MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

ESCAPE THROUGH THE CREEK.

The sun was bleeding orange over the water.

Kunle was on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. Lekan was in another, with Ayo refusing to leave his side. Tafa and Bassey were zip-tied in the back of a DSS van.

But the shipment was gone.

The container that was supposed to leave at midnight? Empty.

Just snake crates and that red paint.

“They moved it while we were fighting,” Nnamdi said, kicking a broken crate. “Boat must’ve left an hour ago.”

Tunde was standing at the edge of the dock, staring at the creek. His jacket was still damp. His hands still smelled like snake and smoke.

“Then we follow it,” he said.

Ayo walked up. “Tunde, no. You and Kunle need hospital. This is a DSS matter now.”

Tunde turned. “Sir, with respect. The leak is inside. You don’t know who to trust. And if we wait for paperwork, The Python King disappears again.”

Ayo looked tired. Then he looked at Lekan in the ambulance. Lekan gave a small nod.

Ayo sighed. “Fine. 30 minutes. One boat. Me, you, Nnamdi. No sirens. No backup. If it goes bad, we pull out.”

'6:15am. Badagry Creek.'

They took a speedboat. No DSS markings. Just fishermen gear thrown over the weapons.

The creek was wide, full of mangroves and small islands. Perfect for smuggling.

Nnamdi was driving. Ayo had binoculars. Tunde was watching the water.

“Contact, 2 kilometers ahead,” Ayo said. “Medium cargo boat. No name. Running dark.”

Tunde’s stomach dropped. “That’s it.”

As they got closer, they saw men on deck. Armed.

And at the front of the boat, standing alone: a tall figure in a black agbada. Face hidden by a wide hat. A gold ring shaped like a coiled snake on his finger.

He didn’t run. He just turned his head, like he knew they were coming.

Even from this distance, Tunde felt it. Cold. Calculated.

“The Python King,” Nnamdi whispered.

The figure raised one hand.

And from the water, 3 smaller boats shot out. Armed men. Cutting them off.

“Ambush,” Ayo said. “Turn!”

Gunfire cracked over the water.

Tunde grabbed a rifle. He wasn’t DSS, but he wasn’t going to watch his brother and mentor die.

Nnamdi swerved between mangroves. Bullets tore through the boat’s side.

Ayo returned fire, calm and precise. Two of the smaller boats veered off.

But the big cargo boat was getting away. Faster. Heading toward international waters. Toward Cotonou.

The man in the agbada looked back one last time. He lifted his hat slightly.

Tunde only saw a glimpse. Mid-40s. Scar under the left eye. And a smile that wasn’t a smile.

Then the boat hit open water and vanished into the morning haze.

Silence, except for the engine and waves.

Ayo lowered his gun. “He let us live.”

Tunde frowned. “Why?”

“Because he wants us to chase him,” Ayo said. “This isn’t over in Lagos.”

Nnamdi checked his phone. A new message. Unknown number.

He showed it to Tunde.

Welcome to the hunt. Next stop: Cotonou. Bring your father’s name. - PK'

Tunde clenched his jaw.

“They’re going after Chief,” he said.

Ayo put a hand on his shoulder. “Then we get there first.”

The boat turned back toward shore.

Behind them, the creek was quiet again.

But the snake had slipped away. And now it knew their names.

'9:30am. DSS Headquarters, Abuja.'

The air in the briefing room was heavy.

Ayo stood at the front, arms crossed. Tunde and Nnamdi sat to the side. Lekan was in the hospital, stable but under guard. Kunle was getting stitches.

On the table: photos of Warehouse Delta-9, the tagged snakes, and the red paint.

'THE PYTHON KING SEES YOU.'

“The raid was compromised,” Ayo said, voice low. “They moved the shipment 40 minutes before we breached. They knew the time, the team, the entry point.”

Silence.

Nnamdi looked around the room. 12 officers. Some he’d worked with for 5 years.

“Which means one of us talked,” he said.

A senior officer, DCP Ibrahim, slammed his hand on the table. “You’re accusing DSS of treason?”

“I’m accusing someone of being paid,” Ayo shot back. “Because The Python King didn’t guess. He was told.”

Tunde watched faces. No one looked guilty. That was the problem.

“Chief Adeyemi’s name was in that text,” Tunde said. “They’re coming for my father next. If the leak is here, they already know where he is.”

Ayo nodded. “From now on, no phones in this room. No external comms. We run this off-grid.”

He pulled up a file on the projector. Bank transfers.

“Emeka traced the ₦20 million. It moved from a Lagos account, to Cotonou, to Dubai, in 6 hours. The Lagos account belongs to a shell company. The director?”

He clicked.

A photo came up. 'Bassey.'

The room murmured. Bassey was in custody, but he wasn’t talking.

“But Bassey is small,” Nnamdi said. “He’s a messenger. Someone gave him the orders and the timeline.”

Ayo pulled up another slide. Staff schedules for the last 2 weeks.

“Only 4 people had access to the Delta-9 operation details before the breach.”

He highlighted the names:

1. DSP Ayo Adeyemi

2. DCP Ibrahim

3. Inspector Tafa - already arrested

4. Sergeant Nnamdi Okoro

Tunde’s chest tightened.

Ayo looked straight at him. “That means the leak is either me, Ibrahim, or Nnamdi.”

The room went cold.

DCP Ibrahim stood up. “This is ridiculous. I’ve served 20 years.”

Ayo didn’t blink. “Then prove it. We’re doing full background checks, phone dumps, and financial audits. Starting now.”

After the meeting, Tunde caught Ayo in the hallway.

“Sir... do you really think it’s one of us?”

Ayo rubbed his eyes. He looked older than yesterday.

“I don’t know, Tunde. But I do know this: The Python King wants us to turn on each other. Don’t let him.”

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

He showed Tunde the screen.

You’re getting warm. But you’re looking at the wrong snakes. Check who signed Bassey’s promotion. - PK

Tunde frowned. “Bassey’s promotion... that was signed 2 weeks ago.”

“By the Director of Operations,” Ayo said quietly.

Who was currently on leave in Dubai.

The snake had more heads.

And one of them was signing papers from inside DSS.