MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE

THE HUNT

48 hours later. Interpol HQ, Lyon, France.

The war room smelled like coffee and panic.

Maps covered every wall. Red string connecting Lagos to Cotonou to Dubai to Geneva to... nowhere. Because the 'PYTHON I' had vanished.

Tunde stood with his arms crossed. Still in the same black hoodie from Geneva. He hadn’t slept. Neither had Ayo, Nnamdi, or Kunle.

On the screen: a photo of O.M. Makinde. Grey suit. No smile. Taken 6 months ago at a charity gala.

Beneath it, the words: 'WANTED. INTERNATIONAL FLIGHT RISK. ARMED AND DANGEROUS.'

“72 hours,” said Director Claire Dubois of Interpol. French. Sharp. Tired. “That’s how long he’s been off-grid. No passport scans. No credit cards. No yacht sightings. Nothing.”

“He’s not hiding,” Tunde said. “He’s rebuilding.”

Dubois looked at him. “You sound sure.”

“Because I am,” Tunde said. “Men like Makinde don’t run to hide. They run to start over. With a new name. A new symbol. A new network.”

Ayo stepped forward. “The Jackal.”

Nnamdi pulled up the photo from the 'Oduduwa Star'. The carved jackal head. Eyes cut out. “We saw this in Geneva. He carved it into the captain’s door. That was a message. ‘The snake is dead. The jackal is here.’”

Kunle was eating croissants. “So we’re hunting a jackal now? Do jackals bite?”

“They bite,” Dubois said. “And they hunt in packs.”

She tapped the screen. New photos appeared.

A shipping container in Morocco.

A warehouse in Portugal.

A server farm in Turkey.

All hit in the last 36 hours. All with the same symbol left behind.

“The Jackal King,” Dubois said. “That’s what he’s calling himself now. And he’s hitting the same routes. Medical supplies in, guns out. People in the middle.”

Tunde felt his jaw tighten. “He’s doing exactly what we did to him. Rebuilding in 3 cities at once. So we can’t catch him in one place.”

“Then we don’t try,” Nnamdi said. He was already typing. “We let him think we’re chasing him. And we hit where he’ll be, not where he is.”

Dubois raised an eyebrow. “And where is that?”

Nnamdi turned the laptop. On screen: a flight manifest. Private jet. Leaving Istanbul in 12 hours. Destination: 'Lagos.'

“Home,” Nnamdi said. “He’s coming for Chief. For the Adeyemi name. To finish what he started.”

The room went quiet.

Tunde looked at his brothers. “Then we beat him there.”

12 hours later. Somewhere over the Mediterranean.

Commercial flight again. Tourist class.

But this time they weren’t alone.

2 Interpol agents. 1 DSS liaison. And a bag with 4 passports that were real this time.

Ayo was staring out the window. “He wants us to come home. That’s the trap.”

“Good,” Tunde said. “Traps work both ways.”

Kunle: “Do traps have snacks? Because I’m hungry.”

Nnamdi didn’t look up from his laptop. “I’ve been tracking dark web chatter. ‘Jackal’ is recruiting. Ex-military. Mercs. Smugglers. He’s offering triple pay. And he’s using crypto. Untraceable.”

“Unless,” Nnamdi smiled. “You know where to look.”

He hit enter. A map lit up. 3 dots.

'Casablanca, Morocco.'

'Porto, Portugal.'

'Istanbul, Turkey.'

“His new cells,” Nnamdi said. “The Phantom Cells. He’s running them remotely. But he has to check in. In person. Once.”

“When?” Tunde asked.

“48 hours. He’ll do a sweep. Make sure they’re loyal.”

“So we split up,” Ayo said. “Three teams. Three cities. We hit them all at the same time.”

Tunde nodded. “And the fourth team... waits in Lagos.”

'DAY 1: THE HUNT BEGINS'

TEAM 1: At CASABLANCA - TUNDE + KUNLE as a team

The sun in Morocco was different. Dry. Heavy. The port smelled like fish and diesel.

Their target: Container Yard 7. Makinde’s new shipment was supposed to land at midnight.

Tunde was dressed as a dockworker. Kunle as a customs officer. Badges forged by Nnamdi.

“Remember,” Tunde said into his mic. “We don’t take the container. We let it go. We follow it.”

“Got it,” Kunle said. Then: “Do dockworkers get lunch breaks? Because—”

“Focus.”

At 11:58pm, the ship came in. 'JACKAL I.' New name. Same game.

They watched from the shadows as men loaded 6 containers onto trucks. All marked “TEXTILES”.

Tunde tagged one with a tracker.

The trucks rolled out. Tunde and Kunle followed on a motorbike.

20 minutes later, the trucks stopped at a warehouse outside the city.

Tunde saw him.

Makinde. Not on the ground. On a screen. Video call projected on the warehouse wall.

“You’re late,” the voice said. Makinde’s voice. Calm.

A man in the warehouse saluted. “Jackal King. The shipment is secure.”

On screen, Makinde smiled. “Good. Phase 2 starts in Lagos in 72 hours. Don’t fail me.”

The call cut.

Tunde’s blood went cold. 72 hours.

Kunle whispered: “We got him?”

“No,” Tunde said. “We got his shadow.”

TEAM 2: In PORTO, PORTUGAL - AYO as one man team.

Porto was rain and old stone.

Ayo was alone. Posing as a buyer.

The meet was in a basement. 10 men. All ex-military. All waiting for “the boss”.

The door opened.

Not Makinde. A woman. Early 30s. Scar across her cheek.

“I’m the Jackal’s Hand,” she said. “He doesn’t come himself anymore. Too hot.”

Ayo kept his face blank. “The payment?”

“Crypto. After delivery.” She slid a tablet across. On it: photos of the next shipment. People. In containers.

Ayo’s hands shook. “Where?”

“Lagos,” she said. “Same as always.”

Before he could answer, the lights went out.

Gunfire.

Interpol raid.

By the time the dust cleared, the woman was gone. And 9 men were in cuffs.

Ayo found one thing on the table. A silver pin. A jackal’s head.

He pocketed it. “He’s watching,” Ayo whispered into his mic. “He knew we were coming.”

TEAM 3: At ISTANBUL, TURKEY - NNAMDI as one man team.

Nnamdi didn’t go in. He stayed in a hotel room 3 blocks away.

Because the Phantom Cell in Istanbul wasn’t people. It was servers.

An entire server farm. Running Makinde’s crypto. His comms. His money.

Nnamdi worked for 6 hours straight. Hacking. Bouncing. In.

And at 3am, he found it.

A calendar invite. “MEET: LAGOS SAFEHOUSE. 72 HOURS. FINAL PHASE.”

Location: An abandoned DSS safehouse in Ikoyi.

Nnamdi called Tunde immediately. “He’s in Lagos. In 3 days. At the old safehouse.”

Tunde was quiet for a long time. “Then that’s where we end this.”

DAY 3: in LAGOS, NIGERIA - THE ADEYEMI COMPOUND

Chief was waiting on the porch. In his wheelchair. A blanket over his legs. A shotgun across his lap.

“You think I don’t know?” he said when Tunde walked in. “Interpol called. Said my son was hunting a ghost.”

“Baba,” Tunde said. “You need to go. Now.”

Chief shook his head. “No. This ends here. In my house.”

Ayo, Nnamdi, Kunle, Amaka. All of them there.

Nnamdi set up the perimeter. Drones. Cameras. Tripwires.

“We have 12 hours,” Nnamdi said. “Then he comes.”

Tunde looked at the house. His childhood home.

“He wants to kill the name,” Tunde said. “So we let him try.”

Night fell.

10pm. Nothing.

11pm. Nothing.

12am. A light in the trees.

4 men. Moving slow. Professional.

Tunde raised his hand. Wait.

They got to the gate.

And stopped.

Because waiting for them were 20 DSS agents.

And Tunde.

Makinde stepped out from the trees. Alone. No suit. Jeans. T-shirt. The silver jackal pin on his chest.

He looked at Tunde. “You should’ve stayed in Geneva.”

“You should’ve stayed in jail,” Tunde said.

Makinde smiled. “We’re not so different, you and I. We both built empires. We both lost brothers.”

“Don’t say his name,” Tunde said. Quiet. Deadly.

“I’ll say whatever I want,” Makinde said. He pulled out a remote. “You have 60 seconds to let me walk. Or this whole block goes up.”

Bomb.

Tunde didn’t blink. “You think I care?”

“I think you care about the man in the wheelchair,” Makinde said. Nodded to Chief.

Chief raised the shotgun. “Try it.”

The standoff lasted 10 seconds.

Then sirens. From every direction.

Makinde’s face changed. For the first time, he looked surprised.

“You called the police?” he laughed. “In your own house?”

“No,” Tunde said. “I called the world.”

He held up his phone. Live stream. 8 million people watching.

“You wanted to be a ghost,” Tunde said. “Now you’re famous.”

Makinde looked at the cameras. At the drones. At the world watching.

He dropped the remote.

DSS moved in.

As they cuffed him, Makinde leaned close to Tunde. “The Jackal has cubs,” he whispered. “You didn’t kill the pack.”

Then he was gone.

1 WEEK LATER

The news: 'JACKAL KING CAPTURED IN LAGOS. GLOBAL TRAFFICKING NETWORK DISMANTLED.'

Chief was home. Healing.

Tunde stood on the roof of the compound at night. Looking at the city.

His phone buzzed. Unknown number.

Text: “The pack remembers. -J”

Tunde deleted it.

Ayo came up behind him. “You think it’s over?”

Tunde looked at the sky. “No. But tonight, we won.”

In the distance, Lake Lagos was calm.

For now.