part0023

She didn’t seem worried about the turn of events. Her face wore a mildly annoyed expression as if the latest development had forced her to cancel her lunch plans. “What makes you think that’s even possible?”

“You run this show,” Justin said. “You give the orders.”

Emodi shook her head. She turned her body slightly toward him. “You give me more credit than I deserve. I’m just a little insignificant cog in this gigantic bribery and corruption system that’s the driving force of the Nigerian oil industry.”

“I’ve seen you in action. I know what you’re capable of. I know you can make this happen.”

“I can’t help you.” Emodi shifted in her seat and looked out of the windshield.

Justin caught Carrie’s glance in the rearview mirror. She gave him a small nod, and he gestured for her to go ahead and try to convince Emodi to cooperate with them.

Carrie said, “We already know where Duncan is in Makoko. We have the location of the speedboat. We know how many men are guarding him.”

Carrie was bluffing, but Emodi wouldn’t know that. The bluff was supposed to make Emodi feel desperate, hopeless.

She looked at Carrie, pursed her lips, and gave a small shrug. “So you don’t need my help.”

“That’s right: we don’t. Just wanted to tell you how we got that intel. We have one of the gunmen who attacked Le Petit Café last night. We’ve been extracting this and other pieces of intel from him. He’s more than willing to give us everything we ask for. He’s trying to save himself a great deal of pain.”

“I still don’t see why you need my help. And I’m not scared of your torture threats.”

Carrie turned the steering wheel and passed a couple of slow-moving sedans. She spoke without looking at Emodi. “I told you we don’t need your help. We want to save your life and the lives of many of your foot soldiers. All of this will be much easier if you agree to hand over Duncan and the money.”

Justin said, “Then you can go back to living this... this life of yours.”

“You’re either very naïve or very stupid if you believe things will go back to normal if I give you the hostage, my only bargaining chip. The people I deal with, they’ll not give it a second thought before killing me and my mother like dogs.”

“Duncan is no longer your bargaining chip. Your life is. It’s not worth throwing it away for Duncan, the man who lied to you and betrayed you.”

Emodi cocked her head toward Justin. “You’re right. That savage deserves to die a slow and painful death for what he did to me.”

The operative knew he had pushed the right buttons. He decided to switch strategies. “When did he decide to break it off? The affair, I mean.”

Emodi gave him a stern headshake. “It wasn’t an affair . I loved Marty, I honestly did. The jerk said he loved me too. He hated his wife, and he wanted to divorce her. He said more than once he was very miserable with her. He felt that his life was a trap, a never-ending nightmare.

“I made him feel alive, happy, cheerful. I gave him hope there was much more to life than nagging and harassment from his wife every time he returned home. That’s why he traveled so much. That liar hated returning to his pathetic life with that witch of a wife and his three spoiled, ungrateful, bratty children.”

“When did you first meet Marty?” Carrie asked in a soft voice, trying to make a connection with Emodi.

“In Vienna, eight months ago. We met for a round of discussions about new oil exploration contracts. Marty’s very smart and a great negotiator. He’s quite the charmer. We went out for supper that evening and the next. Then he invited me to go see Paris with him.”

“Paris, the city of love,” Carrie said.

“Yes. He was always the gentleman: caring, thoughtful, loving. The money wasn’t a problem as he had pocketed millions from oil contracts, not just in Nigeria, but all over the world. He offered me a ‘consulting’ position with CanadaOil. I started to rake in more money than I had ever dreamed of, and I still kept my job with the NNPC,” she said in a passionate voice, a lively spark glinting in her eyes. “We went to Paris regularly for huge shopping sprees, fancy dinners, shows. We lived the good life for several weeks. Then it all changed.” Emodi paused for a moment and let out a low sigh.

“What happened?” Carrie asked.

They had stopped at an intersection because of a red light.

“Marty’s wife began to grow suspicious. She wanted to go along with him on his trips. They fought constantly. He thought she had hired a private investigator to follow him around and collect evidence of his indiscretions. Marty freaked out, and I could do nothing to calm him down. He cut off my consulting job and dumped me in Paris at La Tour d’Argent right after our fabulous dinner. I vowed to make him pay.”

Emodi clenched her teeth.

“That’s when you joined the Delta armed groups?” Carrie asked.

Emodi nodded. “Yes. It was relatively easy. We had used some of those groups in the past. They knew me, and I knew them. We had a history, so I was able to gain their trust. Whenever Nigerian officials want more money from the foreign oil companies, they fuel trouble among the militia groups. Oil companies cough up a few million dollars—the cost of doing business in Nigeria—and the trouble goes away for a little while. Until the next time, and the cycle repeats again. And again.”

“Was it your idea to kidnap him?” Carrie asked.

“Yes. I knew he was coming to the conference, and I knew he was traveling light. I picked the best fighters in my group. We made it happen.”

“So you kidnapped him because he dumped you?” Justin asked.

Emodi shook her head. “No. We had a relationship and a business deal. He broke them both. So he had to pay for the poor choices he made. He paid with tears and screams, then time came to also pay in cash.”

“Were there other offers on Duncan’s head?” Carrie said.

“No. The threats were supposed to motivate you to pay the ransom without delay.”

“And the attack at Le Petit Café?” Justin said.

“We believed someone inside the NNPC was working with the rescue team. Nailah was one of the suspects, so we tapped her phones.”

A short pause followed, then Justin asked, “Now what? You’re going to have Duncan killed?”

Emodi shrugged and straightened up in her seat. “If the ransom isn’t paid, then you didn’t keep your side of the deal. My men will deliver Duncan’s head in a basket,” she said in a cold, emotionless voice.

“There is another option,” Justin said. “An option in which Duncan pays for his crimes and the way he treated you, and you get to save your life and your reputation.”

Emodi locked eyes with Justin. “And what would that be?”

“If Duncan dies, he’ll be hailed as a hero back home in Canada. He’s already considered a brave man. He was courageous enough to come to Nigeria and work with the government here, to offer hope and prosperity to the poor in this country. His death will only reinforce that, cementing his image as a man who gave his life for others, unselfish until the very last moment.”

“He’s a selfish, pathetic jerk,” Emodi blurted. She clenched her hands into tight fists. “That’s what he is.”

Justin remained unfazed by her outburst. He said, “His wife, she’ll get a lot of praise and support for standing by a strong, devoted man. A man who loved his family and children very dearly, who sacrificed his life for the good of humanity. She will inherit everything, every single penny from all the money he has funneled through his dirty, corrupt deals.”

Emodi was listening very intently. Her eyes never left Justin’s face.

The operative continued, “You know about those deals. You can help us unmask Duncan for the corrupt politician he truly is.”

Emodi winced. “I’m not a snitch.”

“Witness protection program for you and your mother. A new life and identity in Canada. You’re young, and you have the necessary skills to make a good life for yourself and take care of your sick mother.”

Justin could tell she was chewing on the offer, pondering the pros and the cons. She said, “I would... That would be betraying my cause, my friends.”

“Thugs who you said wouldn’t think twice about butchering you and your family.”

“How’s this going to work? They’ll clue in that I’m setting them up…”

“They won’t.” Justin held up her cellphone. “Call them and arrange to transfer Duncan to another location. Make up a story about Canadian agents and the police getting closer, which necessitates the transfer. They’ll trust you, and we’ll hit them when they’re at the new location.”

Emodi arched her left eyebrow and bit her lip. “I’m not sure about it.”

“It will work.” Justin handed her the phone. “Keep it to four, six guards at the most.”

“And you promise me and my mother asylum in Canada?”

“Yes. As soon as you end the call, I’ll talk to my boss about it. Of course, you’ll have to testify at Duncan’s trial.”

Emodi nodded. She stretched her hand, but held it in mid-air without picking up her phone.

“You know it’s the best thing to do,” Carrie said. “It’s a win-win situation.”

Emodi nodded again and took the phone from Justin’s hand. “You’re quite the diplomat, Mr. Burns,” she said with a grin. “Have you ever considered a career in politics?”

Justin shook his head. “I hate politics.”

The truth was he had often thought of a way to be closer to Karolin. His mind had explored different scenarios as a trainer, or handler, maybe even a manager. He’d be away from field operations, but he could live with that. Even more now that Karolin was going to be bedridden for who knew how long. But a diplomat? “I don’t think I’m cut out for it,” he said with a shrug.

“But you are. You’re very smooth, convincing. You’ll be a great ambassador.”

“I doubt it. One more thing. Did your men have anything to do with my partner’s murder?”

“You’ve already taken care of that.” She gestured toward the trunk. “Mobo was the one who shot him. I know it’s not much comfort, but Kayo was a brave man, standing proud and tall until the end. Never gave up anything about you or your operation.”

Justin let out a deep sigh and said, “Call your mother. Tell her to get her luggage ready, hail a cab, and meet us a few blocks away from her house. Then call your people and order Duncan’s transfer.”

Justin and Carrie selected the new location because of the short distance to Lagos’s Murtala Muhammed International Airport. The site was an abandoned warehousing complex with easy access to Agege Motor Road, a major artery that would take them to the airport. Emodi’s group had used the warehouse in the past as a hideout. Her suggestion to move Duncan there raised no suspicions. The complex also had plenty of places where Justin and Carrie could dump the bodies of the two dead guards.

Justin secured a position on the second story of a building about fifty meters away from the warehouse’s entrance. The building must have been an office complex, but it had been stripped of all valuables, including tiles, window frames, and electrical fixtures. The concrete floor was littered with broken glass and other debris.

The operative held his AK in his right hand and stood with his back against one of the walls. He was between two windows that offered him a sweeping view of the narrow road zigzagging through a series of apartment buildings and leading to the warehouse. He would be the first to spot the arrival of the two-car convoy transporting Duncan.

Carrie was positioned about thirty meters away from Justin, inside the first floor of what used to be the parking garage. She had just returned from dropping off the elderly Emodi at the Cessna airplane waiting for them at the airport. The aircraft of PrivilegeJets—a CIS front company operating all over Africa—was going to fly them across the two hundred and fifty miles to Accra, the capital of Ghana. Abeson and her mother were going to find refuge at the High Commission of Canada while the authorities processed their immigration paperwork.

The plan was simple, but relied on the advantage of surprise. Emodi was going to serve as bait, luring the kidnappers out of their vehicles. Her Lexus was parked by the entrance to the warehouse, a hint to the gunmen where they too were expected to park. Once the fighters brought Duncan out, Justin and Carrie would find the right moment to rescue him.

Justin glanced at his watch. The convoy was twenty minutes late. He hoped they had merely hit heavy traffic and didn’t have suspicions about the change of plans. The two phones he had taken from Emodi’s dead guards had been ringing almost nonstop over the last half hour. He had finally turned them off to save his sanity and concentration.

He reached for the binoculars around his neck and observed the road for any movements. In the distance, about a kilometer away, he spotted a silver sedan, followed by a white van. They were coming toward the warehouse.

His hands instinctively tightened around the AK. “Carrie, we’ve got company,” he said into his throat mic. “I’ve got eyes on the target. ETA two minutes.”

“Copy that,” Carrie replied.

Justin placed the binoculars inside one of his vest’s pockets. He stepped closer to the window, but stayed behind the wall at all times. Soon enough, the rumble of engines filled the air. The vehicles were almost at the entrance.

“Silver BMW pulling in,” Carrie’s voice came over his earpiece. “Parking to the left of the Lexus.”

“Roger that.” Justin slid along the wall and pointed his AK in that direction.

“The van’s stopping behind the BMW,” Carrie said.

He took another step, but remained hidden behind the wall.

Vehicle doors opened and closed with loud thuds. Footsteps rang from two different directions.

Justin didn’t want to peek and risk giving away his position. “Carrie, what’s going on?”

“Four gunmen out. AKs at the ready. One is looking at the Lexus.”

“Emodi, hey, Emodi, where are you?” one of the gunmen shouted. His strong voice carried a hint of uneasiness and impatience as it echoed throughout the open space.

“It’s time,” Justin said into his mic.

“Copy,” Carrie replied. “Follow the plan to the letter, and this will all end up well,” she said to Emodi.

Carrie’s soft voice came muffled to Justin. He turned up the volume on his communication set.

“Of course it will.” Emodi’s voice too came very low, but Justin didn’t miss her sarcasm.

He readied his AK. It was time.

“I’m here,” Emodi shouted. “Bring Duncan out!”

“She’s heading toward the Lexus. Two gunmen walking toward her,” Carrie said.

“Why did you bring us into this hole?” asked one of the gunmen. “The hostage was fine at the old location, and there was no risk.”

“Just bring him out. I’ll tell you why we had to move him,” Emodi replied.

A moment of silence, then the familiar noise of the van door sliding open.

“He’s right there,” the gunman said.

“And we got the money.”

It was the voice of the second gunman.

“Now, Justin,” Carrie said.

Justin stepped forward. He took one second to acquire his target. It was the gunman standing behind Duncan.

The operative fired a single shot. The bullet entered the back of the gunman’s head.

At almost the same second, Carrie fired twice. Two gunmen fell to the ground. The metallic briefcase lay near the feet of one of them.

“It’s a trap! The—”

Justin fired another round. His bullet struck the last gunman in his right shoulder. He fell to the ground, but was able to scramble to safety underneath the van.

Carrie fired again, two three-round bursts.

A gunman jumped out of the van and fired a long volley at Justin’s position.

Justin fell back as bullets hit the wall. A few ricocheted around the room.

He crawled away from the kill zone as gunfire bursts exploded from the road. He climbed to his feet when he reached the hall, then dropped again to a low crawl through the adjacent room. He came to the other window and did a quick once-over.

A new gunman was aiming a rocket-propelled grenade launcher at that window.

Justin turned on his heels and ran as fast as he could away from the wall. A split second later, the grenade punched a huge hole through the wall. The explosion sent rolling cinderblocks and a storm of shrapnel throughout the room.

The operative barely made it into the hall unscathed.

Short bursts echoed from outside the building.

He climbed to his feet and rushed down the stairs. Another rocket-propelled grenade exploded behind him. Fortunately, Justin was already beyond the shrapnel’s range.

He stopped when he reached a rusty, mangled door. Before he could even peek, a torrent of bullets stopped him in his tracks. One of the gunmen—or perhaps the same gunman who fired the RPG—had anticipated Justin’s moves.

He threw himself against the wall as bullets lifted concrete pieces inches away from his head. He could fire blindly through the door, but was worried that his bullets would hit Duncan or Emodi.

“Carrie,” he said on his mic.

No immediate response other than sporadic gunshots.

“Carrie,” he called again, louder and with concern in his voice.

Justin let out a loud swear.

“My ear... you burst my eardrum...” Carrie’s voice came with interruptions and static.

“You okay?” Justin said.

“Yes... taking… taking heavy fire.”

“Same here. I’m going around the building. Coming out to the right. I’ll let you know when I need cover fire.”

He rushed through the hall toward the back of the building. He climbed out of a window, running as fast as he could through the debris-littered alley. When he neared the corner, he said into his mic, “Cover fire, cover fire.”

Two- and three-round bursts, evenly spaced and well-calculated, flared up between the buildings, coming from Carrie’s position. Justin stepped out, his eyes darting through the opening, searching for the gunmen.

One was kneeling by the rear wheel of the van.

Justin fired two rounds, pinning the gunman against the van.

Two more three-round bursts, then a tense silence reigned for a moment.

“I’m out,” Carrie said. “Switching to pistol.”

Justin advanced with small, measured steps, holding his AK at eye level. He moved the rifle slowly, covering every inch of the area in front of him and to the sides. When he was about ten meters away from the vehicles, a gunman popped out at the left side of the van. He had pressed a pistol against Duncan’s head and was holding the man in front of him like a human shield.

“Drop the gun, or I’ll kill him,” the gunman shouted at Justin.

The operative kept his rifle pointed at the gunman’s head.

“I’ll blow his head off!”

Justin stopped, realigned his AK, and prepared to take the shot.

“I’ll do it. I’ll—”

Two shots erupted from the other side.

The gunman fell backward.

A moment later, Duncan also collapsed to the ground.

Emodi appeared from behind the Lexus. She held an AK with both hands as she pressed forward with fast steps toward Duncan.

“Emodi, don’t!” Justin shouted and pointed his gun at her.

“You shot me,” Duncan said in a low, wavering voice. He climbed to his knees while his left arm hung against his body. He was bleeding from a wound a couple of inches above his elbow. Unshaven, with his hair unkempt and his eyes sunk deep in their sockets, the diplomat looked twenty years older than the picture in Justin’s file.

“She’s going to kill me,” Duncan said to Justin and pointed at Emodi. “Please, help me!”

“You deserve it, you son of a whore,” Emodi shouted.

She took a few more steps toward Duncan.

“Put the gun down,” Justin ordered Emodi.

“It’s over. Drop it!” Carrie shouted from Emodi’s left side.

Duncan’s head sank between his slumping shoulders.

“Last time, Emodi. Drop your gun!”

Emodi stopped, nodded, and lowered the rifle. She turned slightly to the side, then flipped it around, before hitting Duncan across his face. The wooden stock struck his jaw, and Duncan spat out blood and a couple of teeth.

Justin shook his head, but said nothing.

Emodi cursed at Duncan again, then tossed the rifle away with a loud sigh.

“Get up. You’re going home,” Justin said to Duncan, who was still spitting blood.

“What? Huh? Home?” Duncan said with a look of disbelief in his tired eyes.

Justin didn’t answer, but went to check the back of the van.

“Yes, home. Canada,” Carrie said. “But I wouldn’t be too happy about it. Emodi’s going with you as well. She’ll testify in your trial about your dirty deals with CanadaOil and the NNPC. Your wife will learn everything about your affair.”

“You’ll rot behind bars for the rest of your miserable life,” Emodi hissed in a venomous voice and spat in Duncan’s direction.

The diplomat’s face had lost all color. His eyes carried a blank, dead look. He stared away somewhere into space.

Justin brought a jerry can from the van to the Lexus and poured the gasoline over the vehicle. He produced a lighter and set the Lexus on fire. Within a few moments, large flames were chewing at the front tires. He hoped the car would burn completely, erasing all signs of them and Emodi having ever used it.

He ran to the warehouse to retrieve his and Carrie’s knapsacks while Carrie escorted Duncan to the backseat of the BMW. Emodi took the front passenger seat, and Carrie sat behind the steering wheel.

Justin tossed the knapsacks into the trunk and picked up the metal briefcase. He snapped open its latches. All the money was there. He placed the briefcase in the trunk as well, then slid next to Duncan, who was hunched in the corner, his face as pale as a corpse.

Justin said. “I’ll call the pilot to tell him we’re on our way.”

Carrie nodded. She hit the gas, and the BMW roared forward. She turned the steering wheel and drove through the warehouse’s entrance.

The next moment, the Lexus turned into a huge fireball with a powerful explosion. Tall flames shot out, along with a million pieces of glass, metal, and plastic, raining behind the zipping BMW. Justin looked at the spectacle in the rearview mirror, then thought about what laid ahead. Scot. We’ve got to find out what’s happening with the terrorist teacher.