MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

48 HOURS AFTER APAPA

'Hour 0: 6:14am. Apapa Port. Dawn.'

The sun came up orange over the water.

Tunde stood on the dock and watched DSS medics pull the last container open.

40 people. Alive. Coughing. Crying. Hugging each other.

Children. Mothers. Old men.

All marked "MEDICAL SUPPLIES".

Nnamdi walked up, phone in hand. “We got them all. No casualties.”

Emeka was next to him. He hadn’t slept in 36 hours. He looked it.

“You good?” Tunde asked.

Emeka nodded. “I’m good. I’m here.”

That was the answer Tunde had been waiting 6 weeks to hear.

Zara was in the back of an armored van. Cuffed. Head down.

She didn’t look up when Tunde passed.

Kola was already in a separate van. 16 years old. No tears. Just staring at his shoes.

Ayo put a hand on Tunde’s shoulder. “We did it.”

Tunde looked at the city waking up. “For now.”

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Text: “You cut off the head. You killed the hand. But jackals have cubs. See you soon. -J2”

He deleted it. Didn’t tell anyone yet.

'Hour 4: 10:30am. DSS Headquarters, Lagos.'

De-briefing. White room. Fluorescent lights.

The Deputy Director, a woman named Bello, was running it. New. Not compromised.

“Walk me through it,” she said.

Tunde did. From the note to the server farm to the video call.

Emeka took over when it got to Cotonou. He was steady. Clinical. Like he’d practiced this in his head.

When he finished, the room was quiet.

“You’re reinstated,” Director Bello said to Emeka. “Effective immediately. Cyber Division.”

Emeka nodded. “Thank you, ma.”

Nnamdi slid a folder across the table. “The money. 200 million. Cayman account. Frozen.”

“And the Pack?” Bello asked.

“Dismantled,” Ayo said. “12 cells. All hit in the last 24 hours. Interpol confirmed.”

Bello leaned back. “Good work. All of you. Take 48 hours. Then we talk about what’s next.”

Tunde didn’t say anything about J2.

'Hour 6: 12:15pm. The Drive Home.'

No sirens. No convoy. Just Tunde driving.

Emeka in the passenger seat. Ayo and Nnamdi in the back. Kunle following in the second car.

Lagos looked normal. Danfos. Hawkers. Music from speakers.

It felt wrong.

“You think he’s watching us right now?” Emeka asked quietly.

“J2?” Tunde said. “Yes.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I would be,” Tunde said. “If I wanted to break someone, I’d let them breathe first.”

No one talked after that.

'Hour 8: 2:00pm. The Adeyemi Compound.'

The gate opened.

And for the first time in months, it felt like coming home instead of coming back to a safehouse.

Chief was waiting on the veranda. He didn’t run. He just stood there.

Emeka got out of the car first.

Chief looked at him. Really looked. Then he opened his arms.

Emeka walked into them.

No one spoke for a long time.

Finally, Chief pulled back. Held Emeka’s face. “You’re thin.”

“I’m okay, Baba,” Emeka said.

“You’re home,” Chief said. “That’s what matters.”

Inside, the house was clean. Amaka had been there. Fresh sheets. Food in the fridge.

There was a banner on the wall. Handmade. 'WELCOME HOME EMEKA'

Kunle saw it and immediately started crying.

“Shut up,” Ayo said. “You’re ruining the moment.”

“I’m not crying,” Kunle said, wiping his eyes. “It’s dust.”

They ate lunch. Jollof. Chicken. Plantain.

No one talked about work. No one talked about the Pack.

Kola was brought in by 2 DSS officers. House arrest.

He sat at the end of the table. Didn’t eat.

Tunde pushed a plate to him. “Eat.”

Kola looked at Chief. At Emeka. At all of them.

He picked up his fork.

After lunch, Chief made everyone sit.

“No phones,” he said. “Story time.”

And just like that, it was 15 years ago again.

'Hour 18: 8:00pm. Night One.'

The house was quiet.

Tunde couldn’t sleep. He went to the roof.

Emeka was already there. Two mugs of tea.

“You didn’t tell them about the text,” Emeka said.

“No,” Tunde said.

“Why?”

“Because we have 48 hours,” Tunde said. “And I want them.”

Emeka nodded. “Fair.”

They sat. Lagos hummed below. Distant sirens. Music. Life.

“You think J2 is one of Makinde’s cubs?” Emeka asked.

“I think J2 is whoever Makinde told to take over if he fell,” Tunde said. “And I think they’ve been planning this since before we caught him.”

Emeka sipped his tea. “Then we plan too.”

“Tomorrow,” Tunde said. “Tonight, we rest.”

'Day 1: Hour 24. 6:00am.'

The house woke up slow.

Ayo was in the kitchen with Chief. Burning eggs.

“Chief, you said low heat!”

“Boy, this is low heat! Your fire is just too big!”

Nnamdi was actually asleep. On the couch. Laptop closed.

Kunle was trying to teach Kola how to play draft.

Kola was bad at it. But he was smiling.

Amaka came in with groceries. “I got everything. We’re doing a proper dinner tonight.”

Tunde helped her carry bags. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” she said. “It’s been a long time since this house felt like this.”

At noon, they all went to the market. Together.

No vests. No guns. Just shopping bags.

People recognized them.

“Is that the Adeyemi boys?”

“That’s the one who caught Makinde!”

Kids asked for pictures. Tunde took them.

An old woman touched Chief’s arm. “God bless you, sir. God bless your sons.”

Chief just nodded. “We’re just doing our work, mama.”

On the way back, Emeka stopped at a tech shop. Bought a chess set.

“For Kola,” he said.

'Day 1: Hour 30. 2:00pm.'

Back home. Lunch.

Kola actually asked for seconds.

Chief nearly fell off his chair. “You have appetite! Good!”

After, they played games.

Ludo. Chess. Draft. FIFA.

Nnamdi destroyed everyone at FIFA and talked trash the whole time.

“Y’all are trash. I’m the goat.”

“Shut up, Nnamdi,” everyone said in unison.

Amaka showed them videos on her phone. Not case files. Cat videos.

Everyone laughed.

For a few hours, Tunde forgot about J2.

'Day 1: Hour 36. 8:00pm.'

Dinner. Long table. Everyone there.

Chief said grace. Longer than usual.

“Thank you for bringing my son back. Thank you for keeping us. Thank you for this food. And thank you for peace, even if it’s just for a little while.”

They ate. Talked. Argued about football.

Kola sat between Emeka and Ayo. He didn’t say much. But he listened.

After dinner, Tunde and Emeka did dishes.

“You think he’s real?” Emeka asked. “J2?”

“I think someone sent that text,” Tunde said. “And I think they want me to be scared.”

“Are you?”

Tunde paused. “No. I’m tired. But I’m not scared.”

Emeka bumped his shoulder. “Good. Because I’m not scared either. Not with you.”

'Day 1: Hour 42. 2:00am.'

Tunde woke up to nothing.

No alarm. No text. No noise.

He lay there and listened to the house breathe.

Down the hall, he could hear Emeka snoring.

Ayo muttering in his sleep.

Chief’s old radio playing faint highlife.

He closed his eyes. For 3 hours, he didn’t dream about Makinde.

'Day 2: Hour 48. 6:00am.'

The last morning.

Breakfast was pancakes. Kunle’s attempt. They were terrible.

“These taste like cardboard,” Ayo said.

“Eat your cardboard,” Kunle said, mouth full.

Nnamdi was back on his laptop. “Just one last sweep,” he said. “Grid’s still clean.”

Emeka was helping Chief in the garden. Pulling weeds.

“You should have been a farmer,” Chief told him.

“I might be,” Emeka said. “After I retire.”

At 10am, Director Bello called.

“48 hours are up,” she said. “We need you in Abuja tomorrow. Briefing.”

“Understood,” Tunde said.

He hung up.

And his phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

Text: “Lesson 5: Kings fall. -J3”

Tunde stared at it.

Emeka saw his face. “What is it?”

Tunde showed him.

Emeka’s jaw tightened. “J3. Not J2.”

“Means there’s another one,” Tunde said. “And they’re not waiting 48 hours.”

Ayo came over. “What’s up?”

Tunde showed him too.

Ayo cursed. “They can’t even let us have a weekend.”

Nnamdi was already typing. “I’m tracing it. It’s bouncing. But I’ll find it.”

Chief walked in. Saw their faces.

“What is it?”

Tunde looked at his father. At his brothers. At Kola in the corner, watching.

“We had 48 hours,” Tunde said. “Now we don’t.”

Chief nodded slowly. “Then we do what we always do.”

“What’s that?” Kola asked quietly.

Tunde looked at him. Then at his brothers.

“We stand,” Tunde said. “Together.”

'Hour 49: 7:00pm.'

They didn’t pack. Not yet.

Instead, Chief insisted on one last dinner.

“Because tomorrow we go back to war,” he said. “Tonight, we eat.”

So they did.

Suya. Rice. Stew. Everything.

Music played. Old songs.

Ayo danced with Amaka. Badly.

Kunle tried to teach Kola the shaku shaku. Kola fell over laughing.

Nnamdi took pictures. “For later,” he said. “When we need to remember this.”

Tunde stood to the side, watching.

Emeka came up. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Tunde said. “I’m okay.”

“You’re lying.”

Tunde smiled. Small. “I’m trying to be.”

Emeka nodded. “That’s enough for now.”

They clinked plastic cups. Orange soda.

Outside, Lagos was loud. Alive.

Inside, the Adeyemi compound was full.

For 48 hours, the jackals didn’t win.

'Hour 50: 10:30pm.'

Tunde was washing the last plate when his phone buzzed again.

Same unknown number.

New text: '“Enjoyed your dinner. Lesson 5 starts tomorrow. -J3”'

Tunde didn’t show anyone this time.

He just turned the phone off. Put it in his pocket.

Emeka came in. “You coming to bed?”

“In a minute,” Tunde said.

He walked to the window. Looked out at the dark.

Somewhere out there, J3 was watching.

Somewhere out there, another cub was learning how to bite.

But tonight?

Tonight the house was full.

Tonight no one was bleeding.

Tonight they had won.

Tunde turned off the light.

“One more game,” he said to the dark. “Then we hunt.”