Bakare swerved onto the other lane of the intersection. The van zigzagged before he regained control. He downshifted and the engine roared as the van leapt forward. The Mercedes came into view ahead of them, stuck behind two cars at a traffic light. The amber light came on and the Mercedes was still metres away.
‘Don’t shoot,’ Ibrahim yelled. In the mirror he could see Hot-Temper bracing himself in the open back of the van and aiming his rifle at the Mercedes. ‘Hot-Temper, do not shoot. It is a command.’
The light turned green and the cars ahead of the Mercedes began to move. Bakare pulled up beside the SUV and rammed the side of the van into it. The SUV swerved away. Bakare accelerated, then stopped across the road. Hot-Temper was first on the ground. He levelled his rifle at the windscreen of the SUV. By the time Ibrahim got out, pistol drawn, all the officers from the back of the van had spread out in front of the SUV and were aiming their weapons at the driver’s head through the windshield.
‘Put your hands up and get out,’ Ibrahim shouted.
Approaching cars stopped metres behind the Mercedes. Some reversed away from the stand-off. In the Mercedes, the driver kept his hands on the steering wheel.
‘Put your hands up,’ Ibrahim shouted again.
A smirk spread across Malik’s face as he raised his hands.
‘Get out,’ Ibrahim shouted. His pistol remained aimed at Malik.
‘Can I put my hand down?’ Malik shouted back.
‘Keep your hands up and get out.’
‘I need to put my hand down to open the door.’
A single shot rang from beside Ibrahim. The bullet pierced the windshield of the SUV on the passenger’s side and continued through the leather seat.
Hot-Temper returned his aim to focus on Malik’s head.
Keeping one hand up, Malik opened the door with his other hand and got out of the car. A phone fell out of his lap and onto the ground. He raised his hands above his head and stepped out from behind the open door.
‘Get on to your knees,’ Ibrahim shouted.
Malik knelt, one knee at a time, on the hot tar, and as the officers approached, the smirk on his face widened until he was grinning at the faces lined up behind a row of gun muzzles.
‘Malik?’ Ibrahim said, standing over their captive.
Malik shielded his face from the sun to look up into Ibrahim’s face. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And you are Ibrahim,’ he read off Ibrahim’s uniform. ‘Can you be so kind as to explain what this is about?’
Ibrahim turned his pistol in his hand so that he gripped the gun by the barrel, then in a blow faster than Malik could dodge, he smashed the butt of the gun into the side of Malik’s face.