Lightseekers

by Femi Kayode

  ‘That’s the point, Chika,’ I say, replaying the scene at Room 481. ‘We were the same elders he was respectful to when we met before. What changed today?’

  Chika considers, ‘Maybe he’s on drugs or something. Drugs do that, right? Make you one thing this moment, and another in the next?’

  I’m not sure I agree, even if in theory this is true. I remember the look on this Tamuno’s face. Sharp. Alert. He didn’t look spaced out. It was his demeanour, the way he carried himself and the aura that was different.

  I turn to Chika. ‘You know I have twin boys.’ Chika nods, and I continue. ‘They’re monozygotic –’

  ‘Identical.’

  I nod. ‘Spitting image. But I’ve never mistaken them for each other. Even when they were babies, their personalities were distinct. I can tell who is who from the walk, the gestures and even their speech patterns. Folake’s even better than me. She can feel them. She’s never, ever mixed them up.’

  ‘You’re saying maybe Tamuno has a twin?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I was really taken with him when we met him, so I studied him.’

  ‘And?’ Chika prompts.

  ‘That guy back there is not the same Tamuno we met at the Students’ Village.’

  A SOURCE OF MISCHIEF

  It would have been insensitive to ask Chika to join me for my meeting with Inspector Omereji.

  ‘I’ll be quick. I am just curious about what he wants to share …’

  Chika nods, clearly uncomfortable around the town from the way his face is set like he is expecting the worst, eyes darting around.

  ‘Perhaps you could call Ikime’s secretary to check on that clearance to speak with Professor Esohe. If it’s going to take longer, I can ask Folake to talk to him …’

  ‘On it,’ Chika says as he brings out his cell phone.

  I enter the police station and, without acknowledging anyone, head straight to Inspector Omereji’s office. I am a bit surprised that no one tries to stop me, although their tense gazes are trained on me. I suspect the Inspector must have told them of his invitation.

  When I get to his office, his demeanour is different from the last time we saw, even if he still looks a lot worse for wear.

  ‘You came,’ he says, standing to greet me. ‘I said at your convenience.’

  ‘I know. But we were in the neighbourhood.’ I weigh the wisdom of telling him about our meeting with Tamuno and decide against it. No relevance. Yet.

  ‘Okay.’ He motions me to sit, but I don’t move.

  ‘Mike, your message. Does it have anything to do with the boys who attacked Chika and me?’

  ‘Not really. But it has a lot to do with the tension in this whole town.’

  I am curious and a bit confused. ‘And you wanted to see me?’

  ‘I spoke to my cousin and googled you. I saw your area of expertise. Quite impressive.’

  I suspect this is the highest praise I’m ever going to get from the Inspector but if it prompted his asking for a meeting, I’ll take what I can get.

  ‘So, please, I’d like your thoughts on something here, Philip,’ he says, waving me to come closer.

  Philip. Must be serious. I walk quickly to stand behind him and bend towards his laptop screen.

  The Inspector opens some files, and I immediately see that they are screenshots of Twitter and Facebook messages.

  ‘What’s this?’ I ask after reading some of the posts; incredulous and revolted at such a level of vitriol in the name of religion.

  ‘About four, maybe six months ago, no one is sure, a slew of social media messages about Okriki started flooding the Internet. No one paid any mind. The town had been the subject of such a storm before, so we ignored it. After a few weeks, they became more specific –’ Omereji points at the Facebook page. ‘This guy, Alfurquran, is a Muslim and seems to be fomenting a lot of anti-Christian sentiments on social media.’

  ‘Anti-Christians in Okriki specifically?’

  ‘Yes. This is not some random person anywhere in the world; this person is right here amongst us. And he seems to have made a counterpart …’

  Inspector Omereji clicks and screenshots of several messages from another Twitter handle fill the screen. If Alfurquran is reminiscent of extreme jihadists all over the world, then @NoOtherGodbutJesus takes the prize for unbridled hatred backed up by specific quotes from the Bible. And his following is huge. It saddens me that such fanatics can attract so many admirers.

  ‘You think this is where all the tension is coming from?’ I ask Omereji.

  He nods. ‘We know this is where it’s coming from. Look at this one from this Christian guy – he calls for the burning of the only mosque in Okriki. Look at how many likes he got …’

  I peer closer to the screen. ‘Seven thousand two hundred and three. Wow. What’re you going to do about it?’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing. I managed to use my contacts with Interpol and the cybercrime unit of the police force –’ Omereji must have seen my expression. ‘Yes, Dr Taiwo, the Nigerian Police does have a cybercrime unit.’

  I raise my hands and respond in my best American accent, ‘I didn’t say nuttin.’

  He turns back to the laptop. ‘We were trying to trace the IP addresses where the messages are coming from.’

  He clicks again, and a row of IP addresses scroll up the screen –

  ‘There are a lot.’ I peer closer at the screen, frowning at the random addresses. ‘That means it’s not one person –’

  ‘Or it’s not one computer. But they all have one thing in common. All these addresses are from cybercafes operating in TSU.’

  I am taken aback. ‘TSU? Are you sure?’

  ‘I am. And before you think it’s a bunch of kids causing mischief, look here.’

  He points to the latest set of IP addresses with more recent dates.

  ‘Notice anything?’

  ‘They’re all the same.’

  ‘Exactly. One, all the messages now seem to be coming from one IP address. Two –’

  I finish it for him. ‘Alfurquran and Christian are using the same computer and/or IP address.’ I look at him. ‘Why’re you telling me this?’

  ‘Because you understand human nature. And you have a visitor’s eyes. What happened to those three boys, was that normal to you?’

  ‘But it happened, Mike,’ I say gently. ‘You may wish it hadn’t because you love your people, but it did.’

  ‘But why did it happen?’ He sounds pained, so I let him speak. ‘Were the people not pawns then as they are being made pawns now in the hands of this Alfurquran and/or Christian?’

  I think about this for a beat, and perhaps doubt shows on my face because Inspector Omereji continues.

  ‘Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I have seen it happen before. A couple of years ago, there were a number of violent clashes between religious groups in Jos. You know the place?’

  I nod.

  ‘Up there in the middle belt. A normally peaceful city that has had Muslims and Christians living in harmony for years and years. The violence was so sudden, so surprising, no one could explain it. The police deployed extra men to investigate the source. It started just like this. Social media posts fomenting intolerance. I was part of the investigating team. For months we tried to trace where the posts and bulk messages originated from. When we finally made a breakthrough, with Interpol’s help, you know where they were coming from?’

  I shake head.

  ‘A flat in Brixton, all the way in London.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘No one knows.’ The Inspector shrugs. ‘When UK police stormed the place, they saw all the computers but could not find anyone. They are still searching. Point is, someone or some people were manipulating people, using them.’

  I nod. Hyper-targeting. Using data to manipulate public opinion and perception. It’s been used in advertising and even changed the outcome of elections. I can believe it being done by a group of people in Europe and the US, but t
hat required expertise and a lot of resources. I try to explain this to the Inspector.

  ‘What happened in Jos was some years back, Philip. Today, more people have smartphones than ever, and you don’t need that much data to create messages like these. Especially when it’s about religion in a small town like ours.’

  Since I started my investigation, I’ve been working on the assumption that the disorganised socio-political system, environment and culture of chaos combined to create the tragedy of the Okriki Three. I wanted to believe that the failure of systems in the country had forced people to become self-reliant; creating solutions that were not sustainable in themselves but which served immediate needs. Lack of water? Dig your own well. Lack of electricity? Get a generator. Lack of security? Create vigilantes.

  This was easier to understand because it made sense. The people of Okriki killed three young men because they had been robbed before. Because they got scared when they heard gunshots. Because, because –

  But what Omereji is now suggesting is even more chilling. That some mischief maker is weaponising the chaos and rage within people to foment unrest.

  Outsourced violence.

  ‘I’m not done yet.’

  I look from the computer screen to Mike Omereji. ‘There’s more?’

  ‘That IP address –’ He points to the screen, ‘has been traced to Harcourt Whyte Hall specifically.’

  GUN GONE

  Folake is in good spirits when I get back to the hotel. She shows off the hamper of gifts she has put together for Elechi Opara and his family from a supermarket not far from the hotel. I tell her she shouldn’t have, but she insists again that it’s the least we could do for someone who saved my life. I let it go, not wanting to explain the misgivings I have about being asked to do a psych evaluation of Mercy. Better we view it as a social meeting. Less pressure.

  We exchange tidbits about the day, with my impressions of Tamuno being the highlight of mine.

  ‘You think drugs?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. He was too alert, too present. His pupils were not dilated, his speech was measured, at least after he recognised us.’

  Her expression becomes sceptical when I speculate about the possibility of the young man having a dissociative disorder or even a split personality.

  ‘And don’t say psychobabble nonsense,’ I say, trying to tease, but not quite succeeding.

  Folake looks at me with regret. ‘I said I was sorry.’

  I love it when my feisty wife admits being wrong. It’s a rare event so when it happens, I tend to milk it for all it’s worth.

  ‘No, you didn’t.’

  ‘I did!’ She insists and we go back and forth like this for a while, teasing, making up and rediscovering each other. Then, we call our children.

  Lara immediately starts complaining about her laptop and how it is beyond ancient even though it’s less than a year old.

  ‘That laptop’s got selective reasoning, Mom,’ Lara says.

  ‘What does that mean?’ Folake asks, rolling her eyes.

  ‘It selects when and where it suits it to pick Internet service.’

  I butt in quickly because I know where this is headed. ‘Lara, you’re not getting a new –’

  Just then, there’s a knock on the door. Folake keeps talking to Lara while I answer it.

  Chika’s face is cryptic. ‘May I see you in private?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He jerks his head towards where Folake is still talking on speakerphone to Lara. I nod and pop my head into the room to indicate to Folake that I’ll be back, close the door and follow Chika to his room.

  Inside, he turns to me and speaks in a rush. ‘I don’t want you to panic, but it’s missing, Philip. Someone came into my room and took it –’

  ‘Took what?’

  ‘The rifle!’

  ‘You had it with you all this time? Here? In this room?’

  ‘I couldn’t leave it in the Land Cruiser in case the police searched it. I planned to return it to Emeka when he told us what to do next, but he never came –’

  ‘Maybe the room service …?’ My voice trails off, unconvincing.

  Chika shakes his head. ‘I went downstairs and asked around. Emeka’s driver was here.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know!’ He waves his key card. ‘These things are not hard to clone.’

  Someone could have also claimed to have lost their card, and asked for another one. I imagine if someone of Emeka’s stature did this, no one would question his right to a new key card. Heck, the man could book a whole suite in the hotel just to get a card.

  ‘So, okay. Emeka took back his gun.’ I try to stay calm for Chika’s sake. ‘That means he got the message that you won’t be killing anyone –’

  Chika cuts me off with quiet confidence. ‘Philip, he’s going to use it.’

  Chika goes to his desk and picks up a familiar sheet of paper. The targets. ‘Each person on this list was carefully researched: their routines, where they are at any given time of day. The Chief, for example, takes a walk between 9 and 10 every night except when he has a community meeting of elders. That happens on Tuesdays from 4 p.m. to 9 p.m. He drinks one small Guinness stout –’

  ‘And Salome?’ I interrupt, my voice slightly shaky.

  Chika’s look is steady on me. ‘She goes to the Bar Association’s monthly meeting the last Wednesday of the month at 8:30 p.m.’

  ‘Today is … Oh, God!’

  ‘She’s the secretary of the State Bar Association. With the exception of when she travels, she has to be at the meeting,’ Chika says, in a rush. ‘The meeting happens only once a month, Philip. If a sniper misses today, it’s another month before another opportunity presents itself at that location.’

  I look at my watch. 7:18.

  ‘We have to hurry,’ I say as Chika grabs the keys for the Land Cruiser.

  RUSH

  Chika is driving very fast.

  ‘You know where they’ll be?’ I ask, after texting Folake a deliberately vague message that Chika and I are following a lead.

  ‘When I was preparing for this hit, I scoped the area around the NBA Secretariat and selected two buildings to shoot from,’ Chika says, without taking his eyes off the road. ‘You’ll see when we get there.’

  See how? I want to ask. Because there’s been a power failure, and without street lights, it’s hard to make out anything. I check the time. 7:59. My sides start to throb and I realise I had not taken tonight’s dose of painkillers and antibiotics.

  ‘Are we close?’

  ‘Yes.’ He’s slowing down the car now, peering into the darkness. ‘I think we should park and walk.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because if Emeka is in either of the buildings I selected, he might see us coming.’

  Ah. Makes sense.

  Chika parks and we race towards the Secretariat.

  ‘See, that’s it over there –’ Chika points, and despite the darkness, I can see the Secretariat is almost in front of the Judicial Service Commission where the Okriki Three case is being heard. There’s a lot of activity inside. The building is situated in the business district, but it stands out tonight as the only building that has electricity.

  8:03.

  I look around. ‘Which buildings did you select?’

  ‘It’s either this one,’ Chika points at a building about ten storeys high, which the illuminated wall signs proclaim as housing mostly legal and accounting firms. It squarely faces the Secretariat. But apart from the signage, which must be running on rechargeables, it’s all dark. Even the entrance is manned by a security guard who is using his cell phone to read a rumpled newspaper.

  ‘– or that one.’ Chika points at another building.

  Of course. While not quite in front of the Bar Association, the building is a taller one that has a National Bank branch in it. The ATM section has downlights, and we can hear the rumble of a generator in the distance.

  ‘It’s t
his one,’ Chika says confidently, looking up. ‘He would’ve been able to scope out the place because his bank has offices here.’

  ‘But I can’t see any light –’ I strain to see any kind of movement through the windows.

  ‘The rifle has night vision. Come, I think I know where he’ll be –’

  He runs into the building, but the pain does not allow me to run as fast. I get to him just as a flashlight shines on us.

  ‘Where you dey go?’ a voice thunders.

  Chika smiles as if he’s not blinded by the light. He waves the keys to the Land Cruiser and his hotel key card. ‘I work here o, my brother. I forget something –’

  ‘You get ID?’ the security guard barks out.

  ‘I get my key now … if I no work here, I go get key?’

  There’s a pause, then –

  ‘And ya friend?’ the guard asks, his tone suspicion laden.

  ‘I no wan leave am for car. We no go take long,’ Chika answers smoothly.

  We wait for a beat; the light on our faces must make us look like clowns frozen in perpetual fake smiles.

  ‘Watch ya step,’ the guard says, using the flashlight to wave us in.

  Chika whispers, ‘We have to take the stairs.’

  I check the time on my phone: 8:21. We have to hurry.

  I follow Chika, who is now using his phone as a flashlight. After what seems like one million painful steps, we get to the floor Chika believes Emeka will be on just as his phone dies.

  ‘Shit.’ I hear him curse in the dark.

  I bring out my phone, switch on the iFlashlight –

  8:28.

  – we are standing in front of a door labelled ‘Meeting Room’.

  ‘He’s not aiming from his bank?’ I ask in an urgent whisper.

  ‘Wrong angle,’ Chika whispers back. ‘This is the common room for all tenants in the building and faces the Secretariat.’

  We enter. It’s a big room and pitch dark.

  ‘Call him,’ Chika whispers.

  ‘Emeka!’ I shout.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  I walk towards the voice. Chika makes a movement with his hand. I think it means he doesn’t want Emeka to know he is with me.