The First Lady's Kitchen

Chapter Four

“Where are the files now?”

“In... in the cloud,” she stammered. “Google Drive. I can delete them. Please, ma, just let me go.”

I set the ladle down, oil dripping like amber tears.

“You see, Otu?” I said, wiping my hands. “The truth always needs a little heat.”

Otu said nothing. But his eyes lingered on Ekaette longer than usual. Perhaps guilt. Perhaps respect. It didn’t matter.

“Wipe her face. Patch her up,” I said. “We’re done for now. Keep her in the store until I decide what to do with her.”

He nodded. As I turned to leave, Ekaette’s voice trembled behind me. “You think you can silence me forever? The world will find out what you’ve done. They’ll find out who you really are.”

I paused by the door. Looked back once.

“I hope they do,” I said softly. “Then they’ll know why they sleep peacefully at night.”

***

The Morning After:

By the time I stepped out of the kitchen, the world had changed again. Daniel’s voice filled the conference room used for Press briefing. It was tight, defensive and angry. He was speaking to the press on live television. I could see him standing before the flags and microphones, flanked by aides. His tie was crooked, his face drawn.

“…We categorically deny any involvement in the disappearance of Miss Ekaette,” he was saying. “The Government of this State is committed to transparency and justice. We have directed the police to conduct a full investigation.”

Reporters shouted questions:

“Governor, is it true government vehicles were sighted near the scene?”

“Sir, how do you respond to claims of an internal cover-up?”

Daniel’s eyes flicked toward the camera. For a brief second, he looked directly at me. In that look, I saw the same thing I always saw, fear masquerading as love. He’d never say it out loud, but he knew. He knew exactly where I’d been, what I’d done, and why I’d done it.

"For Christ sake, even if i were the culprit, would I be so reckless to use a government vehicle to go commit a crime? My dear citizens, these are all fake news and cooked up stories by the opposition to cripple our administration."

Reporters became frenzy again as they shouted questions. I walked out of the Press room, the echo of my heels drowning out the reporters’ voices. Outside, police sirens wailed across the metropolis; although distant, yet growing. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and glistening under the grey dawn.

OTU

The flight from Ubiri, the State capital of Akuneze to Lagos was quiet. As a matter of fact, too quiet. When the plane touched down at Murtala Muhammed Airport, the sky hung low and grey, the kind of color that hides both sins and secrets. Glory’s orders had been clear: “Find the journalist. End the leak. No headlines by morning.”

Her voice had been calm when she said it, but calm was how thunder sounded before it broke the sky. I had two men with me, T-Boy, sharp-eyed and restless; and Gideon, whose silence could suffocate a room. Both had served with me in the army before we traded the uniform for something darker. As we stepped out into the humid Lagos air, the city hit us in waves, exhaust fumes, suya smoke, the shout of danfo conductors. Lagos never slept. It only blinked.

We took two unmarked SUVs from a contact at Alausa. No plates, tinted glass. Government property under private names, standard practice for “quiet missions.”

“Where do we start?” T-Boy asked as we merged into the chaos of traffic.

“Ekaette said he works for Voice Of The People Online,” I said. “Bassey Effiong. But I checked, no byline matches. That means he’s either a ghost writer or someone’s using a false identity.”

“Or he’s smarter than us,” T-Boy muttered.

Gideon chuckled dryly. “Nobody’s smarter than Otu.”

The compliment was reassuring but I didn’t smile. We had a task to accomplish, and I was focused on achieving that. While we drove to Ojuelegba, the air became thick, a mixture of suya aroma, burnt tires and fumes from vehicles. The city bustled while its inhabitants hustled.

***

We found our first lead at a small cyber café off Ojuelegba. The attendant, a skinny boy with dyed hair, looked up when I flashed my State Security ID.

“Bassey Effiong,” I said. “We were told that he uses this place.”

The boy’s eyes darted around, nervous. “Oga, I no wan wahala.”

“Then answer me.”

He hesitated, then pointed to a corner seat with a cracked monitor. “He dey come sometimes. Late night. Always with headset. Always chat with one woman.”

“What woman?”

“I no sabi her name o, but she sound like that woman wey dey talk for TV. The First Lady Akuneze State."

My heart stopped for half a beat. Glory? I leaned forward. “You’re sure?”

The boy nodded quickly. “Her voice fine, soft-soft. Na her.”

I slipped Five thousand-naira cash with a card across the counter. “If he shows up again, call this number.”

Back in the SUV, Gideon turned to me. “So… the leak wasn’t him? It was...”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” I cut in.

The implication was poison. If Glory herself had been speaking with Bassey, then everything we were doing here was theater. A setup. Or worse, a bait.