The Ransom Dealers

In the Net

The road was dark, lonely, and bumpy, a ribbon of uneven tar slicing through the night. The headlights of the Golf Three Wagon clawed at the blackness, illuminating barely a hundred meters ahead before the void swallowed them again. Inside, the air was thick with the hum of the engine and the faint snores of exhausted passengers. Most were asleep or dozing, their heads lolling against cracked seats, but Chioma Chinedu was wide awake, her eyes fixed on the shadows beyond the window.The dashboard clock glowed 08:35 PM, its green digits mocking her. The journey from Kano to Abuja was supposed to take four hours, but the road seemed to stretch endlessly, each pothole a taunt to her urgency. She had to be in Abuja tonight. Tomorrow, at 08:00 AM sharp, she’d face her interview with Guaranty Trust Bank Plc—a chance to change her life, her family’s life. She shifted in her seat behind the driver, the worn fabric scratching her thighs through her skirt, and clutched her small bag tighter. Sleep wasn’t an option.Chioma had never set foot in Abuja, though she’d heard its stories from friends—tales of gleaming buildings and bustling streets—and knew a cousin or two lingered there. She was an Igbo girl, born twenty-two years ago in the dust and clamor of Kano, raised in Brigade near Airport Road where her parents still scraped by. Four months ago, in January 2018, she’d hunched over an aptitude test, her pencil trembling as she prayed for a miracle. When the call came—her name shortlisted—she’d nearly wept. Now, with God’s grace, this job would be hers.“Oh God,” she whispered, lips barely moving, “please give me this job. I need it to help my parents, to train my younger siblings through school. I need it, oh God, so I can help Uchenna start his spare parts business. Amen!” The prayer settled her nerves, a quiet fire in her chest. She was ready—Abuja, Lagos, anywhere they sent her, she’d go.The whispers of danger had reached her before she’d boarded: bandits, kidnappers, armed robbers, even Boko Haram haunting Nigeria’s roads, especially the Kaduna-Abuja axis. Friends had clucked their tongues, her mother had wrung her hands, but Chioma had knelt by her bed that morning, entrusting her journey to God. Her faith was her shield. It had to be.The Golf Three Wagon rattled along, its dented frame a staple of interstate travel—passengers crammed in with bags and goods, a rolling testament to survival. The driver, a wiry man with sunken eyes, steered with a calm that surprised her. No reckless swerves or breakneck speed like the tales she’d heard. Just the steady growl of the engine and the occasional jolt over a rut. Peaceful, almost. Too peaceful.Chioma fished her TECNO mobile phone from her bag, its scratched screen flickering to life. No new w******p messages, no f*******: updates. In this virtual age, everything pulsed through these glowing rectangles—her test invite had come via a post, her dreams shaped by likes and shares. She scrolled to her chat with Uche, the love of her life, and her lips curved into a smile. He’d seen her off at the park, his arms around her, tears glinting in his eyes as the engine sputtered to life.“Call me as soon as you get there, my love,” he’d whispered, voice thick.“I will, baby,” she’d promised, her own voice breaking.Now, alone in the dark, she reread a chat that always warmed her:Her: Hello

Uche: Baby

Her: Are you in bed? I miss you

Uche: I love that you get wet whenever I touch you—it makes me know I’m irresistible to you. I love that you love to sleep, that it takes you forever to rise in the morning—it tells me our days will be lazy and romantic. I love that I can piss you off, love the angry look on your face when you’re upset—it means I’ll have to kneel and beg. I love the way you touch me, the way your eyes lose focus when we hold each other, the way your lips part with reckless abandon—it means you’re crazy about me like I dey mad over you, girl. I love that after we part, I smell your perfume all over me—my clothes, my hands, my body. It keeps our memories alive. You’re the last person I think of, the last I talk to before sleep every night, and the first thought every morning. I couldn’t sleep, so I wrote these words for you, thoughts I’ve wanted to share but couldn’t because you’re not online. The truth is, when you decide to spend your life with someone who drives you crazy, someone unselfish in their love, you want that life to start sharp-sharp! Another truth: I love you so much, Chichi—so much I have no expectations, no rules that say if you do or don’t do something, I’ll stop caring. That’s just a piece of you, not why I love you. I love you for everything you are, everything that makes you whole—not just what you do for me. I love you more every day!

Her: Wow, baby! Awwwwwwn… You’re gonna kill me!

Uche: I love you, baby

Her: I love you tooSmiling in the darkness, she traced the words with her eyes. Uche was a Godsend, a steady light in her world. They’d met at Sabon Gari Market, her haggling over plantains at Yankura for her mother. A voice had cut through the bustle: “My wife, are you cooking plantain for me today?” She’d spun around, ready to snap, but his brown eyes—slanted, warm—stopped her. His full lips, pink against his dark skin, parted in a grin, his curly beard framing a jaw that could’ve been carved. His teeth flashed white, and his smile pulled one from her.“Yes, my husband, I’m frying plantain for you today,” she’d shot back, and they’d dissolved into laughter. “I’m Uche,” he’d said. “I’m Chioma,” she’d replied. That was the spark—simple, electric, the start of everything.Her eyes lingered on the screen, Uche’s words glowing, when the car lurched violently to the left. Her phone flew from her hands, clattering somewhere in the dark. Tires screeched, clawing the tar, and the wagon shuddered to a brutal halt. Chioma’s head snapped forward, her lip splitting against her teeth, a jolt spiking through her spine. She tasted blood, sharp and metallic, but she was awake, alive.The haughty youth corper in the front seat—insisting on sitting alone, beltless—hadn’t been so lucky. His snores had filled the cabin all trip, but now he was silent, flung like a ragdoll into the dashboard. A sickening thwack echoed as his skull met metal. Blood gushed from a gash on his forehead, his mouth a crimson ruin. He didn’t stir.Gunshots cracked the night, sharp and relentless, shattering the haze of shock. “Ku fito maza maza!” a voice bellowed from the darkness beyond the headlights. “Ku fito ko mu kashe ku gaba daya!”—Get out quick, or we’ll kill you all! Chioma’s heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic drum. Robbers. Bandits. Worse. Her mind reeled as she stumbled out onto the grass verge, legs trembling beneath her. The other passengers followed, dazed, some clutching wounds, blood streaking their clothes. The corper stayed slumped, a lifeless heap.The road was eerily still—no traffic on their side, just an endless stream of headlights on the opposite lane, too far, too fast. No one stopped. No one saw. Or if they did, they didn’t care. Heroes didn’t survive here.Nine of them stood—Chioma, the driver, seven others—huddled in terror. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, and the shapes emerged: six figures in black, guns glinting in their hands, their stench—a sour mix of sweat and earth—cutting through the cool air. Menacing shadows, faceless in the dark.“Ke! Yaya sunanki?!” the leader barked, his voice guttural, his Hausa tinged with an accent she couldn’t place. His eyes raked over her, a predator sizing prey.“Ch… Ch… Chiom… ma,” she stammered, terror choking her. The only woman among them, she shrank inward, her virginity—a vow for her husband—now a fragile thread in her mind. Rape loomed like a specter.“Shegiya! Arniya ce!” he crowed—Pagan! Infidel!—relish dripping from his words. “Koma nan wajen!” He jabbed his rifle barrel toward the undergrowth. “Waye arne a cikin ku?!”—Who’s an infidel among you?—he roared at the others. Heads shook. “Babu.”—None.One bandit prowled to the car, torchlight sweeping the seats, snatching phones—hers among them—and tossing them to the leader, who stuffed them into a knapsack. Another searched the passengers, hands rough, stripping wallets, cash, anything of value. When he reached Chioma, his fingers lingered, sliding from her shoulders to her breasts, squeezing hard. She gasped, pain flaring. His hands dipped lower, violating her, pressing against her mound with cruel arrogance. She flinched, and he snarled, his palm cracking across her face. Her cheek burned, tears stinging her eyes.“Sai kin ci ubanki idan muka karasa. Wallahi sai mun kwana muna amfani dake,” he spat—You’ll eat your father’s shame when we’re done. We’ll use you all night. Chioma choked back a sob, her plea spilling out. “Don Allah ku kyale ni. Don Allah! Ko me kuke so zan baku, amma don Allah ku kyale ni…”—Please let me go. I’ll give you anything, just let me go.“Ba abunda kike dashi da muke so!” the leader snapped—You’ve got nothing we want!—“Wallahi idan baki daina kuka ba zamu kashe ki a nan wajen!”—If you don’t stop crying, we’ll kill you right here! She bit her lip, silencing herself, tears streaming.He strode to the driver, nodding at the corper. “Shi wancan bacci yake yi ko ya mutu ne?”—Is that one sleeping or dead? The driver mumbled, “Unconscious.” The leader raised his rifle, aimed at the corper’s head, and fired. Bang! Bang! The body jerked, skull exploding in a spray of blood, bone, and brain across the dashboard. Chioma screamed, a raw, primal sound. The others stared at the ground, frozen.“Muje ta nan!” the leader growled, pointing to a path vanishing into the dark undergrowth. Chioma’s knees buckled as realization crashed over her. Not just robbed. Kidnapped.