The night was hot, humid, and dark. Inspector Ibrahim gathered the men of Fire-for-Fire into a sweltering room in the back of his police station to brief them on Operation Bulldog: the siege on Matori. First, he had a senior officer inspect their eyes; anyone high on drugs would be excluded from the operation.
It was to be a textbook raid and so hardly needed instructions beyond an address and a target. But Matori was a place deep in the dark heart of the slums where hoodlums and miscreants owned the streets. Ibrahim didn’t expect their target to be ready with his own little army but he didn’t want to spark a riot among police-hating neighbours keen to rush to the aid of one of their own.
‘We’re going to go in quietly,’ he said. ‘First, we secure the perimeter; two men to every house on the road. No torch lights. If anyone confronts you, tell the baga to go back into their house. If they don’t, do not arrest them. The offensive will begin exactly five minutes after everyone is in place, so no need to worry about any bloody civilians. I don’t want a single shot fired unless it is absolutely necessary: we don’t want to attract any attention. We just go in, fetch him, and we get out. Remember, he must be delivered alive. I repeat: Chucks must be delivered alive. Hot-Temper is the commanding officer; nobody farts unless he authorises it. Boys, let’s go and do our job.’
Outside the station, on Ahmadu Bello Road, officers stopped danfo buses and told the passengers to get out. The braver commuters who had paid their fares demanded an explanation. ‘Police business’ was all they were told.
The commandeered vehicles were directed to park in front of the station where members of Operation Fire-for-Fire waited. The bus drivers were given bulletproof vests to wear under their shirts. It was too much for a lanky young boy. Shaking with fear, he lost control of his bladder and tears fell from his face. A desk officer was nominated to drive the bus in his place.
The men piled into the vehicles. At five-minute intervals they set out into the night.
Ibrahim and three officers, each of them in plain clothes, got into Ibrahim’s car. He was off to deal with another matter that required delicate handling. His men would keep him informed over the two-way radio tucked into his belt, next to his semi-automatic pistol.