The Presidential Target

Chapter Seven

Summons

0800hours

February 21

Iwerri, Omi State.

Detective Superintendent Idris Gambo walked out from the shower, dripping water all over the floor.

He was late for work. He had slept very late the night before. He wondered if he really slept at all.

"I'll call in sick today," Mercy lay on the bed, her body covered by the sheet. "After last night, I don't think I can do any other thing today other than sleeping."

"I don't have that luxury," Idris said planting a kiss on her lips. "I have a ton of case files I have to attend to urgently. I'm very late already. I don't know how I'm going to stay awake in the office today."

Mercy laughed at his agony. They had been dating for the last couple of months. Their first date, after their meeting at Adewuyi's murder scene, had led to many more dates afterward. Now they almost live together.

Mercy hadn’t been to her apartment in the last few weeks, and almost all her personal effects had gradually found their way from her place to Gambo's place.

Idris hurriedly got into his work clothes and wore his shoes. He picked up his bolstered service pistol from the table, and attached the holster to his belt.

He sat on the bed and wore his socks and shoes. He picked up the car keys from the dresser and planted another kiss on Mercy's lips before standing up.

"I've got to run," he said. "See you when I get back this evening."

"What would you like for dinner?"

"Anything you cook works for me."

He walked out of the house and opened the door of his car. The engine came to life at the second attempt. He shifted the manual gear stick into the first gear, and drove the car out of the compound.

The drive from his house at Igbi to the State CID, didn't take up to thirty minutes. He was soon seated in his tiny office reviewing a pile of case files on his desk.

He was on the third file, when a young corporal came to summon him to the Commissioner's office.

The Omi State Commissioner of Police was a tiny, fair in complexion man gradually drawing closer to his retirement age. He adjusted his reading glasses when Idris knocked and walked into the office.

"Yes, Yes, Idris," he said without any pleasantries. "You are needed at Force Headquarters FCT. The IG wants to see you for an important assignment."

"An assignment sir?"

"Yes, Yes," the Commissioner said impatiently. "I don't have the details. Your flight have been booked. My secretary will fill you in on that. You are to report to Force Headquaters today. So start moving. Whatever it is they want you there for must be very important and urgent."

"Yes sir," Idris started to leave then stopped. "Sir what happens to the case files I'm working on?"

"I'll reassign them," the Commissioner said waving him away. "Just be on your way. You can't keep the IG waiting my friend."

"Yes sir."

Idris went back to his office after collecting an envelope from the Commissioner’s secretary, and gathered his personal effects. He didn’t know how long he would be away, and didn’t want somebody else snooping around his things when they send somebody to handle the case files.

He was soon in his car and started driving back to the house. He had called Mercy on the way, informing her of the situation.

"When are you coming back?"

"I don't know," he replied. "The ticket is one way. Pack a bag for me, I'm on my way to the house. Get ready to drive me to the airport so you can bring back the car."

“Alright,” she said. “Let me also take a quick shower before you get here.”

0920hours

February 21

Asube, Harbor State.

The young man, dressed in dirty jeans trousers and a singlet that was once white, leaned against the old truck.

He smoked a joint of m*******a casually. The truck was parked in a bush path, somewhere in the outskirts of the city. There was massive trees and bushes on all sides.

Another man sat inside the truck. He looked older. He smoked a cigarette. On the truck seat beside him, were two Kalashnikov AK-47 assault rifles, with extra magazines strapped to them with masking tapes.

A car appeared at the end of the path and slowly approached them.

"E be like say them don show," the young man said. He opened the passenger door of the truck, a took one of the assault rifles. The driver took the second rifle and got down from the truck.

The black car, a late model Mercedes-Benz sedan, came to a stop some meters from where the truck was parked.

The engine was turned of and two well dressed men got down from the Mercedes. They approached the two armed men.

"Na una be the people wey Agaba direct come here?" the driver who seemed to be in charge, asked in pidgin English.

"Yes na we."

"So una sabi wetin e go be for wetin una ask for?” the driver said.

"That one no be problem," one of the men replied. "You get wetin we want abi?"

"Make we see your paper."

The man from the Mercedes who spoke nodded at his partner. The man went back to the Mercedes and came out with a bag. He opened it and showed the content to the armed men. The bag was filled with bundles of Gongolan pounds notes.

"Your turn."

The driver nodded at the young man and he opened the back of the truck. The truck was carrying wooden crates. The younger man opened one of the crates to show they contained rifles and ammunition.

The man from the Mercedes came closer and took one of the rifles. He handled it expertly as he checked the weapon. He seemed satisfied.

"Now gentlemen," he said turning to the driver who seemed to have relaxed a bit. "You're both under arrest."

The driver started raising his rifle, but the man delivered a karate chop to his throat cutting off air. The man dropped his rifle and held his throat as he fell to the ground, struggling to breathe.

The younger man had slung his rifle over his shoulder. He started reaching for it but the second man from the Mercedes fired a round from his pistol into his leg. He screamed in pain as he collapsed to the ground.

"Now just breathe slowly. Don't bother about your man in the bushes," the law officer said to the driver as he forces his wrists into handcuffs. "We took care of him before coming to meet you."

They had found the man hiding inside the forest with a rifle. The criminal had been smoking and gave his position away. They crept up to him and knocked him out. He was inside the boot of the car, his mouth gagged and his wrists fastened behind him with handcuffs.

The two men in the Mercedes, were operatives of the State Security Service, GDSS, tracking a gunrunning syndicate.

The syndicate have been smuggling guns and explosives into the country, and selling to criminals and terrorists.

They didn't care who they sold to or what the weapons were used for, as long as the money was good. The GDSS had been after them for over a year.

The senior agent, Chidiebere Ogoke had set up the buy. He had been working on the case for months, trying to unmask the faces behind the syndicate. One of his informants got him an introduction to the dealers he just took down.

They weren't the ringleaders, but they will lead them to those at the top of the food chain. It wouldn’t be long now and he'll get them all and close the case.

His phone vibrated. It had been vibrating for sometime, but he had to ignore it then. It was the state director.

"Why haven't you been picking your calls?" the Harbor State Director of the GDSS barked immediately Ogoke pushed the answer button.

"I was making an arrest..."

"I don't care if you're burying the dead," the Director wasn't interested in what he had to say. "You should be in FCT two hours ago. Get yourself to my office right now."

FCT? Ogoke wondered why he had to be in FCT. Was he facing any disciplinary issues? Well, there were probably a few. He turned to the junior agent.

"Seems like you're running this one solo," he said. "The Director is sending me to FCT. Let's get the suspects and the guns back to the office. You're driving the truck and the injured guy. I don't want him pouring blood on my car seat. Cost a lot to get the blood off the last time I did that."

He wondered what they wanted him for at FCT as he drove back to the office. He’ll just have to get there to find out.

1030hours

February 21

Kunu.

Rahaman Abiola was sitting in a small third storey room, watching the house across the street.

He had been on a stake-out, watching the house of the suspected terrorist sponsor. There was a new Islamic Terrorist group that went by the name, Yad Allah يد الله the Hand of God. The man living across the street was believed to be one of the group's sponsors.

Alhaji Muazu Muktar was a very wealthy businessman, who haven't hidden his jihadist and Islamic extremism tendencies.

He was on the watch list of several other intelligence agencies, and Rahaman knew the NSO weren't the only agency that had placed Muktar under surveillance.

Rahaman brought the binoculars to his eyes, and looked into the compound again. There were the usual security making their rounds around the house. His guards used licensed pump action shotguns. Muktar tries to keep his nose clean, but soon enough, he'll slip up. They always slip up.

The radio technician was listening to the bugs they had spirited into the house, at the same time tracking every call and message coming into any mobile device in the house.

The door opened and a senior field agent walked into the room. He was holding a small envelope.

"Rahaman," he said. "You're out of here. You're needed in FCT right away."

"FCT?"

"Yes, that's all I know," the senior field agent said. "And Yes, you're reporting to the Director of the GIA. Some sort of mission or something."

"GIA," Rahaman was confused.

"Here you go," he senior field agent gave him the envelope. "Get yourself to the airport at once."

Rahaman looked at the content. He scuffed. He dropped the binoculars on the single table in the room, and walked out of the room.

He wondered why the needed him in FCT. What was GIA up to?

He flagged down a commercial tricycle, and gave direction to his apartment Dala Buidling estate.

He kept the tricycle waiting when he arrived at his apartment. He rushed inside and threw some clothes into a small bag. He picked up some personal effects and threw them into the bag, then ran out of the house to the waiting tricycle.

He was soon on his way to the airport.

February 21

FCT.

Eight people arrived at the Head Office of the Gongolan Intelligence Agency. They were ushered into a conference room, which had barely hours ago, hosted all the service and intelligence heads in the country.

Two soldiers, both captains, a man and a woman were from Military intelligence. The Gongolan Police sent two men while the GDSS sent a man and a woman. The NSO had sent two of their best men. The GIA operatives were the first to be seated.

The GIA Director wasn't far behind the policemen who were the last to enter the room.

They got to their feet when the Director walked in.

"Sit down," he said impatiently.

They took their seats while the Director opened his briefcase and started bringing out some files.

"How many of you have heard the name Isipoki?" the Director was still going through the files as he spoke. He didn’t look at them.

They have all heard the name and almost in unison, acknowledged it.

"Now we have an Isipoki problem," the Director looked at the faces looking back at him. "And he's gunning for the man at the top, the President."

There was an uneasy silence around the table at those words. The Director looked from one face to the other, noting their reactions.

"The former Senate President, who is now a fugitive," the Director continued. "And the most wanted man in Gongola, isn't done yet with his plot to kill Mr. President. He, and his military conspirators, the names you shall soon have, have concluded plans to hire Isipoki to get the job done. And that's why you're all here."

He paused and looked at them one after the other again. Their faces didn’t betray any emotion or reaction, but he knew they were tense. He would be if he was in their shoes. He was already having an ulcer as it was, with the oversight assignment given to him by the heads of services and intelligence.

"You were all selected because of your exceptional records in solving crime," the Director said. "This time, you have to prevent it. You have to find Isipoki and stop him before he gets to the President. That's why you have been selected."

He looked around the table. There was still no reaction. He didn't expect any reaction from them at the moment.

"We have coordinated with security and intelligence agencies across the continent," the Director continued, tapping on the files in front of him. "Especially, in the countries we know he has operated in. They have sent us everything they have on him, which like what we have on him, isn't much. Interpol also sent what they had.

"Bottom line is that nobody knows who this man is. He’s almost like the name he is called, which is Zulu for ghost. We have all reached a general agreement that he is South African, probably by the name he goes by. But then, he could be from anywhere. We haven't been able to get any fingerprint or match any DNA to him or anybody that can trace to him. You're going to find that connection, with all the information available to you.

"We have provided you with a place to work from. Everything you need, you will be given. This is of the topmost priority and no expense will be spared. Questions?"

"In reaction sir," Idris said. "I would suggest we keep Mr. President away from the public until we can get a handle on this."

"We've already done that and we have one month," the Director said. "The President only agreed to stay away from public functions for one month. That's all the time he's giving us to get ahead of this. He cannot be seen to be running scared. The political vultures will soon be circling on this once they get wind of it."

"We'll also have access to the President and his security detail," Idris said.

"That you shall have," the Director agreed. "It's already been agreed upon. You've all been properly vetted and your security clearances have been upgraded for this purpose.

"My assistant will take you to your field office. You'll have a medical staff there and a well trained forensic team to help you go through all the information we have now. We also have a psychiatrist to help you in profiling. You have living quarters there all taken care of. We don't have time to sit around here. You can get going immediately. You, Idris, you seem to have a good head about this, you're in charge."

The Director's assistant, a tall thin man walked into the room as the Director walked out without ceremony.

"Please follow me gentlemen."

He led them down to a Nigerian made Innoson IVM 6540 mini bus. He got into the driver's seat and unlocked the central locking system. The eight operatives got into the 17 seater mini bus.

The Director's assistant drove the bus to a building in the Asikoro area. Two uniformed mobile policemen were stationed at the gate. They opened it to let them into the large compound.

There were several other cars, all Nigerian made Innoson brands parked in the compound. The President had ordered that 80 percent of Federal Government vehicle purchases, would be made from the Nigerian made Innoson Vehicle Manufacturing Company, as a way to grow the vehicle manufacturing sector. Even the military now preferred the Nigerian Made Proforce and Nnewi based Nigerian made Innoson military vehicles over foreign brands they purchased in the past.

The Director's assistant parked the mini bus beside a Nigerian made Innoson IVM Granite truck, and turned of the engine.

He led the way into the house. There were small office desks arranged in the rooms with technicians setting up computer units on them.

A young man spotting an afro haircut and dressed in a white lab suit, was overseeing the setting up of the computers. He came over to them as they went into a small conference room.

"This is Segun," the Director's assistant introduced the young man. "He's your IT and forensic expert. He's one of the best we have at the GIA."

"I'm the best you have," the young man interjected.

"This is your new boss," the Director's assistant told Segun, pointing at Idris. "I have to get back to the office. You guys better get to work as soon as possible. Segun, show them around to their living space."

The Director's assistant left the house. He got into an Innson Caris sedan and drove out of the compound.

"Well," Segun said trying to hide his excitement. He had never been sent on a special assignment since joining the GIA for over two years. "The Director briefed me enough about the mission at hand..."

"Take us to the rooms first," Idris said. He turned to the others. "Let's freshen up and return to the conference room in 10 minutes."

They agreed. Segun led them to their rooms at the back of the building.

Segun returned to supervising the technicians fixing up the computers. He had arrived earlier and settled in already.

His lab was being set up with some of the best equipment in the market. He had made further requisition for some high-tech forensic equipment. The Director had informed him that no expense would be spared and he had a free hand in getting whatever he felt he needed to get the job done.

Segun already had a long shopping list and had spend the best part of the day, contacting the manufacturers, and placing orders for them. His lab would be the best in the country by the time he was done.

Idris dropped his bag on the bed and brought out his phone. Mercy picked up almost immediately.

“How far?” she asked. “What’s going on?”

“There’s a special assignment I’ve been deployed for by the presidency,” he said. “The details are classified so we can’t discuss it.”

“That means you won't be coming back any time soon?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so love,” he replied. “I’m trying to settle into the place they prepared for us. I have a meeting in ten minutes. I’ll call you later tonight. You just stay safe.”

“You too,” she said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He meant it.