Chapter Five
4195 Words
Isipoki
0934hours
February 7
Tamale, Ghana.
The black Mercedes Benz sedan slowed to a stop at the newspaper vendor's stand along Nyohini road.
The vendor, an old man in his early seventies, recognized his regular customer and knew the papers he usually bought.
He selected the latest editions of three national newspapers from the stand, and went over to the car.
The smoked glass wound down halfway, and the man sitting inside the car took the papers from the vendor.
He handed the vendor a wade of cash and rolled up the window, before the vendor could get him his change.
He always did that, and the vendor would only put on a show of trying to get the change, even though he knew the man was not interested in the change.
The car sat there with it's engine idling away. The man went through the papers until he saw what he was looking for.
"Finally," he said with a smile. "I've started becoming cranky."
He shifted the gear into drive, and the car rolled doubtlessly away.
He lived in a fairly large building, at the Sakasaka quarters of the city, just a few blocks from the Junior High School.
To his neighbours, he was an IT consultant, who was highly sought after locally and globally, which was why he travelled a lot and for long periods at a time.
He was almost 50, and was seriously considering retirement from the trade, to a quiet island country, where he'll bath in the sun all day long.
Isipoki.
There seemed to be no relationship with the wealthy half caste, to the famous assassin. They seemed worlds apart.
But they were one and the same.
Very few people alive knew his real name. Fewer knew he was still alive. The one thing they got right was giving him a name connected to his country of origin.
Frederick Ashton, known to the world as Isipoki, was the son of a white South African teacher and her Zulu herdsman lover.
His father died during the a*******d era in South Africa, when some white men discovered his father was sleeping with a white woman, his mother, and killed him like a dog. They were never brought to trial.
At least by the law of the land.
Isipoki made it his mission to track them all down and kill them one after the other.
He was seventeen, and they were his first mission.
His mother raised him alone. Her brother, a retired army sniper trained young Frederick in firearms and shooting. He taught him almost everything he knew. The rest, he picked up along the way.
He used to go hunting with his uncle, and there, young Frederick learnt how to conceal himself and move about undictated.
The first man he killed, didn't see him coming. He only realized he was no longer alone, when young Frederick buried the large hunting knife into his throat. Isipoki told the mortally wounded man who he was and the crime the man committed, as he watched the man struggled to die.
The Remington, fired from faraway, took care of the other three on different dates, and in different locations.
But he made sure they knew death was coming for them.
The men knew they were hunted. Isipoki left pointers and messages. They knew who was coming for them. He gave them a chance to come for him first. He gave them a chance to fight even though, he knew he had all the cards.
They were all sitting ducks.
After each kill, he left his calling card, a wooden Zulu symbol of Tikoloshe, a mischievous water evil spirit of the Zulu/Xhosa mythology.
Tikoloshe, was the name he was dubbed for a while because of his calling card, but later, it was changed to Isipoki - a ghost.
He left home when he was nineteen years old and toured many warring countries all over the world. He learnt a lot of things over the years, and did so much.
By his twenty-sixth birthday, he reinvented himself, taking on his first personality of Tikoloshe, and went into the g*n for hire business.
Jubril Adeyinka the Gongolan middleman, known in crime cycles as Konto, helped establish his name.
Konto named him Isipoki. Konto was the only man who knew his face as Isipoki. At least, he knew his old face.
Over the years, he changed his appearance. Whatever pictures Konto or anybody had of him in the past was worthless.
He became one of a billion people living on planet earth. He became somebody else. He became many things to many people. He was just another face.
To avoid being traced, he developed a means of communication with Konto.
Messages of jobs, were posted in cryptic codes on a Ghanaian national newspaper sold internationally. That way, Konto didn't know where he was at any time.
He needed a sypher to decript the codes. For that he must get to his office, located in a building he bought several years ago.
He brought the car to a stop in front of a two storey office complex. He managed the building through an estate manager, who didn't know who he was.
The manager oversaw all his land and property holdings across the continent, and made regular deposits into a specified bank account.
He rented one of the office spaces in his own building, and paid promptly to the estate manager.
He hired a young lady to sit down in front of a computer at the reception room, daily to attend to visitors, even though nobody ever came there. Her salary was always paid on time from the same account the estate manager paid in the rents. There was an agreed upon commission for the manager and it was very handsome.
"Good morning sir," she got to her feet as he walked in.
"Good morning dear," he said.
His private office was very secure. He had specially built the office for himself. The door required a fingerprint keypad, a retinal scan as well as an alphanumeric code before it could be opened.
The door closed behind him. The room had security protocols and gadgets in place to ensure he was not bugged. Three video recording devices connected to the Wi-Fi and activated by movement were installed in the room, and can be reviewed anywhere in the world.
The cipher book was locked away in a drawer that required his thumbprint and another set of alphanumeric codes to unlock.
He brought out the book and placed it on the desk. He opened the newspaper to the page that had the codes. He started decrypting the codes on a piece of paper.
"Target, Gongolan President, $5million in diamonds, $2.5million paid. Contact me."
He brought out a lighter and burnt the piece of paper into an ashtray. He ground the ash to dust after the fire was out.
He needed to see Konto.
He opened his laptop and made an internet video call to Konto's number. He turned his back against the screen as the call connected.
He didn't want anybody to see his face and take a picture of it. The connection was untracable, routed through hundreds of locations around the world, it would take forever to trace.
He would also know if he is being traced. Konto would not dare to try tracing him.
"We need to see," Konto said.
"Where?"
"Come to my place."
Isipoki did not say anything.
"We still have the matter of the retirement to talk about."
"Tomorrow, dawn, I'll be there."
He pushed the remote disconnection button and severed the connection. He turned back to the blank laptop screen and closed it.
He had informed Konto of his desire to retire. It was an idea he was still toying with. It could be this job. It could be the next. But he knew his time was almost up. Age was no longer friendly to him. It was time for some sunshine on a sunny beach, away from the world.
Konto would not be very happy. He had made a lot of money serving as his middleman. 20% of every payment was his own. He was also the middleman of many other guns for hire across the continent. But Isipoki was his best.
Isipoki was the best and brought in the big contracts. Those big contracts meant serious money for both of them.
Konto wouldn't be a very happy man with this news.
Isipoki went back to the drawer and brought out a cardboard box. It contained the international passports of many countries. All bore his face, with slight moderations in facial hair or hair color on them. He selected the Moroccan passport and put the box and the cipher book back inside the drawer. He closed it and heard the mechanism softly lock itself.
He maintained a room in Las Gidi, Gongola, as he maintained in several cities across Africa. Everything he would need for the meeting would be there.
He left the office and the door secured itself. He gave his secretary a few cedi notes and left the building to his car.
He got into his car and started making flight reservations as he brought the engine to life and shifted the gear stick into drive.
1800hours
February 8
Las Gidi, Gongola.
Isipoki had arrived the country the day before. Now he stood in front of Konto's house, where the taxi driver had stopped him.
Isipoki wore a white face mask over his mouth and nose. He wore dark shades and wrapped a turban around his head and over his neck. He wore a pair of black gloves.
Under the Gongolan caftan attire he wore, were two Dan Wesson Specialist 9mm pistols. His pockets were filled with extra magazines.
Konto would not be happy, he thought. He had been in the business long enough to know retirement doesn't go down well with middlemen. It cuts off a major stream of income to them. The last jobs could always prove tricky. Isipoki had handled several retirement hits in the past to know what was in store for him one day.
He knocked on the gate. The peephole opened and a face looked out at him.
"Can I help you?"
"Tell Konto that his dawn appointment is here," Isipoki replied.
"Why you cover face?" the man wasn't comfortable with the covered face.
"You don't need to see my face," Isipoki replied. If the man saw his face, he'll have to die. "Just tell your boss."
The man stared at him for a moment then closed the peephole.
A few minutes later, Isipoki heard the padlock being unlocked, and the gate rolled open.
The man he was speaking with, was tall and very heavy set. He was dressed in a black shirt over a pair of blue jeans trousers. He was armed with a CM351M (Metal Version) Shotgun.
Isipoki noticed three other guards armed with similar shotguns, staring at him. They were probably local hires Konto kept around for show. He could cut through them even before they can train their shotguns on him.
"This way."
The man led Isipoki towards a big house at the centre of the vast compound. Konto was standing at the entrance of the building as Isipoki approached.
"My dear friend," he said cheerfully. "Welcome to Gongola. I trust you had a very safe trip."
Isipoki nodded. He had been in the country since the day before. He had come around Konto's house earlier in the day and stealthily surveyed the place. He knew where the guards were posted and their movement. It could come handy.
"Let's go inside," Konto said waving him into the house. "Come, come."
Konto led the way. Isipoki followed. The living room was very tastefully furnished. Most of the chairs and furniture were imported from Europe. Konto could afford it with all the commissions he received.
A black suited young lady was already in the living room. There was a bottle of water in front of her but she seemed not to have touched it. She didn't seem like she wanted to be there. There was something very official about her appearance.
"Sit, sit," Konto waved at the sofas and chairs in the room. "Make yourself comfortable. What can I offer you? Brandy? Whisky? Champagne? Beer?"
"Water would be fine."
"Water it is."
Konto went to a small refrigerator in the room and brought a bottle of spring water. He handed it to Isipoki. He sat down on what seemed to be his favourite chair. It seemed more fortified than the others, to be able to manage his weight.
Isipoki sat down. He placed the bottle of water on a side table beside his chair. Konto was drinking from a glass of champagne. He picked it up and cast the lady a fast stare of suspicion, then dropped the glass without drinking from it. Isipoki took note of that.
"This is Chioma," Konto made the introductions. "We can speak freely in front of her. I've already briefed her and she has a role to play."
Isipoki didn't say anything. The young lady regarded him with a look of disdain. Clearly, whatever role she was supposed to play, she wasn't doing it willingly.
"Chioma is with the Gongolan Directorate for State Security," Konto continued. "And she'll be working with you on this one."
"I work alone," Isipoki protested.
"This is a special request from the sponsors of this job my good friend," Konto said. "Besides, she'll make the work easier for you by providing you a wealth of information on the president's movement and deployment of security."
"I don't like this Konto."
"At least try and tolerate it for five million dollars," Konto said. "With that and what you've saved over the years, you can even afford to retire to the moon if you so wish."
Isipoki said nothing. He didn't like it at all. He'll have to be careful.
"It's settled then," Konto said. He brought out the small bag of diamonds the former Senate President gave him from his pocket. "I've taken out my commission, as usual. The balance will come immediately the job is complete."
He threw the bag to Isipoki who caught it in mid air. Isipoki opened the bag and looked at the stones.
He brought out one and studied it. He always took his payment in untracable diamonds. That way, he didn't leave a money trail that could expose his identity. He had a broker who silently sells the diamonds for him months after every job.
Isipoki put the bag into his pocket. He got to his feet and looked at Chioma.
"Give me your number," he said. "I'll call you when I'm set."
She gave him her card. He stated at it briefly and returned it to her. He had memorized the numbers he needed. He would input them into one of the phones in his safe house later.
Isipoki turned and walked out from the room. Konto went to the door and watched him leave the compound.
"Remember," he said looking at Chioma. "You report everything to me. You may leave now."
Chioma got to her feet and left the house. Konto brought out his Samsung mobile phone and dialed a number.
"I have a job for you," he said the moment the man at the other end picked up. "Time to see if you're ready for big shoes. See me immediately."
2023hours
February 8
Las Gidi, Gongola.
The young man dropped the mobile phone on the table in front of him and rose to his feet.
He wore only a pair of of boxers shorts. He went into the bathroom and had a quick bath. He quickly got dressed in a black Tommy Hilfiger T-shirt and a blue Levi's Jean trouser.
He opened a small safe in his small bedroom, and brought out a Nighthawk Custom Agent2 automatic pistol.
His name was Sotonye Banigo, better know by the name Ofoe, the messenger of the god of death, Ogiuwu of the ancient Bini mythology.
Ofoe was an assassin.
He was a street kid Konto saw talent and promise in. Konto took him under his wings and trained him in combat and weapons handling. Konto reinvented him.
Ofoe was an expert in hand to hand combat, having being trained by some of the best martial artists in the country. He could also fight very well with a knife. His g*n training was undertaken by war veterans and ex-soldiers Konto hired for the job.
Ofoe owed Konto and Konto took 50% of every job he was given.
He had some high profile hits to his credit. Trying to build a brand for himself, Ofoe, like some of the great names in the business, would leave a calling card of his own. He would always shoot off the ears of his targets, after a double tap to the heart. If the hit was long-range, he always shot through the targets ears.
Konto gave him all his jobs. They were mainly within the country, but he had done some jobs in Senegal and Angola.
Konto insisted he studied some other languages to help him blend wherever he went. So far he was quite fluent in French, but had a private linguistics course on some other languages, that could become important for him in his line of work.
He also had several fake passports, identifying him as a citizen of over seven African countries.
Konto have always confessed that he offered a lot of promise. Ofoe wasn't going to disappoint.
He picked up his phone and left the house. He got into the fairly recent model Toyota Highlander SUV, parked in front of the house. The engine came to life as he pushed the ignition button to start.
He slide the gear to drive, and drove out from the open gate. He lived in plain sight, a tenant in a two storey apartment building in Ikiya.
His neighbours probably thought he was an internet fraudster, as he hardly went out but seemed to live well. He rarely entertained guests, except prostitutes he hired once in a while.
Konto always warned him against having close relationships. It was a weakness he couldn't afford in his line of work.
Being an orphan raised in an orphanage, he had no family ties. Ofoe lived life very rough. He had nobody to fend for so he learnt to fend for himself.
He left the orphanage when he turned seventeen, and started doing some petty jobs to survive.
He got into the life of crime a year after he left the orphanage. He started with pick pocketing and snatch and run, then graduated to robbing homes and shops when the owners weren’t around.
He ran with a crowd of street kids, many of them were orphans like himself. Many of them are dead today.
His first kill was a police man during a bank robbery.
He was introduced to an armed robbery g**g when he turned twenty.
The g**g had struck a bullion van, just as it arrived a bank to offload cash it had picked up from the Central Bank.
The bullion van was escorted by a police Toyota Hilux truck, filled with armed mobile policemen.
The g**g came in two Toyota Sienna vans, with their side doors rolled open and firing at the policemen even before they could jump down from the truck.
Ofoe remembered the policeman he riddled his body with bullets.
For a moment, he had frozen. He had stared at the dead body as it lay there on the floor. A g**g member saved him from being shot by another police man.
The bullion van had tried to ram through, but they demobilized it by blowing out the tires.
Ofoe smiled. All the other members of the g**g were dead now. He was the only one alive today.
He had Konto to thank for taking him out of that life and into a better life.
Yes, he had convinced himself. g*n for hire was a better job than armed robbery. It involved lower risks and paid far better too.
Ofoe drove through the night time traffic heading towards Likki, where Konto's house was located. He wondered what this new job was going to be.
Konto made it sound like it was going to be something very big. It was about time he stepped up to the big leagues.
The guard at the gate recognized him and opened the gate. Ofoe parked the car and got out. Konto's guards greeted him as he approached the building.
He knew them and gave them handouts most of the times he visited.
Konto was still sitting on his favourite chair when Ofoe walked into the room. He had a bottle of very expensive champagne beside him, and was sipping from a glass cup he carried in his left hand.
"My boy," he said. "It's time you go to the big leagues."
Ofoe sat down opposite him and watched him take another sip from the glass.
"Have you heard the name Isipoki?"
Everybody, at least those in their trade knew that name. None have ever met him before because he always works alone. He is believed to be the best in the business. Ofoe nodded in affirmation.
"You'll have the pleasure of killing him," Konto said.
Ofoe felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He didn't know how to react to the news. Killing Isipoki would cement his name as the best in Africa. He'll be made for life. It would attract bigger and more high profile jobs with bigger pay his way.
But Isipoki didn't just become the best without having people who had tried to kill him before. Killing him wasn’t going to be easy.
"Are you up to the task?" Konto broke into his thoughts.
"Yes boss," Ofoe replied calmly. "How do I find him?"
"I'll give you all the information you need soon," Konto said. "He'll be in Gongola for a job. The moment he concludes the job, he's all yours."
"I'll get it done boss," Ofoe said.
"This is a career booster my boy," Konto said. "See it as a promotion exam. You pass and you become the big dog. I'll extend you a line of credit for the job. It's in-house so don't expect too much."
"I could do this for free boss."
"Good thing you understand how important this job is, to your career," Konto said as he fished out a packet of Benson and Hedges cigarette from his pocket. "Put him down and you'll have the first pick in contracts in Africa and even beyond."
Ofoe nodded in agreement. Every assassin would give anything to get this job, for a chance to knock out the biggest name in the business. Indeed, he could do it for free, but some extra cash wouldn't hurt.
"You can go now," Konto said lighting a stick of cigarette and drawing smoke into his lungs. "You'll hear from me very soon."
Ofoe nodded. He got to his feet and left the house. This was good news. He fished out some money from his pocket and gave the money to the guards.
Konto exhaled a small line of smoke. He was angry. He decides when his people retire. Isipoki still had years to give him and wanted to to throw it all away. Using Ofoe to kill him still keeps good business coming his way.
He was the show promoter. He’ll just have to promote a new brand with the killing of Isipoki as the bargaining chip.
Gun Review
Remington Model 700
The Remington Model 700 is a series of bolt-action centrefire rifles manufactured by Remington Arms since 1962. It is a development of the Remington 721 and 722 series of rifles, which were introduced in 1948. The M24 and M40 military sniper rifles, used by the US Army and USMC, respectively, are both based on the Model 700 design.
Remington 700
Remington Model 700 ADL with Leupold scope and Harris bipod.
Type
Bolt action rifle
Place of origin
United States
Service history
Used by
Over 20 countries use it officially
Production history
Manufacturer
Remington Arms
Produced
1962–present
Specifications
Mass
8.99 lb (4.08 kg)
Length
41.5 in (1,050 mm)
Barrel length
16.5 to 26 in (420 to 660 mm)
Cartridge
.308 Winchester
.223 Remington
.243 Winchester
7 mm Remington Magnum
.300 Winchester Magnum
.300 Remington Ultra Magnum
.338 Lapua Magnum
Action
Bolt action, rotating bolt with 2 lugs
Feed system
3- to 6-round internal magazine or detachable 10-round magazine
Sights
Scope, rail interface system
The Remington 700 series rifles often come with a 3-, 4- or 5-round internal magazine depending on the caliber chambered, some of which have a hinged floor-plate for quick unloading, and some of which are "blind" (with no floor-plate).
The Model 700 was Isipoki’s first g*n.
- Writer
