Chapter 5
1336 Words
Darian glanced at Mila. She was already moving. Quiet. Toward the nursery.
"Get to the point," he said.
"The point is simple. You took something that did not belong to you. Now I take something that belongs to you."
Click.
Line dead.
Darian stood fast. Heart slamming.
Mila came back carrying Amila. The boy sleepy. Rubbing his eyes.
"He is fine," she whispered. "Still sleeping through it."
Darian took his son. Held him close. Amila nestled against his neck. Warm. Small. Safe.
For now.
Mila grabbed her own phone. Texted the head of security downstairs. Code word. Full lockdown.
Minutes later the building went quiet. Elevators disabled. Doors sealed. Armed men on every floor.
Darian carried Amila back to the nursery. Laid him down. Watched him settle.
Mila stood beside him.
"We need to move," she said. "Somewhere they do not know."
"Where?" he asked. "Every safe house I have is known to at least three people who used to work for Marcus. Loyalty shifts fast when money dries up."
She thought for a second.
"My old place," she said. "The one in Ikeja. Before the agency. No one knows I still own it. Paid cash. No paper trail."
He looked at her.
"You sure?"
"As sure as I can be."
He nodded.
They moved fast. Packed light. Essentials only. Weapons. Cash. Documents. Clothes for Amila.
Security team escorted them to the underground garage. Two SUVs waited. Blacked out. Armored.
Darian took the wheel of the lead car. Mila in the passenger seat. Amila in his car seat in the back. Snug. Asleep again.
The second car followed. Four men. Good ones. Loyal.
They slipped out through a service exit. Avoided main roads. Took back streets. Rain made everything slick. Headlights cut through sheets of water.
No one spoke much.
Darian kept checking mirrors.
Nothing behind them.
Yet.
The house in Ikeja was small. Two bedrooms. Faded yellow paint. Iron gate. Overgrown compound. Looked abandoned from the street.
Inside it smelled of dust and old wood. But clean enough. Mila had paid a woman to air it out once a month. Just in case.
They settled Amila in the smaller room. He woke once. Confused. Mila sang to him. Soft. The same lullaby she always used. He drifted off again.
Darian checked windows. Doors. Perimeter.
Mila joined him in the living room.
"Nothing moving out there," she said.
"Does not mean nothing is coming."
She sat beside him on the worn couch.
He pulled her close.
They sat in silence. Listening to rain on the tin roof.
After a while she spoke.
"Tell me what you are thinking."
"I am thinking whoever called knows more than they should. They know Marcus is dead. They know I had something to do with it. They know Amila is my weakness."
She nodded slow.
"Could be Bella," she said.
"Could be. But Bella never had the stomach for this kind of play. She liked the money. Not the blood."
"Then someone Marcus trusted. Someone who inherited his network."
Darian rubbed his face.
"Or someone new. Someone who waited for the perfect moment."
Mila leaned her head on his shoulder.
"We wait them out. We have food. Water. Power. We stay low until we figure out who."
He kissed the top of her head.
"I hate waiting."
"I know."
They stayed like that until the rain eased.
Around three in the morning the power cut.
Darkness swallowed the house.
Darian was up instantly. Gun in hand.
Mila beside him. Her own weapon ready.
They moved to the windows. Peered through cracks in the curtains.
Street empty. No cars. No lights anywhere.
Neighborhood blackout.
Or targeted.
Darian whispered.
"Generator in the back. I will start it."
She shook her head.
"Too loud. Too obvious. We stay dark."
He nodded.
They checked on Amila. Still sleeping.
Then they took positions. Him by the front door. Her by the back.
Waiting.
Hours passed.
Nothing.
Dawn came gray and wet.
Power returned suddenly. Lights flickered on.
They exhaled.
False alarm.
Maybe.
Darian made coffee on the small stove. Strong. Black.
Mila fed Amila cereal. He babbled happily. Oblivious.
Darian watched them. Chest tight.
This could not last forever.
Mid morning his phone rang again.
Same unknown number.
He answered.
Same distorted voice.
"You move fast. Impressive."
Darian gripped the phone harder.
"What do you want?"
"Simple trade. You give me the ports. All access codes. All routes. All contacts. In return I let your boy live."
Darian laughed cold.
"You think I will hand over everything I built?"
"You think you have a choice?"
Silence.
Then the voice continued.
"Check your email."
Line dead.
Darian opened his laptop.
One new message.
Attachment.
Video.
He clicked.
Grainy footage.
From inside the nursery.
Last night.
Someone in black. Hood up. Standing over Amila crib.
Watching him sleep.
Then the figure turned.
Looked straight at the camera.
Waved once.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Then vanished.
Darian felt ice in his veins.
Mila came up behind him.
Saw the screen.
Her face went pale.
"They were here," she whispered.
"Inside the penthouse," he said. "Before we left."
She stared at the video.
"How did they get past security?"
"Someone let them in."
Betrayal.
Again.
Darian closed the laptop.
Stood.
"We are leaving. Now."
"Where?"
"Anywhere but here."
They packed again. Faster this time.
Amila sensed the tension. Started crying.
Mila carried him. Soothed him.
Darian checked the street.
Clear.
They slipped out the back gate. Into an alley.
Second car waiting. Different one. Borrowed from an old contact Mila trusted.
They drove.
No destination.
Just away.
Hours on the road.
Amila slept.
Mila stared out the window.
Darian gripped the wheel.
His phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
He pulled over on a quiet stretch outside the city. Bush on both sides. No houses.
Answered.
"You are running," the voice said.
"You are wasting time," Darian replied.
"Time is what you do not have. Twenty four hours. Ports. Or the boy dies slow."
Click.
Darian threw the phone out the window.
Smashed it under his boot.
Mila watched.
"We need new phones," she said. "Burners."
He nodded.
They drove to a small market town. Bought cheap phones. Cash only.
Darian called his most trusted lieutenant. Victor.
Explained in short sentences.
Victor swore.
"I will find who let them in," he said. "I swear."
"Do it fast."
Darian hung up.
They kept moving.
Night fell.
They found a small motel off the highway. One room. Two beds.
Amila played on the floor with a toy car Mila bought him.
Darian sat on the edge of the bed. Watching the door.
Mila sat beside him.
"We cannot run forever," she said.
"I know."
"So what is the plan?"
He looked at her.
"I give them nothing. I find them. I end them."
She nodded slow.
"Then we need to draw them out."
"How?"
"Use me."
He frowned.
"No."
"Yes. They want the ports. They think I know things. Because I was close to Marcus. Let them think I am the weak link."
Darian shook his head.
"Too dangerous."
"Everything is dangerous right now."
He looked at Amila. Innocent. Laughing at his toy.
Then back at Mila.
She touched his face.
"I can do this. Trust me."
He closed his eyes.
When he opened them he nodded once.
"Okay."
They planned through the night.
Simple.
Risky.
Mila would make a call. Old contact from Marcus days. Say she wanted out. Say she had information to sell. Say Darian was cracking under pressure.
Let the enemy come to her.
Darian would follow. Invisible.
Amila would stay with Victor wife. Safe house outside Abeokuta. Armed guards. No one knew the location except three people. Victor included.
They moved at dawn.
Dropped Amila first.
The handover hurt.
Amila clung to Mila. Cried when she handed him to the woman.
Darian held him last.
Kissed his forehead.
"I will come back for you," he whispered.
Amila nodded. Tears on his cheeks.
Then they left.
- Writer
