MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

WHERE IT ENDS

3:42am. Two days later than planned. Kunle and Tunde drove into the DSS Annex, at Falomo. No sight of a being along the way as everyone was afraid they could be the next target.

No late walk and night part in view as usual for the fear of midnight missing cases in three consecutive weeks.

The building was dark except for one office on the 2nd floor that glowed with electric bulb. Rain tapped the windows.

DSP Ayo was waiting. No uniform. Just black polo and jeans. Inspector Nnamdi was with him, chewing gum fast like he was nervous. Files were spread across the desk. A laptop glowed.

The door opened.

Tunde and Kunle walked in. Thin. Dirty. But standing. They hadn't changed their clothes since the incident.

Ayo stared. Then stood up fast. Looking at them with admiration with sign of relief written all over is face.

“You’re alive.” He paused for a second, thinking. Before they could reply, he continued with worries in his eyes. "I need to call Chief," he screamed with joy within himself. He went to a corner to place a call to Chief Adeyemi and return after a minute that felt like an hour.

As he came in, Tunde speaks, “Barely alive.” He dropped a bag on the desk. Inside: photos from Idiroko, a piece of truck tarp with 'Martins Import & Export' stamped on it, and Mama Seli’s phone number.

“Sit,” Ayo said. He didn’t look at them like a superior. He looked at them like a man who’d seen too much. “I called your dad. He’s furious and happy to hear you are in good condition. He said to lock you up for your own safety.” He sighed as he speaks. "Truth is, you left us all worried. Your Father had promised to burn this nation to ashes if you were not found within seven days." He fixed his eyes on the boys with unreadable expression. "Chief called all his friends across the South-West region. He crossed lines he vowed not to cross. Thank heavens it really worth it."

Kunle sank into a chair. “We almost got killed for the past three days. We were taken to the border,” he paused for a second then he continued. "I know we worried the old man and you all but I hate to say this, They were moving something big. We think Emeka is still there.”

Ayo listened to everything. “I know,” he said. “Club security sent me the footage three days ago. We traced the SUV. No plates. But we got something better.” Rubbing his chin as if lost in taught, he asked, "how did you escape those guys? Because I recall Chief saying he called Martin on the case and he denied involvement in it."

Tunde narrated the incident from the chase, the narrow escape from the offloading truck, the battle, crossing from checkpoints to bush, the two days of little food and no water, the drunk Tafa and key, lastly the woman that hid them from death.

Ayo listened to everything. When they finished, he slid a plastic evidence bag across the table. Inside: a golf tee.

“We found this in the grass at Ikoyi. One fingerprint. Partial. But it matched someone in our system.”

Nnamdi leaned forward. “Tafa Bello. 38. Ex-con. Animal handler. Spent 4 years in Kirikiri for wildlife trafficking. Released 6 months ago."

"He's the man who trained Eku,” Ayo said. “That python didn’t learn to open windows and steal wallets by itself. Tafa did it. He used to work for a circus in Benin Republic. Now he works for Martins.”

Tunde and Kunle exchanged a look. They’d just spent 3 days running from him.

Ayo pulled up another file. A shipping manifest.

“Three weeks ago, a truck registered to 'Martins Import & Export' crossed from Seme into Lagos. Declared: ‘Agricultural equipment’. Actual contents: 2 crates. One had snakes. The other had... this.”

He turned the laptop. CCTV still. A warehouse in 'Oshodi'. Inside the truck, covered by tarpaulin: 'a body bag.'

Kunle’s face went white. “Mama Nkechi?”

“We don’t know,” Ayo said quietly. “But the timestamp matches what Mama Titi told you. 2am. The truck left Ikoyi Club and went straight to Oshodi. Warehouse 17, Moshalashi Street.”

The room went silent.

Tunde stared at the photo. “So it’s all leading to Oshodi.”

“Yes,” Ayo said. “And that’s where it ends. One way or another.”

Nnamdi cleared his throat. “Sir... we can’t get a warrant. Judge is ‘unavailable’. And Martins’ lawyer already filed a motion claiming harassment.”

“Because someone in the system is feeding him everything,” Ayo finished. He looked at Tunde. “That’s why your dad said to stop. The leak is high up.”

Kunle stood up. His hands were shaking, but not from fear this time. From anger.

“So what? We just let them kill her? Let Martins walk? And come for us letter to be killed?”

Ayo stood too. He walked to the window. “No. We don’t have official backup. But we have this.” He tossed Tunde a key.

It was old. Rusty.

“Warehouse 17. Service entrance. I pulled strings to get this 2 years ago during another case. Never used it.”

“You’re giving us illegal entry?” Tunde asked.

“I’m giving you a chance,” Ayo said. “Because if we go through channels, Mama Nkechi will be dead by morning. And Emeka too, if he’s still alive.”

He handed them two things: a Glock, and a small radio.

“Channel 9. Only. No one else is listening. You go in, you find evidence, you get out, you call me. That’s it. No hero stuff.”

Tunde took the gun. It felt heavy.

Kunle took the radio.

Outside, the rain was starting again.

Tunde looked at Kunle.

After the ambush. After the forest. After almost dying.

“One last time,” Kunle said.

Tunde said, “Bro... what if we don’t come out of this?”

Tunde looked at him. “Then we don’t come out fighting for nothing.”

Kunle nodded.

He started the engine.

Destination: Oshodi. Warehouse 17.

His phone buzzed one last time before they hit the express.

Unknown number.

Video. 5 seconds.

Mama Nkechi. Tied. Behind her: Martins. At her feet: Eku.

Text: "Come alone. Or she feeds Eku tonight."