“It’s a dam,” says Lora. “They dammed Yemaja, downstream. We’re in the river valley, and Ona-oko is in the floodplain, susceptible to flooding.”
“Smart. Not a shot fired and they have our own people quoting the most apocalyptic parts of Exodus and saying, ‘Let my people go.’” Jack kills the image of the flood. “What are we doing for those folks?”
“Evac is underway. Temporary shelter in the stadium, then we’ll need better ideas.”
“Start a database of second homes in the city. I want all the empty properties mapped and the owners contacted. They need to be on standby to take people in.”
“Yes, sir.”
He calls Dahun. “Let’s go see our prisoner. Meet me at the cell.”
The prisoner’s clothes are different. She is more plainly dressed and Jack imagines someone got her something to sleep in. She is not surprised to see them. If anything, she seems amused, and her eyes glitter like those of a trickster demon.
She says, “Let me guess. Dam. Flood. Religious stories planted in the news. Stop me whenever you like.”
Jack is surprised. “How do you—”
“I devised the strategy. I wrote the song, I dictated the tune. You really want us working together on this, Mr. Mayor. You don’t bench your striker in the World Cup final.”
“What comes next?” says Jack.
She shakes her head. One of the strap muscles on her perfect neck stands out as she does. She is singular, this Femi Alaagomeji. “You give me my phone access, you let me check on my agents, and you remove me from this ridiculous room. We could have avoided this if you had listened to me yesterday.”
Jack looks at Dahun who shrugs. “I can put a man on her.”
He looks at Lora.
“We’re in this situation because of her. She knows a lot more than anybody here. To enter into a deal with such a person is ill-advised, even if we’re being told there is a wider perspective, a perspective to which only she has access.”
“Your right-hand woman is smart,” says Alaagomeji. “But she is operating under particular parameters that prevent her from seeing far enough.”
Jack exhales. “We’re setting you free within the mansion. You’ll be under guard and if you step outside you will be shot. Your phone will be released for communication but it will be monitored.”
“Thank you, Mr. Mayor.” Alaagomeji stands and is all business.
Dahun stands in her way. “Not so fast. What did they use to penetrate the dome?”
For the first time Alaagomeji seems stunned. “They what?”
She has spent fifteen minutes watching and rewatching footage. Her phone has been beeping with received messages, but she hasn’t paid any attention to her wrist.
“So this wasn’t part of your protocol?” asks Jack.
“No, this is something new.” She leans back from the image and massages her lower back. “Did it self-repair?”
“A thin mesh has formed, but the wound is still there,” says Dahun. “We have eyes on the ground.”
“Which of you is in charge of security and murder and stuff?” asks Alaagomeji. “Don’t waste time with emotional hand-wringing. Just tell me. That was my job.”
“Why?” asks Jack.
“You’re going to need your best people for what I’m about to say. You need to get a guy called Kaaro. He won’t come willingly and he has the ability to… neutralise inexperienced people.”
“Why do we need him?”
“He can talk to the alien. He’s a powerful sensitive. We need to know what went through the dome and why it’s taking so long to heal.”
“Can’t we talk to him on the phone?”
“Bad idea. He doesn’t like the government, he doesn’t like me personally, and I already know from his file that he despises you, Mr. Mayor. He’ll soon have a second reason.”
“What’s that?”
She starts to access her phone. “You may have killed his girlfriend by declaring Rosewater independent, and I think he fancies himself a tragic lover who will avenge her death with prejudice. Excuse me, I need to make a call. Don’t send the men after him before speaking to me. I have specific instructions on how to take him safely.”
Lora stares at Jack like he has betrayed her.
“Don’t,” says Jack. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Sir, I didn’t say anything,” says Lora.
“That’s what I’m not in the mood for.”
“What would you like me to do, sir?”
“I want you to arrange bank transfers. Money to all the ward councillors.”
“For what service?”
“Bribes, Lora. We are bribing them for their support. We need to ratify the declaration.”
“What if they take the money and still come out against you?”
“Bribes have a second function. Blackmail. We keep the records. Those who will not be bought will be blackmailed.”
“And the ones who will not take the money?”
Jack smiles. “Keep a list. I also want you to pay the heads of the radio stations, and the freelancers with influence.”
“I’ll get to it. Anything else, sir?”
“Yes, I need a journalist, or a writer. Someone needs to write our account of this… this thing.”
“I’ll drum up some names, sir.”
“Thanks. Lora?”
“Sir?”
“I’m sorry. I think we need her.”
“You are not required to agree with me, sir.”
“When you start to use words like ‘required’ I know you’re angry.”
Lora is expressionless. “You have larger problems than my emotional state, sir. Focusing on them is an indulgence you can’t afford at this time.”
“Okay, to be continued. I want it noted that I apologised.”
“Your wife wants you, sir,” says Lora.
“Now? Is it important?”
She shrugs as she walks away. She never shrugs at him like that. Jack hates it when she is angry.
Coincidentally, when he returns to his office, one of his wife’s advertisements is playing on the flatscreen.
She sits there with liquid eyes and perfect hair, staring soulfully at the viewer with a sincerity that some might think is an act, but Jack knows to be real. After all this while he still feels that tug on the heart when he sees her, even a 2D image like this.
“Hello. I am Hannah Jacques. As we speak there are over two hundred thousand alternatively animated individuals in the city, and this is a conservative estimate. A small percentage are cared for by relatives but the vast majority are left wandering the streets, sequestered in prisons or special wards in the hospitals, sold into sexual slavery, used for sport or allowed to roam the bushes on the outskirts. These people are our husbands, our wives, our fathers, our mothers, our people. We cannot forget them. We cannot throw them away. The charity Not Gone works to find suitable accommodation and placements for people like this. We provide food and shelter and a loving environment, but we can always do more. Call the number below and donate freely. You never know what will happen by the next Opening.”
Alternatively animated? Is reanimate out of favour as a term? In some quarters Jack knows they are called undead, and in the most recent hate crime against them four teenagers had set one on fire, all the while singing the Fela Kuti song “Zombie.”
He calls Hannah.
“Darling?”
“How’s the day going?” she asks.
“Do not make me recount the horror. It’s going to get worse. I had to make a bargain with a witch, and not the good kind.”
“Poor baby. Have you eaten?”
“Yes.” Lie.
“Jack, I need to know if you have a plan for the welfare of the reanimates.”
“Not the alternatively animated?”
She sighs. “That stuff is scripted by Not Gone. I have to say what I’m told, you know that.”
“Who came up with it?”
“I don’t know, one of the Not Gone drones. Olu. I don’t know. So, do you have a plan?”
“Can this wait?”
“With the flooding and who knows what else? They are dying now.”
“They are already dead.”
Silence. This is a long-standing discussion in their marriage and the country at large, with no real consensus predominating.
Jack sighs. “I’m sorry. I know, I know, they draw breath. I get it. But you need to understand my position.”
“What is your position?”
“My first responsibility has to be to… the conventionally animated. Then I’ll get to the reanimates. Fair?”
“We will discuss this again, husband.”
I cannot catch a break with the women in my life today.
After the call he washes his hands. On this occasion he uses a cream heavy in lanolin but with no fragrance. He still instinctively puts his hands to his nose just afterwards. They shake. His reflection has a beard, but he does not have the time or inclination to shave. What started as artifice has taken root as necessity.
The developments bother him. He hadn’t expected the flood, even though after the fact it seems logical and the kind of thing he would do. The hole in the dome disturbs Jack the most. The alien is the largest part of his strategy. If the president has a weapon that can kill it, or harm it, then Rosewater might as well surrender. He starts to think of getting Hannah to safety, maybe send her to India or Dubai. The real problem is there’s no way to surprise the enemy. The defence army is not attacking Nigeria, it’s defending Rosewater, a reactive position, and in combat terms, weak. The alien would have kept the balance.
Jack hopes this Kaaro is as useful as Alaagomeji seems to think, but he now has to look at a situation where he depends exclusively on troops, drones and robots. Taiwo, the godfather, has been good to his word. He has complete control over the rest of the criminal class and is like a general in his own right. There have been ten murders attributable to criminals competing for control with Taiwo, according to Dahun. Not all villains take to organised crime, and will not obey anyone. They are accepting the military training, though.
“What are you going to do when the war is over and you have crooks with truncated special-forces training?” asks Dahun.
Jack has no answer. This is one of those situations where he will have to solve that problem at that time.
His phone reminds him to power-nap. He ignores it. He has the feeling everything is slipping from his control, and resists the urge to wash his hands again. Instead, he reads fragments of Suetonius and the writings of Cicero, which he contrives to paraphrase for a coming speech.
His office tells him someone is at the door, shows him it is Alaagomeji, and he permits the door to open. She is alone.
“Where is the man tasked with keeping an eye on you?” asks Jack.
“You keep forgetting who I am. The hunting dog does not teach the leopard how to catch prey. Let’s stop wasting time discussing amateurs. You need to send a team to blow up the dam, otherwise the flooding will continue.”
“I had thought of this.”
“I’ve listened to my messages. My… agent is caught in the flood. We need her for two reasons. One, she has something of value to the alien, and two, we’ll have some leverage over Kaaro.”
“Wait, doesn’t he work for you?”
“If he did, I’d simply order him to come here and not send murderers after him. Don’t be dim. How long do you plan to stay here?”
“‘Here’?”
“Surely you know this mansion will be a target for bombing?”
“It’s a siege situation,” says Jack. “This isn’t a shooting war.”
“Not yet,” says Alaagomeji. “Give it time.”