LAGOS, NIGERIA
THURSDAY, 7:20 A.M. WEST AFRICA TIME (2:20 A.M. EST)
You wan jollof rice, eh?” Mama Oyafemi said. “Oyinbo, they always eat the jollof.”
Judd and Isabella looked back at her, confused. They had followed Bola’s clear instructions to come here to make contact with the Yahooze Boys, one of the organized criminal rings running online scams. Bola assured them that the Coyote was an up-and-coming player and could provide a window into the inner workings of international fraud. Bola didn’t ask Judd why exactly he wanted to peek into the 419 underground. Judd started to explain about the missing Jason Saunders in London, but Isabella cut him off.
And Judd hadn’t asked Bola how he could be so close to a criminal boss like the Coyote. Judd also assumed that Bola was being helpful because Mariana Leibowitz had asked him. Or, Judd wondered, perhaps Judge Bola Akinola knew he’d soon need help of his own. They were both playing a game, trying to assist each other without giving too much away.
But now Judd and Isabella were standing in a tiny café, deep in the heart of Lagos, seeking the ringleader. And a rotund Nigerian grandmother was standing in their way.
“The oyinbo, the foreigners, the white people, like you, they love jollof rice,” Mama Oyafemi added helpfully.
“No,” Isabella said. “We aren’t hungry.”
“Yes we are,” Judd corrected. “We are very hungry. We will have two big plates of jollof. And do you have soup today?”
“I have a fresh pot of egusi soup. And roasted goat, eh.”
“Yes,” Judd nodded. “We’ll have two plates of jollof rice and two bowls of egusi soup. No goat for us today.”
“Yes, you must eat,” Mama Oyafemi declared, looking pleased as she returned to the kitchen.
Judd patted Isabella’s arm lightly, trying to reassure his partner. “We have time to eat,” he said with raised eyebrows.
A few moments later Mama Oyafemi appeared with large plates of red rice cooked with peppers, tomatoes, and spices. Then she brought steaming bowls of yellow-and-green soup made with melon seeds, dried fish, and spinach.
As Judd and Isabella dug in, Mama Oyafemi stood over them proudly.
“Delicious,” Isabella said.
“This jollof is much better than what they cook in Ghana or Senegal,” Judd offered.
“Only Nigerian jollof, eh,” Mama Oyafemi vigorously agreed.
“Thank you,” Judd said, pushing his plate forward and patting his stomach. “We are looking for someone. We were told to meet him here. At the Innocent Chop House.”
Mama Oyafemi’s smile disappeared.
“We are looking for the Coyote,” Judd said.
“No.”
“We were told to find Coyote here.”
“No Coyote here,” Mama Oyafemi insisted.
“We’re not here to make trouble,” Judd said, holding up his palms. “We were sent”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“by Judge Bola Akinola.”
Mama Oyafemi looked them both up and down. “You wait, eh,” she said, before disappearing back into the kitchen.
A few moments later she returned with a young man wearing skinny jeans and an oversized orange hoodie. The man, who appeared to have been woken up from a nap, checked the alley outside, then faced Judd with angry yellow eyes. “Who is looking for the Coyote?”
Judd suddenly wondered if this was all a big mistake.
“We are. We were sent by—”
“Who are you?” he demanded. “What do you want here?”
“We’re from—” Judd began.
“What for?” interrupted the man.
“We are searching for a friend,” Judd tried to explain.
“Judge Akinola sent us,” Isabella interrupted. “He sent us to meet the Coyote.”
“Yes, that’s right,” Judd added. “The judge said we could find the Coyote here and he would show us the Yahooze Boys. How it all works. To help us find our missing friend,” she said.
“You American police, eh?”
“No police,” Judd said, holding up his hands. “I work for the State Department. We’re not here to cause trouble. Just to find the Coyote. Just to learn.”
“And you?” He jabbed a finger toward Isabella.
“I’m with him,” she said, nodding toward Judd.
The boy traded glances with the older woman, then relaxed. “Yes, the judge, he called me. The big judge is a great man.”
“Yes, he is,” Isabella agreed.
“We go,” the man said.
They followed him through the kitchen, pushing past hanging laundry, then again through another door, down a smoky hallway, past several boys standing guard.
Judd’s pulse accelerated and his stomach ached as the doubts returned. This is crazy. They arrived at a steel door and the man flipped open the barricade bar with a loud clang. Jessica would have a fit if she knew. . . .
The man gestured for them to pass. Is this a dungeon? Is it a trap?
Isabella froze. “Are you sure about this?” she asked, grabbing Judd’s arm. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
Judd was thinking the same thing. What am I doing, just walking into a dangerous criminal’s den? What do I really even know about this Bola Akinola? He knew Mariana Leibowitz had never let him down before. Jessica would . . . he thought about this for a second . . . Jessica would walk right through that door.
Judd took a deep breath and Isabella’s hand. “Let’s go,” he said, and pulled them through.
The tension vaporized the moment they were inside. It wasn’t a dark cell but a long, brightly lit air-conditioned room filled with computer terminals along both sides. Young, smartly dressed African teens typed away on keyboards.
The man revealed a wide, toothy smile. “I am Kayode. The Coyote.” He led Judd and Isabella down the center aisle like a tour guide.
“This is where we work,” he said, opening his arms wide like a proud farmer showing off a bumper crop.
Up on the wall, above one of the workstations, a simple sign was tacked up:
Teach a man to fish?
I don’t want to fish.
I work in IT.
When they reached the far end of the room, Judd noticed a high-end printer alongside stacks of official letterhead. Judd elbowed Isabella, gesturing toward the stationery bearing the logos of JPMorgan Chase, Barclays, Microsoft, Gazprombank, the Bank of England, and the Central Bank of Nigeria.
The Coyote beamed, “Welcome to Wall Street.”
“Wall Street?” Judd winced. “I don’t understand.”
“You are American, eh,” the Coyote smiled. “You must know Billy Ray Valentine?”