The Man From Lagos

by Bayo Fasinro

  So far so good. The team would simply have to wait for confirmation of Kumari’s death. He was a big man, so the news of his passing would leak quickly.

  *

  The sun was setting. It had been a good day so far. Two confirmed dead, one to be confirmed in a few days, and the last one would be meeting her fate before it was all over. Now, it was time to leave the house. Peters and Sade said their goodbyes and promised to see each other in a few hours. Sade left first. She took Baba’s favorite Audi for her trip to the market.

  She had no other trailing cars so as not to give the appearance that she was expecting trouble on her journey. She paid close attention as she headed to the market, looking for irregularities on the road. Her Israeli bodyguard and driver were on the lookout for trouble, too. Both he and the driver carried Tavor assault rifles—subcompact so they were easy to carry and use in small spaces. For backups, they both carried Desert Eagles strapped to their sides. If needed, Sade had access to the boot through the backseat cushion. All she had to do was pull down the split seat to her left, and in a matter of seconds, she too would be armed.

  As for Peters, he carried a small bag containing his disguise. It would help him ensure an on-time rendezvous with the team beside the club. Femi was the one with all the weapons, so Peters traveled unarmed for now except for one special package in his pocket—a gift from Mr. Vue. He hoped not to have to use it, but he had brought it just in case. You always have contingencies.

  Peters scanned the roads as he has been trained to do as he left the cul-de-sac. He used the side mirrors to track cars behind. He told the driver to change lanes at intervals to see if any car behind them mimicked their movements; the lack of any such response meant only that his vehicle was not being tailed by amateurs. If there was a tail, the other car or cars knew what they were doing.

  In his training, it had been advised to use multiple cars when trailing a suspect. The first car would follow, but not too close. Then that first car would peel off from the route at either a stoplight or a side road. Then the next car already on the same path or parked on the side of the road would take up the pursuit without anyone noticing. Peters didn’t think that thinking or training would be used in Nigeria. He didn’t know how the local police or military was trained, but he didn’t expect them to be that experienced. In most countries he had visited for missions, it was always all or nothing. Sometimes they let you know that you were being followed; other times they tried to disguise it—but they were all horrible at it. It would be easy for Peters to notice anyone trailing them that wasn’t a normal course or cars on the road.

  Sade texted him that she had successfully switched cars at the market and was on her way to meet Femi and the team. Peters would take a bit longer to get there. His disguise required some effort, but it would surely get him to the team.

  Chapter 40

  Shakara

  No one noticed the woman in the green buba and wrapper casually walking down the street. She had on a silver gele to go with her outfit. Her heels were also silver and she wore a red multi-strand necklace around her neck. She carried a large black bag on her right shoulder. A cell phone next to her left ear gave the appearance of aloof engagement with someone else as she walked down the street. The woman walked to the end of the street facing the large building with people standing in line waiting to be let in. She took a right on the next street and stopped at a car idling by. She knocked on the front passenger-side window and startled its occupants. The passenger, noticing the beautiful woman whose face was pressed almost on the window, rolled it down with interest.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Good evening, madam,” the passenger replied. “How can I help you?”

  “You can let me in, Femi,” the woman in green replied.

  The whole car was stunned that the woman would speak Femi’s name. Before anyone could react, the woman in green said, “It’s me, Idowu!”

  “Is that you?” the voice from the backseat said.

  The woman leaned into the car and spoke to the person asking in the backseat. “Sade, it’s me.”

  Like a pack of seals, they all broke out in hysterical laughter. As they continued to laugh, Peters opened the back door of the car and got in. Femi was first to speak after he had stopped grabbing his stomach from laughing so much.

  “Ah, madam. I was going to ask for your mobile number!” More laughter ensued.

  Peters could see that Sade was trying to hold her laughter back but couldn’t. The whole car burst into another round of side-splitting laughter at Peters’ expense—or his cleverness and skill, as he chose to see it. He took off his gele and threw it in the back window well. He reached into his bag and brought out a hand towel and started wiping off his makeup and lipstick. He then untied his wrapper and revealed the pants underneath it. He then reached into the bag again and brought out some trainers and a shirt. The laughter had stopped as everyone watched him transform from a woman in a green outfit and makeup to the Idowu Peters they had known for a week. The whole car was now in awe of his skill and care he had given to getting to the club without being recognized or even followed. It all hit them suddenly that this man was willing to do whatever it took to see the mission through and also to make sure he was there to participate.

  The car got quiet as everyone grew serious again. No one made another comment about his attire or asked why he had chosen the disguise. They knew that they had someone ready and clear about the danger in what they were about to do; he was there and he was one of them. It was time. There was no need to go over the plan again.

  Femi received the signal that the car had entered the parking garage and the guards had been replaced. They were in position.

  Next up was Niyi. He exited the car and headed for the club. He was going to join up with the other men inside posing as dinner patrons. They were a key part of the plan. Their job was to neutralize the kitchen staff, and then the second and third floors. There was to be no gunplay inside the club unless necessary.

  No additional men needed to make it up to the penthouse. The signal came. Niyi was in position. He had also made contact with the other men inside; they were ready too. Femi, Sade, Peters, and Kwesi all exited the car.

  Kwesi would be stationed outside the club monitoring the streets. He was to make contact if Adama’s police showed up, or anything else looked out of place.

  He and Sade strode together toward the side street where the VIP cars entered. They acted like a couple but didn’t hold hands. The only thing a bystander would notice was that they were having a playful conversation as they made their way down the side street. Once out of sight from the main street, they approached Femi’s men and waited.

  Femi and Peters joined them a minute later. Now they were ready. The guards provided arms to everyone. Each man except for Peters carried an Israeli Bullpup Tavor; he carried a Tavor TS12 12-gauge shotgun since he was the keeper of the key. That key would open the backdoor that would put them inside the private elevator room to the penthouse. It was time to move into place.

  Femi gave the signal to the men inside. They were equipped with smoke grenades and knockout gas. Niyi began: he made his move toward the kitchen and watched for the right moment. When all the staff was there, waiting to pick up food orders or coming in to drop off dirty plates, he locked the door to the kitchen behind himself and set loose two smoke canisters. If everything went according to plan, the staff would all make for the back door, where some men would be waiting to search them and relieve them of their mobiles. Once Niyi checked to make sure no one was still inside the kitchen, he would disable the phone that orders were called in on, and then head out the back door.

  Soon, Femi received the signal that the kitchen was clear and that the next team could move into position.

  The men who had acted as patrons made their way upstairs through the side stairs. Three of them went to the second floor and three went to the third. Each floor other than the penthouse housed three apartm
ents each. Smoke bombs would be used for the staff floor, but the third floor that housed the security personnel would receive stun grenades after the doors were kicked in. The team assigned to the security floor all had silencers on the Tavors they carried. No need to add any more noise to the situation, once the smoke and stun grenades detonated.

  Femi and team were now in position at the back door. Niyi’s old mates on the other side of the wall had turned out to be helpful and eager: they were adept at hacking all sorts of technologies. They had disrupted the outside camera feed at the back door and also throughout the building. They also used a signal jammer that disabled all mobile communications around the building. Femi and team were all using military-grade communication devices. As they waited for the signal from the team on the third floor, he, Sade, and Peters all looked at each other. There was eerie silence.

  Peters spoke first. “This is for our father.”

  “This is for Baba,” Sade added.

  Femi put the final touch to their statements. “This is for Alhaji.”

  They got the signal that it was go-time. Peters had the keys, so he approached the door first. He pumped the Tavor T12, aimed at the bottom hinge, and blew it away. He took out the middle and the top ones next. The door was in shreds, and they now had access. Femi punched the button for the elevator. It didn’t have far to travel and opened after fifteen seconds. No one got in. They did send it back up carrying a package, though.

  In the meantime, they rushed up the stairs to arrive just after it did. That would give them the extra time to find the penthouse entrance. They rushed up the stairs one by one—Femi then Sade behind him, and Peters brought up the rear. They heard the loud bang just as they reached the fourth-floor landing: the penthouse. No time to waste.

  Peters had the keys so he brushed past and went about opening the double doors that were between them and the last of their target. Three turns of the Tavor T12 keys and they rushed in. Sade and Femi laid down suppression fire to dissuade anyone who was waiting for them. Femi motioned for Sade to move to the left of him and stay behind a wall for protection. She wasn’t trained like they were, and he knew it wasn’t a good idea to bring a civilian along. Yet it hadn’t been possible to argue with her on the dangers of the mission, so there she was. After he knew she was safe behind a wall to his left, he moved to his right. They were now both behind walls on opposite sides of the elevator bank.

  Peters came in last and announced himself with three bursts from his keys as he walked straight ahead to take up a position farther inside the penthouse against a half-wall with views of either side of the space. He gave a nod that it was all clear as Femi and Sade advanced in. Sade continued to guard the left to check and secure that area. Femi moved right, to the hallway leading into Mama Kojo’s bedroom. Peters stayed back to provide rear-guard protection. He reloaded his T12 just to make sure he was ready to shut some doors just as easily as he was able to open them.

  Sade came back from her checks from the left side of the floor and gave the all-clear sign.

  Just then they heard bursts of gunfire from beyond Femi, somewhere past the bedroom door.

  Sade moved to approach Femi, but he was already coming toward her, dragging something. It was Mama Kojo.

  Femi was dragging Mama Kojo by her hair down the hallway. She was bleeding from her lower leg and the side of her head. No one could tell whether the screams were coming from her injuries or Femi dragging her by her hair. Femi dropped her at Sade’s feet.

  Sade knelt next to her and spoke directly at her, cutting through the woman’s mumbles.

  “Mama Kojo, why? Why would you want to hurt Baba? What did he ever do to you?”

  Sade didn’t notice but she was screaming at the top of her lungs. Femi and Peters just stood there and let her have her day with the last member of the council, a person who wouldn’t be leaving here alive no matter what her reasons were for colluding to kill their father. As Mama Kojo continued to protest, Sade had heard enough. She stood up—took one last look—spat in Mama Kojo’s face, and shot her twice.

  “I hope you rot in hell,” she said as if the deceased could still hear her.

  *

  No sense lingering around.

  Femi and Peters exchanged a glance. Mama Kojo was already going to die from her injuries, but Sade had taken what she needed. It was closure, and that was that. It was time to go. They all started their retreat from the penthouse, heading for the stairs, keen on getting to the van and away from the scene.

  No one noticed the figure that came out of one of the many side rooms of Mama Kojo’s sprawling quarters. In the smoke, Femi must have missed clearing that room before he burst into her bedroom. It was a costly mistake.

  Shots rang out.

  Peters was last to move and took the brunt. He went down. Sade and Femi immediately returned fire and the man was down, but he’d done his damage. Sade knelt at Peters’s side while Femi went over to make sure the assailant was dead.

  Femi recognized the face. Lanre. At last: clear evidence that he was in the building. Now, everyone was dead.

  Chapter 41

  Found—and Lost

  “Femi! Femi!” Sade shouted at the top of her lungs. “Idowu is badly hurt.”

  Femi rushed over; Peters was bleeding profusely from his side. The look on Sade’s face was the look of someone in shock. Her lips moved, but nothing was coming out.

  “Help him,” she finally said.

  Femi didn’t know what to do. They couldn’t take him to a hospital. He was dying right before their eyes. Peters coughed up blood and tried to speak. Sade held his head as he lay there on the marble floor, panic in her eyes and his. His words were not audible at first. It sounded like, “My pocket.” Femi leaned closer to hear Peters whisper something to him as he coughed up more blood. He started digging in Peters’s right pocket. He finally produced a blank business card, rapidly absorbing the blood that poured down his side.

  Femi eyes looked at the card again, and his eyes widened.

  “We have to go now!” he shouted. He handed Sade the card and told her to call the number immediately. He told her to explain that Idowu Peters was hurt and they needed a doctor. Femi meanwhile hoisted Peters over his shoulder. Hot blood soaked through his shirt. Feeling the clock of his new friend’s life running out, they ran for the stairs. The elevator was not an option. Behind him, Sade spoke in a steady voice into the phone, saying exactly what Femi had told her to say. Peters was coughing up blood everywhere and moaning in pain.

  “I know where that is,” Sade said into the phone. “We are on our way. Femi, let’s go, let’s go,” she said, hurrying toward them.

  They finally reached the bottom of the stairs. They rushed out the same door they’d entered, and Kwesi was waiting for them.

  “Get the car, get the car,” Femi shouted at him.

  Kwesi turned and ran toward the garage. The replacement guards had already been relieved and told to disappear. The car they’d used was still there and Kwesi got the doors open and jumped into the driver’s seat. Femi rolled Peters into the backseat and crouched over him as Sade took the passenger’s seat. Doors barely shut, Kwesi sped away.

  “Sade, where are we going?” Femi asked from the back seat, putting pressure on Peters’s wound.

  “Yaba,” she called out. “Kwesi, get on Herbert Macaulay Way straightaway. I will give you directions, just hurry.”

  Yaba was a suburb located on Lagos Mainland in Lagos State. It was home to various colleges, and also the University of Lagos. Its claim to fame was having one of the busiest, ultramodern, mega-shopping-plaza markets in Lagos. A lot of tech startups had moved in and set up shop there. It wasn’t a suburb that Sade or Femi had any business in. They both couldn’t remember the last time they visited Yaba for anything.

  *

  Kwesi was a good driver. Femi always said he should have been a Lagos taxi driver. The car moved at a relentless pace, somehow finding openings in the traffic at every turn. H
e moved around the cars and construction sites like water. Sade gave him street-by-street directions and he was following them very well, but finding shortcuts where needed. Before you knew it, the car was turning right from Tochi Enterprise Street onto Olajuwon. It was fully dark out by now.

  “Slow down, slow down. We are looking for the house with a green light bulb above the front door,” she said.

  “There,” Kwesi shouted while pointing to his left.

  “Okay, turn into the street next to the house and go down the road, hurry,” Sade said.

  Kwesi maneuvered the car past the oddly lit house. They slowed down as they got to the end. There was no through street. It was a dead end.

  Sade said, “Femi, bring him quickly.”

  Femi opened the door next to him and slid Peters out his side of the car. He was not in good shape. His breathing had slowed and he wasn’t coughing up any more blood, which Femi thought was a bad sign. Maybe didn’t even have the strength to moan in pain anymore. Femi picked him up again and hurried around the car. Sade was already moving toward the metal front door when a light came on outside. Sade banged on the door and it opened. A woman was standing on the opposite side with another young girl standing at her hip.

  “Come in quickly,” the woman whispered.

  Kwesi stayed in the car; the other three went inside. The door shut quickly behind them.

  Inside, the house was tastefully furnished. There were chairs by the front door, a sitting room to the right, and what looked like a hallway to bedrooms to the left. Right in front was a doorway that led to the dining area and kitchen. The artwork on the walls was Spanish-influenced, unusual in Nigeria. There were lots and lots of books everywhere but no television—which was odd because everyone watched television.