thank you .
i would work on that.
and even improve more

Whatever they might risk, I would risk more and it got me into their troubles most times my will to be first in class might have made me a leader, but had no interest in manipulating others and I was a feeble kid.

Instead, my implantable competitiveness me against everyone. It was a characteristics so deeply ingrained in my nature that I doubted I could have changed it even if I had wanted to I had always made friends a lot quicker than enemies. That brought me back to the vultures and the chase across the Algerian desert. Someone had set me up a friend or an enemy? I had killed two of Akin men, and after a few days the others had given up and left me in the desert. Maybe they thought I was dead by then I was so close to save myself I decided to play dead.

I disappeared and found my way back home, since they would think less that even if I was alive, I would be one of the North African countries instead of being stupid and coming back to Nigeria. To save myself more, I went to Lagos, since I was very familiar with its vicinity and way of life. And there I discovered that being dead had some advantages. No one dared hired me, for one thing. I had become a permanent fugitive. Why did I let myself in such a mess in the first place? I could have so easily avoided these defeats, was I so arrogant as to believe that, even against those odds, I could somehow prevail? Did I need the hurt they could tough I was? I rolled over the bed and groaned.

At eighteen, I ran away from home for the second time, jumping a long truck for Accra alone. I was back a week later, tired and scared, but brief taste of the world beyond Nigeria left me hungry for more I finally left home, some months later at nineteen, I promised myself that a sucker was one thing, I would never be no man, no company, no official, no human being, no group of human beings, would I ever allow to exploit me. I would be my own men, truly free, beholden to no one for anything. But it hadn’t worked out that way.

A distant clock or was it mine that struck the hour of what? I wondered four? Five? Six. My pocket watch was out of reach, but I was sure it wasn’t up to the hour of five, I always got this normal feeling of getting up at that time since I had been doing it for years. That particular hour for my prayers. I yawned and folded the pillow up double under my neck. What a mockery I had made of those early promises to myself. I was a bigger failure than I thought I would never be. I had nothing no family, no work, no money, no freedom, a sudden long rapping on the door of my room brought me upright in the bed, my sense instantly fielded by a rush of adrenaline. I snaked my revolver from under the mattress, cooked the hammer, an tiptoed to the door the knock was repeated, much louder the time.

“Who is it?”, my voice was cracked.
A reedy English voice answered “Mr Abdulmaleek?”
“Who wants him?”, I asked.
“The Government.". the voice said quickly.
“no kidding” I said, now my voice was almost as clear as never-slept.
" Would you open the door, pelase. Mr. Abdulmaleek?"

I took a deep breath and pulled the door open, keep the revolver trained in front of me. In the dim glare of the electric florescent tube in the hallway I saw the silhonette of a tall, stick-thin figure draped nearly from chin to ankles in a loose-hanging undertaker-like black coat. I blinked and smiled. Another vulture, I thought, sharp-eyed and cagey.
“Ade Balogun”, the vulture, said in a clipped, cultured Yoruba-English accent.
He extended his hand in greeting. It found revolver barrel instend. The vulture gripped it in a mock handshake and chuckled, displaying a raw of uneven teeth.
“Better uncock it, soldier: it might go off and wake up the whole neighbourhood”.
"What do you want? Who are you?", I asked still at alert.
“I intend nothing sinister, if that concern you", Ade replied, no hint of apology in his voice.
“You are Amir Abdulmaleek, I hope”.

I nodded in resignation
“May I sit down”.
“I’ m not really in the mood for company, Mr Balogun, it just four aim just tell me what you want."
Balogun reached into a pocket inside his dark coat and produced a calling card.
“I’m here on behalf of a representative of the Kaduna state government”, he said “this is his card”.
He handed the embossed rectangle of paste board to me. I looked down t the card. It said simply, “Hayatou Harith, CON”

The lanky Yoruba guy grinned
“Mr Harith is staying at the Sheraton Hotel, suite 603. He has sent me here to invite you for breakfast”
“breakfast?” I asked chukling.
The birdlike Balogun rubbed his hands together in a businesslike manner.
“Eight o’clock this morning, if that’s convenient”.
I glanced down at the card again, and then at the surreal apparition of this dawn intruder, so confidently dispatched to command my presence.
“Can I tell him to expect you, Mr Abdulmaleek?"
“you can tell him to sick his breakfast up his government ass”. I said with a little seriousness in my tone.
“come on now”.
“what does he want?” I barked.
“I’m sure he’ll tell you at breakfast” was his reply.
“What time is it now?”, I asked
“a quarter after four”. Balogun informed me, without consulting a watch. I yarned and rubbed my face to dispel the fatigue.
“Tell him I like my eggs soft-boiled”.

Seems there are not much followers of this beautiful piece.

That is why i thought of just doing a hard copy. but seems u identified it as a fine piece, i could continue. Give me a few days i would get this rolling and not caring if they comment or not.

25


Squadron leader Andoni Domo-spiff surveyed his new surroundings with disbelief. He was accustomed to working in an office with stacked up files at every corner with the air conditioner diffusing the old paper smell around the room. It was always quite since he worked alone and hadn’t gotten to a rank of getting a personal assistant.
This echoing warehouse in the Bonny District seemed cathed era-like by comparison. Its buttressed wrought iron walls towered around mum, and high over-head a clerestory of skylights filtered the Friday afternoon sun through thousands of panes of glass, their way imperfection positioning the light down through a complex pattern of iroko collar beams and iron turn buckler, mandating the empty reaches of the modern enclosure with a warm amber glow.

Inched away in a corner alcore between two of the wrought ion buttresses the sqd idr spotted a cluster of furniture; several tables and chairs an oak roll top desk, and a filling cabinet. Another officer was already there, sitting at one of the tables. He stood up and saluted smartly as the sqd ldr waited over.
“Pilot officer Lekwort Etche, Sir”, he said.
“Welcome to our headquarters” Domo – Spiff answered bossily.
He returned the salute casually. He was a soft-spoken man with a decidedly unmilitary bearing. He was prematurely bold and wore brass-rimmed spectacles. His slightly stooper posure, accentuated by narrow shoulders and a thin chest given him the trail and preoccupied look of an old university professor. In fact, he was a career police officer in the former Bendel State; an inspector, assigned to the city’s criminal investigation division He loved police work because he believed it had a moral worth. He also loved police work because he possessed an analytical mind that relished the patient brainwork required of criminal investigations; the development of clues, the following of leads, the solving of puzzles. He was dedicated and he was goods.
As a family man, it was important to him that his occupation give him not just a livelihood, but make a worthwhile contribution to the society as well. His reputation had preceded him into the Nigerian Air force, and I had tried to make appropriate use of his talents by putting him in its own investigations division. His time there had been spent largely in the gloomy task of gathering evidence against desertion cases.

Group Captain Laurence Diet Spiff had single him out for the job of escorting Awala and his militants through the journey because of the acute shortage of front-line officers, not because of his crime-solving abilities. He was simply the most dispensable officer on hand.
“We won’t lack for space here, will we officer?” he asked Etche relaxed.
“No, sir”.
He pointed to an old kitchen table net to his.
“This is your desk, sir. Sorry I can’t do better.”
The senior officer considered the battered tables. They were base except for a pair of florescent rechargeable lamps.
“No electricity?”.
“No, sir but we’re getting a generator this week”, the young officer said.
“That’s something” Spiff placed his briefcase on the table, pulled the hard-backed chair out, and sat down.
He gazed around the cavernous warehouse. No one else was anywhere in sight.
“Just the two of us?” he aksed. The young officer nodded.
The sqd ldr removed his cap and placed it on the desk beside him. He had been promised staff of six. He had hope for four.
“Better here than the front, for peace keeping, Sir” the young officer said, reading his thoughts. Domo spiff nodded.
Anything was better than the front.
“Have you been briefed on our detail?” He asked.
“No, Sir only that it’s top secret”.
The Sqd ldr looked at his assistant approvingly. He seemed the ideal young Nigerian Airforce officer: Handsome, excellent, first-rate military school according to his records, he had distinguished himself in the Nigerian defence academy and been best paratroper’s landing. He also received a stomach-full of plaques from his field of study: psychology and human relations. Since then he had been relegated to desk work.
Yet, he still wore the eager air of an officer cadet, bent on proving himself. He didn’t seem arrogant, either the senior officer noted. For those lucky to survive it, in Monrovia, Khartoun and Abidjan the peace keeping had a way of beating the arrogance out of them forever. The squadron leader’s own military record way far more modest. Although there were no glories in his duties just a great deal of work. And that suited him fine he was serving his country. That was all that mattered to him. He didn’t care about medals.
“How is your stomach?” he asked the pilot officer.
Etche seemed faintly embarrassed by the sqd ldr’s solicitude. “There’s still some pain at the lower side. But I can eat and go to the toilet all right”.
“Don’t they cause pain?” Etche shrugged, making light of it. “They told me at the military hospital in Kaduna they would treat it after my assignment, since it hadn’t start to cause any disturbances. So just patience”.

26


The Sqd ldr nodded. Everything had to wait until after something these days.
His own wife also needed surgery but they had to wait until she was a little bit strong to pass through it.
He pulled a folder from his case and laid it out in front of him. In a very unusual department from military protocol, he had received this file late the previous evening directly from the hands of the River State information commissioner, Hodder Nyone, who had personally briefed him. It still gave him a small thrill to read the legend on the cover: 'OFFICE OF THE INFORMATION COMMISSIONAIRE: TOP SECRET'.
The first item in the folder was a photocopy. It showed middle-aged man with an unkempt hair and beard and his eyes, squinting at the sunlight, had a flat cast to them.
The Sqd ldr handed the photo across to the young officer.
“Looks like he’s constipated”, Etche said.
“Who is he?”. Domo spiff chuckled loudly.
“A Bayelsian militant leader, freedom tighter, Brian Awala. He is in Lagos now. Our government has agreed to help him return to Yenagoa. In few days we’ll escort him and a group of his followers across Ibadan, Minna, Zaria, Jos, Benue, then into the south-south. The pilot officer looked up from the photograph open-mouthed.
"A guard detail? And that’s a long route".
“How many days would that take us?” he asked, letting his disappointment show.
The senior officer felt a surge of annoyance but cheeked it.
“Yes, a guard detail. It would have taken us may be four to five days by car but I think our man is going by the rail”.
He handed the rest of the folder across.
“This will explain the conditions”,he said “Our responsibility will be to make certain that nothing happens to him during the journey”. Etche couldn’t believe his ears.
“Sounds like an holiday to me,Sir”.
Domo spiff gave still some arrogance there, after all.
“It may sound like it, officer, but were going to treat it as if it were the most important assignment of our lives”.

26


The Sqd ldr nodded. Everything had to wait until after something these days.
His own wife also needed surgery but they had to wait until she was a little bit strong to pass through it.
He pulled a folder from his case and laid it out in front of him. In a very unusual department from military protocol, he had received this file late the previous evening directly from the hands of the River State information commissioner, Hodder Nyone, who had personally briefed him. It still gave him a small thrill to read the legend on the cover: 'OFFICE OF THE INFORMATION COMMISSIONAIRE: TOP SECRET'.
The first item in the folder was a photocopy. It showed middle-aged man with an unkempt hair and beard and his eyes, squinting at the sunlight, had a flat cast to them.
The Sqd ldr handed the photo across to the young officer.
“Looks like he’s constipated”, Etche said.
“Who is he?”. Domo spiff chuckled loudly.
“A Bayelsian militant leader, freedom tighter, Brian Awala. He is in Lagos now. Our government has agreed to help him return to Yenagoa. In few days we’ll escort him and a group of his followers across Ibadan, Minna, Zaria, Jos, Benue, then into the south-south. The pilot officer looked up from the photograph open-mouthed.
"A guard detail? And that’s a long route".
“How many days would that take us?” he asked, letting his disappointment show.
The senior officer felt a surge of annoyance but cheeked it.
“Yes, a guard detail. It would have taken us may be four to five days by car but I think our man is going by the rail”.
He handed the rest of the folder across.
“This will explain the conditions”,he said “Our responsibility will be to make certain that nothing happens to him during the journey”. Etche couldn’t believe his ears.
“Sounds like an holiday to me,Sir”.
Domo spiff gave still some arrogance there, after all.
“It may sound like it, officer, but were going to treat it as if it were the most important assignment of our lives”.

27



At precisely 8am I knocked on the door of suite 603 of one of Lagos most luxurious hotel, the Sheraton. I was wearing one of my best jackets, a two way brown tweed. It was old then my pair of trousers were worse, I wet my thumb and forefinger and tried to squeeze up some semblance of a crease over the knee, but it was implies all of them seem like that and for a reason very known to me, my kneeling during prayers.
I knocked again, and after a long delay a slim-faced man in a Japanese pyjamas and slippers opened the door and glared out at me.
“What do you want?”,he growled.
I thought of punching his well-set pairs of teeth.
“Are you Mr Harith?”,I asked.
"Suppose I am? What of it?”, he seemed very rude.
“I’m Amir Abdulmaleek I thought I was invited for breakfast"
"I was in the bath", the man replied in a perish voice.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be on the dot, eight o’clock wasn’t my idea” Harith said.
He ushered me through the foyer and guided me to a table by the window with a pamomis view of the Mega city.
The table was set for two.
“I frankly detest the early hours", He grumbled. "Unless of course I stay up all night".
He made a seeping gesture in the direction of the view.
“Then I’ll admit they posses a certain tranquil sweetness".
The anticipation of sleep, no doubt, made all the keener by delay. I nodded warily to his words like I cared.
"Balogun doesn’t like me", my host continued, words flowing from him now in a rush.
"But that doesn’t show much discrimination on his part. At the moment I have the distinction of being the most thoroughly disliked man in Kaduna. By the way, my name is Neilson Fabiyi, not Hayatou Harith. Forgive that silly calling card. A necessary deception, my government tells me. My presence in Lagos is supposed to be a secret. Sit here, Abdulmaleek. I’ll call for breakfast",Fabiyi tightened the belt on his pajamas and padded over to the table which had his mobile phone on it.

He made several calls which he had some shorting in a mixture of Yoruba and English. He then went across to the hotel’s telephone and placed an order for toast cake, a pot of tea and that of the soft boiled eggs. I had heard about Fabiyi. His father was a deacon, or something close to it. His mother was Fulani, he had made himself a good reputation as a journalist, I recalled, with newspaper articles and books about his adventures in the northern part of Nigeria, the wilds of Kenya and then Spain.
In Nigerian politics he was more controversial than admired. An abrasive, flamboyant public style had earned him many enemies. And his recent involvement in the disastrous electoral misfortune had cost him the post as the Inspector General of Police. Although he was barely into his fifties, an age when most political careers were just beginning, his career seemed to be coming to an end. Fabiyi and I had a few things in common, I decided.
“I don’t normally offer brandy at this hour", he said with an impish grin, "but this is a special occasion. I hope you’ll indulge me”. I frowned a little “I’m a teetotaller, sir, I don’t do alcohol”.
He seemed quite offended as he placed the snifters back to the portable bar.
“That’s very rare”, he grumbled “well that’s by the way”.
I watched my host pace fretfully about the room. This movement were awkwards and graceless, and his slim face, hunched forward over the sloping shoulders, gave him the aspect of a petulant schoolboy. But his manner was combative and forceful.

Interesting....

28



Fabiyi struck me as someone who expected other to accommodate him as a matter of course. He was clearly comfortable with himself and didn’t seem to care whether anyone else was or not. I liked that.
"You once worked for Jamiu Jamal, I understand”,Fabiyi said.
“I was in the military intelligence” I admitted.
“You were close to J.J?",He asked, still confused.
“Hardly”,I asked “I wrote him some confidential intelligence reports, and that’s all. He chose me to act as his eyes and ears on a number of occasions.”
“what occasion?", He blurted.
I hesitated, he slowed his pace, waiting for a reply.
" Madagascar and Lesotho”,I replied.
Fabiyi’s eyes lit up.
"The war of Nadir?”.
I nodded.
"what do you think of him?".
Had Fabiyi come all the way from Kaduna to pick my brains about Jamiu Jamal?
“I don’t know”, I shrugged “a great man, I guess. Isn’t that the general opinion?".
The ex-journalist’s prematurely balding pate winkled in disgust. “personally I have no use for him he was positively rude to my father and to me, for matter",he said.
I shrugged with a look of total self absorption, my host smiled a bit.
“you know something about trains”, he changed the subject. “something?!. How did you find that out?”,I asked surprisingly.
"I poked around in your past a bit. I’m embarrassed to admit it".

But there it is he didn’t appear embarrassed in the least. He held up his hand, palm outward.
"Everything between us will remain confidential. You have my solemn word”.
I sat back to be more comfortable.
“My uncle worked on the railroad most of his life. I hurry around the yards a lot when I was a kid, back in Kaduna and he used to sneak me aboard the engine on some of his night runs”.
“And you participated in several shooting range?”.
My face brightened.
“Yeah, Rukuba, Makurdi and Kaduna”, I said “I was good but I was a hot head me and my instructor. We never hit off”.
“Odd that you should join the military, then",Fabiyi interrupted. "Although, you did brilliantly, I understand, eventually making the rank of captain in less than two years"
“only because I got into special intelligent work. I never commanded men in the field”,I added quickly.
"That sounds very modest, Abdulmaleek".
But I didn’t reply.
" You’ve had other problems in the military, even so".
I shrugged “I always had mixed feelings about the military. It let me get away, showed me the world, taught me things but I never liked the discipline”.
Fabiyi turned abruptly and began rummaging among some documents next to the humidor behind him, he found the folder he was looking for and turned back to me. “what happened in Abeokuta?” he asked.

I didn’t expect this.

29



I bridled. “Why’re you interrogating me?",I asked.
“I’m not. I’m interviewing you for a job".
I let my breath out slowly between clenched teeth, “You probably already know what happened in Abeokuta”, I said turning my face toward the view of the city.
“You killed Aderogba Akin then what?”,He asked.
"Yes it was sectioned, I was told on the highest level. His men came after me for revenge” I stopped, I thought I had said too much. “I’m sure they didn’t get you, obviously”, he continued “why did you disappear then?”.
I shook my head "Because somebody inside the same intelligence organization I worked for tipped Akin’s men. It wasn’t safe for me to go back. I was marked so I played dead"
“You don’t know who?", He interrupted.
"it no longer matters”, I answered “I’m not interested in revenge”

Fabiyi scratched his check thoughtfully.
“well, you did the world a service. Akin was a cruel man".
“sure” I cut in “but so were Sadiq Isah, Amore, Orbunde and Tanko”. I placed my head between my palms that rested on my knees.
"You weren’t against killing him, were you?"
“I had no opinion, one way or the other”.
Fabiyi looked down thoughtfully.
" Do you have to approve o something before you’ll agree to do it?", He questioned again.
“it helps” I told him ballantly.
"You don’t believe in unquestioned obedience, even in a military situation?” now he was leading me where I had thought.
"You must have been very valuable for the Nigeria Armed forces to accept those condition from you”.
I raised my head.
“I worked outside the command structure. I was a trouble shooter. The solution were my own, not the government’s. Jamal and Williams accepted this. Alli and his people wouldn’t".
“so you believe they decided to get rid of you”.
I nodded, then it struck me, who sold me out.
"You think they tried to frame you with Akin?",Fabiyi asked. "Frame me and hang me", I replied.
"You blame Edward Alli?”
"No, people under him the military brass. I don’t know who. I’ve collected a lot of enemies in those few years”.
“You don’t care who?”
“sure I care, but I cant do anything about it”.
Breakfast arrived and Fabiyi immediately turned his attention to the food. He slurped up the tea noisily and attacked the toasts with a manic gusto, stuffing them into his month with a minimal etiquette. I had no appetite. I poured the milk and sugar in the tea and sipped it lethargically.
“Are you available? Fabiyi asked, his words muffed by a mouthful of toast.
"For what?",I asked.
His manner changed abruptly he pushed his breakfast aside and focused his attention on me so squarely that I felt suddenly self conscious.
“we have an important mission for you”, he said, pronouncing the words with the solemnity of a judge passing sentence. I leaned back in the chair and waited.
“There’s a man here in Lagos", Fabiyi began, getting up from his chair and walking to the window as if to emphasize the confidentiality of what he was about to say, he pulled the heavy drapes closed, shutting out the view and the bright morning light.

The room darkened dramatically.

30


I watched Fabiyi’s back as he strolled across the room. He continued where he has left off, his voice dropping to a conspirational murmur.
“Brian Timipre McDougal is his name, but they call him Awala. He’s a Bayelsa. A freedom fighter. Leader of a group of militants. They’re a small, radical fringe party with little support among the dwellers of Bayelsa state, but they’re well-disciplined and clever excellent organizers and militant. Normally they would be no more than a nuisance, but in Bayelsa’s present fragile social condition they are a positive menace. The present leadership is confused and incompetent and could collapse at any moment. And a little luck and good timing. The militants could seize power."
I felt suddenly hungry. I picked up one of the uneaten toast on the plate Fabiyi had shored aside and bit into it. The crust was very hard, but the insides soft and agreeably chewy. I started to tell Fabiyi that I had absolutely no interest in Nigerian politics or any politics, for that matter but for the Inspector General of police wared his hand, indicating that he didn’t want to be interrupted.
"Rivers state plans to send that little bit of luck their way. In a few days they will be laying on a special train for this McDougal and a sizeable number of his minions. The train will return them, in secret, to Yenogoa and once this gang is back, the Riverians plan to finance the efforts to overthrow the provisional government"
I swallowed harder this time around.
“Awala is an unscrupulous rascal. He will happily climb into bed with anybody who’ll help gain his ends. And the Riverias want him in power for the very good reason that he intends to fight freedom for Bayelsa state. That suites the militants perfectly, of course. If Bayelsa state lay down her arms, the Riverians will be able to throw its weight against them and others as the time goes on. And if she is able to that",he added the last sentence in guttural tones so low they sounded like a growl, "She'll soon throw other south-south states in chaos, since Bayelsa is one of her greatest challenge both in power and resources."
Agitated by his own words, Fabiyi rose from the chair again and paced back and forth in from of the table, jabbing his first in the air, the picture of frustrated righteousness.
I watched the performance with awe.
“This little bastard must not allowed to reach Bayelsa, if he does, Nigeria is doomed”, he concluded, pointing a finger at me, his voice ringing with emphatic finality of a royal edict.
My month dropped open.
“what do you want me to do?"
Fabiyi’s pregnant silence gave me an answer.
I pushed my chair back from the table.
“what’s wrong with your police force?", I demanded. "Cant they handle this?." "They are handling it", Fabiyi argued. "And they’ve decided that you’re our man”.
I shook my head doubtfully “man indeed. I’m no recruit in your force”
"What are your reservations?" Fabiyi demanded.
"What? You want me to kill him?"
" How else can we stop him?", He asked looking straight into my eyes like they were transparent.
“It’s not my kind of operation”, I said.
“Nonsense! Abdulmaleek”, Fabiyi retorted. “you’ve been involved in any number of operations like this you confirmed that yourself, Madagascar, Lesotho. Don’t deny it. You have every right to be proud."
“I’m not an assassin", I interrupted.
“You’ve killed men before. Akin, for one you just admitted it, not five minutes ago”
"And look where it got me",I raised my voice higher than his “I don’t intend to repeat that mistake”.
Fabiyi pointed his short, fat finger at me “don’t be difficult, kid. Awala’s our common energy and if he get back to Bayelsa, he’ll be worth an entire country."
I shrugged Fabiyi’s eyes narrowed pugnaciously.
“Awala must be stopped” he barked.
“There are others you could hire for this”, I countered.
"No!" Fabiyi insisted. "This is perfect for you. You’re here on the spot, you know Bayelsans, their language, you know trains, and you know how to go about this sort of thing. And most important of all", he added, pausing dramatically, “you’ll succeed”.
I stared blank in space. They know every bit about me.
Fabiyi titled his head forward slightly and peered at me from under his brows.
“I appeal to your patriotism. I am offering you an opportunity few men ever get, to do something noble for your country.''
“I’ve already done my share of noble deeds for my country”,I cut in “and my country told me to go to hell”.
"You fail to see what’s at stake",Fabiyi argued, ignoring the sarcasm. “if this man and his rabble ever seize control of Bayelsa, we in the other states will find our democratic values in peril of extinction. You shake your head, but I am utterly certain of what I say. These people want to revenge the social order. Stopping Awala now will be a service to posterity”.
Fabiyi continued on in this vein for a considerable time, pacing in front of me, his voice and gestures rising to theatrical heights calling upon a range of emotion and language that only a practiced orator, in total command of his subject, could summon. I wasn’t surprised. He was a journalist. It was a moving, impassioned appeal and while in considered a lot of it to be of the same composition as the material the Hausa man had scrapped from the bottom of his boot yesterday at the Idumota trade fair, I had run out of good reasons to refuse.
“How much money are you offering?", I broke the silence.
Fabiyi turned around and beamed at me with a look of satisfaction of someone who has just triumphed over an opponent at a tennis championship.
"Five million naira, plus expenses".
My eyes widened in surprise. How could I say no.
“what’s the situation?”
Fabiyi walked over to a desk by the window and retrieved a large rolled-up map he returned to the table and unrolled the map across it, using the breakfast china to hold down.
"We got a problem", he said.
I fixed my gaze on him trying to squeeze out what it is before he even spoke.
"We don’t know his whereabouts. The man is rarely seen these days. The militants protect him. Few people know what he looks like and even fewer knows where he lives. His movements are carefully guarded recrets” he finished.
"Is that all you know? why didn’t the source who gave you his route tell you about all that?”, I asked.
Fabiyi shook his head. "The source I mentioned knows more. His name is Etung Asuquo. He’s a socialist, but he spies for us on the side. He can get you inside the radial camp. After that, it’s up to you”.
I crossed my arms. That five million naira might prove hard to get.
“How much in advance?”. I murmured.
Well he heard. “Half. Just tell me your bank and I’ll have the money deposited in your account immediately”.
" I don’t have a bank account", I said flatly.
"Then we’ll open one for you."
"I’d rather have the cash.",I argued.
"As you like it, I’ll have it here for you tomorrow.”
I felt suddenly alone. There was a chance here probably my last I was going to have to take it. Five million naira could buy me an apartment somewhere a quite life a little independence make this last mission and then get out,

why not?

31



Air Vice Marshal Horsfall drove along the southwest corner of Garki. It was a gloomy day. Horsfall felt so nervous that he was having trouble breathing he swerved to the Sarumi’s close then honked. He felt impatient. Since it look long for the gate to open, he jumped out and went directly into the ten feet pig iron gate. He glanced up in anticipation of seeing the man he had come there to meet; Brigadier General Sahid Mua’zu, Chief of Army Staff.
Despite his skill of manipulating people, Horsfall dreaded direct confrontations with any one, even trade people and domestics. With someone like Mua’zu, the thought made him physically ill. But he had no intention of avoiding it. Horsfall was soft-spoken almost timid man, but he was not a coward. He would confront Mua’zu if he had to, because too much was at stake not to control him. He caught sight him, finally, standing underneath the shade near the swimming pool at the far southern end of the house. Mua’zu was in mufti, but he salute Horsfall as he approached,casually.
“Good day, Marshal”, he said with an Hausa accent.
“Good day, General” Horsfall replied, his voice flat.
“Shall we walk?” Mua’zu was a tall range man with a genial northern drawl that distinguished a tough, shrewd mind. He grinned broadly.
“It’s a right fine day for it, marshal”.
The two men walked along the pavement in the compound then out of the house. Mua’zu drawled on about the stock exchange and the National football match that was to be played later in the evening. Horsfall, the very master of small take himself, interrupted Mua’zu abruptly.
“What about Amir Abdulmaleek, General?”, the general nodded.
“Yes, Sir He’s alive, sir. Just as you said”.
“You told me he was dead”,Horsfall abrupt tone put the general on guard.
“Well, yes sir. I believed I did. That’s what we thought”.
“He was killed by Akin’s men, you told me”.
“Yes, sir, I believe that’s what I told you. We had reports they’d killed him. Five of them. In Algeria out in the desert somewhere. They said they left him there. When he didn’t resurface, we assumed they were telling the truth. Now it seems they weren’t”.
“Did Abdulmaleek actually kill Akin?”.
“On your order?”
“Yes, sir. That’s correct.”
“And how did Akin’s men find out?”. The general shrugged.
“Does it make a difference?” he countered, his voice suddenly hard.
“You wanted Akin killed. We got him killed for you”.
Horsfall’s eyes blinked quickly.
“And I was grateful for that, General, as I proved to you at the time” Horsfall replied, his voice soft as bronze.
“I regret to be blunt, but please answer my question” Brigadier General Mua’zu big, leathery five was in turmoil, the muscles of his check working, his eyes blinking faster than Horsfall’s, his lower lip under attack from his teeth

Keep up the good work, it might make fp one day.

32



“We have a problem there”, he admitted.
“It was one of our men that tipped them off”.
Horsfall pretended to be shocked.
“Why would anyone do something like that?”
Mua’zu shook his head.
" Abdulmaleek was a hard man to get along with. He didn’t like a lot of things we did and he made no secret about it. Especially after the Defence Staff Chief curtailed most of our black operations. He thought it was a ricks to the security of our operations. And he was insubordinate. I knew it was only a matter of time before he’d get himself and the rest of us in trouble. He was dangerous. A loose cannon. So one of our men saw the opportunity to get rid of him and he took it. He had it coming to him, believe me. He was a hard man”.
Horsfall wrinkled his forehead mocking. “You always spoke quite highly of him, as I recall”.
Mua’zu shook his head. His mouth pressed closed so hard that the skin around it had turned white.
“Were you jealous of him General?”.
" I was afraid of him!”
“Who’s the individual who betrayed him?”
“I can’t tell you that, Marshall. Sorry”.
Horsfall smiled politely.
“Did you have a hand in persuading this individual to do it?”
“No” the general reported.
“But you took no action against him after you knew”
“No”
“Why not?”.
Mua’zu’s thin coating aflability was now worn completely away. “God!, Marshal. Abdulmaleek’s death was the best thing that could have happened to Alli’s administration. We would have had to fire him anyway, but Alli remained that we curtail our operations, so he would have been in a position to embarrass you. Anytime he wanted to".
Horsfall stopped walking. He propped his hand on his hips and looked up at the much taller Mua’zu.
“But Abdulmaleek is alive, General. That’s the whole point. He’s alive and working for the Kaduna State in a highly secret operation. When it’s over Abdulmaleek will surface again. And he will be able to embarrass us about Akin’s affair. More now than ever”.
“Maybe he doesn’t know that much”,Mua’zu interrupted.
“Then why did he disappear?”, Horsfall argued.
The General shook his head. He didn’t want to hear any more. AVM Horsfall tightened the screws.
“Let me mask our problem clear, General. Any thing linking Akin’s affair to the Defense Chief could harm his reputation fatally”. “what are you getting at?”
" You’re going to make me a scape goat?”,Mua’zu cut in.
“It’s my responsibility to protect the chief, frankly I think you deserve it, General by lying to me, you lied to the dangerous one". “But, Marshal, it was you who ordered me to have Akin killed". Horsfall motioned Mua’zu to keep his voice down.
“It was ordered for compelling reasons of national interest. And if you had not complicated things by trying to settle a score of your own, we’d have no problem today. Does anyone else know the truth of this?”
“No”, the General answered.
“You are absolutely certain?” Horsfall questioning his instincts. “Of course”.
Horsfall pressed a hand against his stomach to still the churning. "I will do what I can to solve this mess. For both our sakes. In the meantime you must give me your word that you will never divulge this matter to anyone. Ever”.
“Look, Marshal………….”
“Your word, General Mua’zu.", Horsfall barked.
“You have it” Mua’zu answered quickly.
AVM Horsfall, needed.
“Thank you” he said.
“Just leave everything to me”.

He turned abruptly and walked away.

Obinnau: Keep up the good work, it might make fp one day.

thanks for the motivation.
thanks for dropping by too

33



Hon. Ukpol Degema, Rivers state commissioner for external affairs, watched with a mixture of anxiety and irritation as the Edo state socialist, Frederick Edobor, entered his office in the state’s headquarters.
It was nine o’clock, Saturday evening. It was meant to be a rest day after a long week that should be spent on the beach far from reach of the diplomats, journalists and the scores of others whose sole occupation in life seemed to be make his complicated like this socialist Edobor.
Almost everything about the man annoyed the External Affairs commissioner, Edobor was secretary of a well known Democratic party in Benin, an organization Degema considered subversive. To further irritate the honourable, Edobor was tall, slim, handsome, and barely past his twenty ninth birthday and unlike most radicals, he affected the dress of a traditional Benin chief, favoring broad-brimmed white fedoras and large thick red beads on his neck and wrists, to impart an air of sporty nonchalance.
The amount of forbearance required in a politician trade sometimes gave Degema a severe headache and Edobor, as this Timipre’s between, was at the moment a man to be accommodated and how sick he was of accommodating him. He had expected that their last bargaining session, just yesterday morning, would be the last time that he would ever have to suffer the presence of this flamboyant young radical.

The honourable managed a gracious smile.
" Ah, Mr. Edobor you are working very late today".
Edobor was polite but at the same time he treated the commissioner in too familiar a fashion, almost a teasing condescension, as if he were a grouchy uncle to be cajoled and humoured.
“I have an urgent request from Awala", Edobor declared without preamble.
Degema stiffened at the word “urgent” commissioner Hodder Nyone had just yesterday sent a mail of all the arrangements that he and Edobor had so painstakingly negotiated during the past week.
If Awala made new demands now, the whole project would be jeopardized. The honurable’s weekend at the beach began to fade from view.
“what is it?” the commissioner demanded.
"I thought he has agreed to everything. We have given him everything he asked for; extra territorial status, guaranteed safe conduct, what more can he want?".
Edobor removed his hat gracefully.
“Awala has agreed to everything”, he said, showing the honourable a toothy smile.
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about Mr. commissioner". "what does he want?”, Degema barked.
"He merely wishes to clarify one aspect of the financial arrangement".
Degema narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"what aspect?"
" The meeting we have arranged when the train reaches Minna", Excellency Edobor answered the expression betrayed a sudden nervous embarrassment, like someone about to tell a girl’s father that he has gotten her pregnant.
“what about it?"
"Awala requests that a portion of the funds you have promised be delivered at the meeting”.
Degema squeezed his fists together to fight down a murderous anger. This was outrageous Awala was little better than a bandit. The Rivers state government had agreed to support the militant financially but for Awala to ask for money to be handed over to him in cash before he had carried out even the first half of the bargain was bald extortion.
“This is highly irregular",Degema complained
"why does he ask for this?".
Edobor hastened to explain for several reasons,
"Excellency the first and most important is simply that the man is destitute he doesn’t have the money to buy a decent dress. Naturally, he’s too proud to admit this but I can tell you this because I know the truth and the militants themselves are desperately short of opening capital. They must have some portion of the funds you’ve promised as soon as possible. Awala reasoned that of you could bring some of it to the train in Minna, it would not only avert a crisis it would be an important token of trust. It would reassure him about Rivers state’s cooperation in the future. "How much does he want?", The commissioner cuts the story short Edobor smiled hopefully.

"Three billion naira"

34


Degema felt dizzy.

" The plan was to have him to leave tomorrow!”,he fumed.
“Sunday! I will have to withdraw some money from the bank. It’s already the weekend. Surely he realizes that this will delay everything!".
“I’m very sorry for this complication, Excellency”, Edobor said "Truly I am."
“I will do what I can”, Degema declared miserably, picked up a book from his desk top and dropping it back with a heavy thud. "But there must be no more demands! Awala must leave by Monday at the absolute latest. He must understand that or he can find his own way back to his home and without any dime of Rivers' to line his pockets!"
Frederick Edobor nodded apologetically.
"I’m certain that he’ll be most grateful for your understanding and help", Edobor said, placing his hat gently back on his head.

The commissioner uttered an obscenity under his breath. Frederick got up to go.

"There will be no further compilations, Excellency, I promise you. We will leave on Monday it will be a momentous day!”

35




I paced impatiently through the corridors of the Teslim Balogun stadium, a mediocre for tree in Surulere, north of the third-mainland bridge.
I’d have preferred something better than an assassination, but I was desperate for work, after all, and Fabiyi’s appeal had been eloquent and once persuaded, I never looked back.
The assignment had already breathed new life and purpose into me, and I pushed everything from my mind to concentrate on the task before me.
First, I needed information a lot of it. I had to locate Awala, discover what he looked like, where he spent his time, something of his habits, his friends and associations, and how much protection he had. I also needed to know Awala’s plans when was he leaving? Who was traveling with him? What arrangements had he worked out with the riverians? And I needed the information quickly.

At three o’clock I crossed a central basketball court, mounted a broad flight of stairs to the stadium first floor, and found my way to the footballer’s dressing room with a hallway between, the rooms were about fourty in number. I walked through an exhibit of the local football player’s jerseys, and near the centre of the hall way, I paused to examine a particular display case. The afternoon was cloudly, that was very much unlike Lagos in the month of March.
I gazed briefly at the publication pasted in the showcase then squinted at the words on some of the pages. History of sports. The rooms were deserted the air felt heavy and damp, due to the fact that it wasn’t in constant use. I had been there for almost five minutes and was about to leave when I heard a gentle tapping on the floor behind me.
I peeked through one of the broken doors in the hall way. The man was almost as tall as was carried a walking stick with an eagle at the handle. Beneath his fedora hat his black-beard face looked imply and coarse, as if its creator had tired of it and abandoned it unfinished. His shirt was stripped at the elbows and plain at the cuffs.
“Have you seen the beach soccer poster on the far wall?”, I asked, following the ritual Fabiyi had required me to memorize.
“Yes”, the man answered, his voice heavy and unsteady, as if he were catching his breath.
"The venue for the qualifying stage is at Lekki beach", he smirked. "You’re Asuquo?”.
The man nodded.
“who’re you?”
"I was told you could tell me about Awala quickly the course of subject quickly".
“Not so loud”, Asuquo muttered.
I chuckled.
"There’s no one here"
" why do you want this information?",He queried.
"I don’t think I can tell you that”.
"What do you want to know about?"
“where does he live?", I asked flatly.
Asuquo didn’t reply. I pulled a thousand naira note from my wallet and placed it on his chest. His hand reached for it, but I took it back.
"where does he live?", I repeated.
"I don’t think I can tell you that", Asuquo replied, mimicking me “You cant tell me or you don’t know?".
Asuquo shook his head.
"It’s a closely kept secret he has many enemies".
I sighed.
"where does he spend his time when he’s not at home?”, I threw another question.
"The national threatre at Igando. You might find him there” "where else?".
"The cyber café at the end of the third-mainland bridge."
" when did you last see him there?"
" Sometimes last month", he answered quickly.
My instinct told me he gave false information. All he wanted was money.
"Your information is useless Asuquo."
Fabiyi’s would be informed said. There was no dignity in his expression, only a pathetic neediness. He was born a victim, I saw, a collector of resentments. A life time of missed chances and petty injustices had made him both fearful and treacherous.
"You will have to do better, if you want the money,” I warned him. "Timipre is leaving soon for Bayelsa"
“How soon?”
“In two days”
“How do you know?”
“I was at the meeting where he announced it. Yesterday"
" why were you there?"


" I’m on the list to go with him”.

Memecasper: All Rights Reserved:

This work exclusively belongs to the author and is protected
under the Nigerian copyright laws.
The Title, thoughts, plot, characters, settings, quotes and all
its contents are properties of the author.
No part of this work; either in parts or in whole should be
reproduced in any format; electronic or otherwise without
permission from the author.

You can reach the writer at musaabdulmalik50@yahoo.com for
any inquiries.


© Meme_casper

how do get a copy right for my works