The woman took my hand. ‘Please, come with me.’
Who was she? Why was she was talking to me?
‘Mr Collins, I was sent to get you. We have to leave now.’ She tugged at my hand.
‘Stop,’ a voice commanded.
I walked even faster.
‘Stop.’
She stopped. The men in the corridor parted as he walked up to us, taking his time. Her grip tightened. The inspector came close until our eyes locked in contest: the hunter and the hunted, suddenly on the precipice. I would give in to the rage that had replaced my fear, at this moment. I would punch him, and Hot-Temper would use his gun on me. If I hit him hard enough, on the neck like my mate Roger had shown me in school, it would be worth it.
He placed his head beside mine. ‘This is not over,’ he said, just loud enough for only me to hear. ‘Try to mind your own business and perhaps we won’t have to meet again. Understand?’
Amaka shook my hand and shook it again. She placed her hand on my shoulder and pulled me away from his face. I relaxed the fist I’d formed and I left with her.
As we stepped out of the station, police officers watching us, the interior of a black Volkswagen Jetta lit up and its tail lights flashed. She hurried to the car, opened the door for me, got into the driver’s seat, fired up the engine, and did a two point turn faster than I’d ever seen one done. Then she charged at the uneven ground and turned onto Ahmadu Bello without checking that the road was clear. The engine wailed. I didn’t realise we’d been driving up the wrong way until at the turning by the infamous glass building she pulled across onto the other side. She looked in the rear-view mirror as if she expected us to be followed.
Nothing made sense. Was I a free man now? I studied her side profile. She was concentrating on our getaway. Who was she? Who sent her to get me? Where was she taking me?
‘Did Ade send you?’ Maybe my absentee minder had tried to contact me at the hotel, found that I was missing, and launched a manhunt that somehow led to Inspector Ibrahim’s police station.
‘Yes.’
She answered too quickly.
‘Ade from the British High Commission?’
‘Yes.’
A chill crept over my skin.
‘Stop the car.’ I got ready to open the door and jump out.
‘What?’
‘You heard me. Stop the fucking car.’ I undid my seat belt and turned to her in a provocative manner. I would wrestle her for whatever weapon she had hidden under her skirt.
‘Why?’
‘You are not from Ade. He didn’t send you. Stop the fucking car or else.’ She was working with Inspector Ibrahim. They were kidnapping me after all.
‘Or else what? You want to go back there? You just witnessed a policeman murder a detainee. You really want to go back there?’
She was right. But, who the hell was she? ‘Stop the car or tell me who you are.’ I felt slightly ashamed that I was ready to pounce and fight her if I had to.
‘My name is Amaka. I work for a charity that works with prostitutes. One of the girls I work with told me that a foreign journalist was arrested outside Ronnie’s. I came to get you out.’
It sounded rehearsed. ‘Why?’
‘I’ll explain everything later. First, we have to get to your hotel and check you into another room.’
‘Why?’
‘I lied to Ibrahim to get you out. He’ll soon figure out that I tricked him and he’ll come looking for you.’
I wasn’t convinced but she was driving towards Eko Hotel. Once there, I would call the British High Commission and be on the next flight out of Nigeria.