MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

THE PACK

3 days after Makinde's arrest. Lagos, Nigeria.

The headlines had stopped screaming.

'JACKAL KING CAPTURED' was old news now. Replaced by politics, football, and another celebrity scandal.

But in the shadows, Lagos never sleeps.

Tunde knew it. That’s why he couldn’t sleep either.

He was on the roof of the Adeyemi compound. 2am. Coffee in one hand. Phone in the other.

The text still burned in his head: “The pack remembers. -J”

Unknown number. Burner. Dead 10 minutes after he sent it.

“Baba’s asleep,” Ayo said behind him. He handed Tunde another coffee. “For once.”

“Good,” Tunde said. “Let him rest.”

Nnamdi came up next. Laptop open. Face lit blue. “We got a problem.”

Kunle followed with bread. “Is it a snack problem? Because I can fix that.”

“Not that kind,” Nnamdi said. He turned the screen.

3 news alerts. Different cities. Same symbol.

Casablanca: Container yard fire. Jackal head spray-painted on the wall.

Porto: 2 Interpol agents attacked. Jackal pin left on one’s chest.

Istanbul: Server farm wiped. Data gone. Jackal carved into the mainframe.

“They’re coordinated,” Nnamdi said. “Happened within 6 hours of each other.”

Ayo picked up the silver pin from Porto. The one he’d pocketed. “The Jackal’s Hand got away. And she’s recruiting.”

Tunde closed his eyes. “The pack.”

Amaka’s voice came through the earpiece. She was in the ops room downstairs. “Guys... you need to see this.”

She pushed a video to all their phones.

Dark room. Masked figures. 8 of them. Standing in a circle.

In the middle: a table. On it, photos of Tunde, Ayo, Nnamdi, Kunle, Chief, Amaka.

Red X’s over each face.

A voice spoke. Distorted. Female.

“The King is in chains. But the Pack runs free. The Adeyemi Taskforce took our father. Now we take their blood. Starting with the head.”

The video cut.

Silence.

“She means Chief,” Tunde said. Quiet.

DAY 1: THE FIRST MOVE

6:00am. DSS Safehouse, Ikoyi.

The “abandoned” safehouse from Makinde’s calendar.

But it wasn’t abandoned anymore. DSS had turned it into a trap. Cameras. Snipers. Agents in every shadow.

Chief refused to leave. “If they want me, let them come to my ground.”

Tunde didn’t like it. But he understood.

10:14am. The power cut.

Total blackout in a 3-block radius.

“Here we go,” Nnamdi said. He was jacked into the backup generator. “6 heat signatures. West wall.”

They came fast. Professional. Night vision. Suppressed weapons.

Not to kill. To extract.

Tunde and Ayo moved first.

Gunfire. No shouting. Just movement.

Kunle was on the roof with a rifle. “Two down. Four moving to the back.”

Chief was in the middle of the room. Shotgun in his lap. Calm. “I told you boys I still had teeth.”

One of the attackers made it through the window. Young. Early 20s. Mask on. He froze when he saw Chief.

“Drop it,” Ayo said.

The kid raised his hands. But his eyes... they weren’t scared. They were angry.

“Your father put mine in the ground,” the kid said. “Makinde was all we had.”

Tunde stepped forward. “Makinde used you. He used all of you.”

The kid laughed. “And you think you’re different? You’re just another king with a gun.”

DSS took him.

As they dragged him out, he looked at Tunde. “The Pack has 12 cells. You caught 1. There are 11 more. And we know where your sister lives.”

Tunde’s blood went cold. “What sister?”

The kid smiled. “Exactly.”

DAY 2: THE LEAK

Lagos. DSS Headquarters.

Emergency meeting.

Director of DSS, Interpol, and the Adeyemi Taskforce.

“Someone on the inside is feeding them,” Dubois said. She slammed the Porto report on the table. “They knew our raid time. To the minute.”

Nnamdi was already running checks. “IP addresses. Burner phones. Crypto wallets. Someone with Level 4 clearance has been talking to them.”

All eyes turned to the DSS liaison in the room. Captain Bello.

Bello stood up. Slow. “You think it’s me?”

“I think it’s someone,” Tunde said. “And until we know who, we trust no one.”

Bello’s face went hard. “Then you’re on your own.”

He walked out.

Ayo watched him go. “We should follow him.”

“No,” Tunde said. “We let him think we’re blind. And we watch.”

DAY 3: THE PACK HITS HOME

8pm. Amaka’s apartment, Victoria Island.

Amaka lived alone. Small place. Safe, she thought.

She was editing footage when the lights flickered.

Then her door blew in.

3 people. Masks. Guns.

Amaka didn’t scream. She ran.

Out the back window. Down the fire escape.

Her phone was already dialing. “Tunde!”

“We’re 4 minutes out,” Tunde said. He was driving. 120km/h through Lagos traffic. “Stay on the line.”

“I see them,” Amaka whispered. She was hiding in an alley. “2 of them. Searching.”

Footsteps. Closer.

A hand grabbed her ankle.

Amaka kicked. Screamed.

Gunshot.

Then nothing.

Tunde burst into the alley 3 minutes later.

Amaka was on the ground. Breathing. Alive.

And over her, stood Ayo. Gun in hand. One of the attackers at his feet. The other two running.

“It’s okay,” Ayo said. He pulled Amaka up. “I got you.”

She was shaking. “They knew my address. They knew my schedule. Tunde... someone told them.”

Tunde pulled her into a hug. Hard. “I know. We’ll find them.”

On the dead attacker’s wrist: a tattoo. A jackal. And under it, a number. Cell 7.

NIGHT 3: THE HUNT TURNS

DSS Interrogation Room.

The kid from the safehouse. Cell 7.

Tunde sat across from him. No lawyer. No recorder.

“You want to know about the Pack,” the kid said. “I’ll tell you. For a price.”

“What price?”

“My brother. He’s in Cell 4. In Porto. If you get him out before they kill him, I talk.”

Tunde stared at him. “You’re asking me to betray Interpol.”

“I’m asking you to be human,” the kid said. “Like Makinde never was.”

Tunde stood up. “Deal.”

Outside, Ayo was waiting. “You can’t do that.”

“I just did,” Tunde said. “Because the Pack isn’t just Makinde’s. It’s kids. It’s brothers. It’s people he broke and rebuilt. If we don’t cut the root, we’ll be fighting jackals forever.”

Nnamdi looked up from his laptop. “I found the leak.”

Everyone turned.

“It’s not Bello,” Nnamdi said. “It’s someone higher. Someone with access to all our comms. All our safehouses. All our family files.”

He turned the screen.

A name.

A photo.

Deputy Director Emeka Adeyemi.

The room went silent.

“Emeka’s dead,” Kunle said. “We saw it.”

“His credentials aren’t,” Nnamdi said. “Someone’s using them. From inside DSS HQ.”

Tunde felt the floor drop out.

The Pack wasn’t just outside.

It was in the house.

MIDNIGHT. THE ADEYEMI COMPOUND.

Tunde stood in Emeka’s old room.

His brother’s things were still there. Laptop. Jacket. That stupid mug that said 'WORLD’S OKAYEST BROTHER.'

On the desk: a piece of paper. New.

One line, in handwriting Tunde knew.

“If you want to find the Pack, follow the Jackal home. -E”

Tunde picked it up. His hands were shaking.

Ayo came in. “What is it?”

Tunde held it up. “It’s from Emeka.”

“But Emeka’s—”

“I know,” Tunde said. “Which means either he’s alive. Or someone wants us to think he is.”

He looked out the window. At Lagos. At the city that had taken so much.

“The Pack remembers,” Tunde whispered.

“Then let them remember this. We don’t run. We hunt.”