from his seat beside Baba and proceeded to pour the tea himself.
Sade would have to talk to Femi as soon as he checked in. She wanted to know how his stakeout had gone and what the next move was.
A knock on the office door interrupted her thoughts. The door opened slowly as Kemi walked in. Even though Sade had told her to take the day off, Kemi didn’t want to leave her boss alone today.
“Kemi, what is it?” Sade asked.
“Madam, there are police at the gate asking for you!”
“Asking for me?” Sade said with a puzzled look.
“They just asked the gateman if madam was home and he told them to wait. He came to find me.”
Perhaps IG Adama sent them, or if it could be some kind of a trap. She wished Femi was here, but it was Sunday and he would be at his house, just as she was. Who else might help? Baba’s lawyer—but he was on holiday with his family in Dubai and wouldn’t be back for three weeks.
Sade said, “Tell the gateman to keep them there and not let them inside the compound.”
Kemi left immediately to convey the instructions. Sade rose slowly and dialed Femi’s number. It rang four times before he picked it up.
“Hello,” came a tired voice through the phone.
Sade never asked him what he did on his own time and didn’t care. She only knew that he was never late, and he always took care of what was needed without complaint or issue.
“Femi, sorry to call you this early,” Sade said softly. “The police are here and I think its Adama who sent them.”
“Sent them for what?” Femi sounded more awake already.
She wished this conversation was taking place face-to-face rather than over the mobile. She couldn’t keep them waiting for as long as it would take for Femi to arrive. Even Sunday traffic would lengthen the trip to an hour.
Sade said, “I have to go, Femi, they have been waiting long. I just wanted to tell you in case something happened.” S
he thought they might ask her to go with them. She knew that would be out of the question, as Femi wasn’t here and she wasn’t going anywhere without him.
Femi said, “Keep your phone with you if you have to leave with them.”
She could hear the rustle of clothes in the background; he was already getting ready.
“And make sure you hold them off as long as possible if they want to take you with them. I’m running out the door now.” And then he hung up.
*
Sade collected herself and made her way out to the parlor. She tried looking out the big window there, but the gates prevented her from seeing the people who came calling for her. There was no choice but to go outside and see them herself.
She reached the gate. The day was starting out hot and she didn’t want to spend a lot of time outside, away from the air conditioning. After a slight nod to the gateman, the right gate slowly opened to reveal the men. There was one policeman in full uniform standing there. Two others waited inside the car, which was parked directly in front of the gate—no other vehicle could come or go. They made expressionless eye contact with her.
“Yes?” Sade asked sternly.
“Madam, good morning, my name is Akeem Bolaji. I’m the assistant inspector-general of police,” he said. “I’m sorry to bother you so early this morning.”
Sade was worried now. Why would they send the assistant IG to her house? They easily could have sent someone lower ranking. It took Sade a minute to process before she responded.
She said warily, “Good morning, how can I help you today?”
Akeem said, “Madam, IG Adama would like for you to come down to the office. He wants to brief you on the investigation of the death of your father.”
That was a lie. She knew it and he knew it. If it was to brief her, they wouldn’t have sent someone so high up the chain. He was two people removed from the top job himself. The IG could have just called her to come down. He had her mobile number or he could have even called the house phone. Adama was flexing—a power play, sending the assistant IG with a message like an errand boy. Which meant they had a plan ready in case she refused. She was happy that she didn’t look ready to go; she was in her robe and her hair was wrapped.