BULLETPROOF HEART

BULLETPROOF HEART : BOROKIRI

BULLETPROOF HEART - CHAPTER 6: BOROKIRI

Marcus didn't carry her. Not like that.

He crouched, "On my back," and Amara climbed on, arms around his neck, the bag clutched to her chest, her bare feet locked around his waist.

He ran.

Not through the main road where the SUVs were circling. Through the back canals. Through the timber market where the wood was stacked high enough to hide two people. Through the water that came up to his knees, then his thighs, soaking them both again.

Amara held on, her face buried in his neck, whispering directions.

"Left... here... the old bridge... yes..."

After twenty minutes of running, Port Harcourt went quiet. The kind of quiet that means you're on the edge of the city. No lights. Just the river and one building with a single bulb.

St. Michael's Church. Abandoned since the flood of 2021. Or so everyone thought.

A man stood at the door. 60s. Tall. Same sharp eyes as Amara. Same stubborn jaw. Dressed in a simple white kaftan, but flanked by two men who did NOT look like ushers.

"Chief Opobo," Marcus breathed. He'd seen that face on the news. Oil magnate. Presumed dead.

Chief Opobo looked at his daughter on a soldier's back, in a soldier's t-shirt, covered in mud.

And smiled.

"Amara. You brought company."

Amara slid off Marcus's back, ran to her father, and hugged him like she was five years old.

"You got my message," she whispered.

"I got your drive's distress signal three hours ago. I've been waiting." He looked over her shoulder at Marcus. "Mr. Thompson. The American who quit Price's unit. I know you."

Marcus stood straighter, despite the bleeding side and the mud. "Sir."

"You took care of my daughter."

"I did what I was paid to do, sir."

Chief Opobo laughed. "She paid you? With what? That dress?"

Amara punched her father's arm. "Papa!"

Inside the church, it wasn't abandoned at all. Generators. Laptops. Maps. Six ex-military men Nigerian and foreign. This was a war room.

Chief Opobo pointed to the table. "Show me."

Amara plugged the hard drive in. The video played again. Dele's voice: _Make sure Price's team doesn't leave that field._

Chief Opobo didn't flinch. He'd heard it before.

"This is good," he said. "But not enough. Dele owns the police. He owns a judge. We need to go bigger."

"How bigger?" Marcus asked.

Chief Opobo looked at him, then at his daughter, then back.

"Interpol is landing at the Air Force base in 40 minutes. They've been looking for Dele's arms shipment for a year. This drive proves he sold weapons to militants using my company's name. With this, they will arrest him tonight."

Amara's eyes widened. "Tonight?"

"Tonight," her father said. "But we have to get the drive there. And Dele knows we're here now. That tracker you brought me? He knows."

As if on cue, headlights swept the churchyard. Three SUVs. Doors opening.

Marcus pulled Amara behind a pew, gun up. Chief's men took positions.

Chief Opobo stayed standing.

"Marcus," he said calmly. "Do you remember Rule 3?"

Marcus blinked. "How do you-"

"My daughter tells me everything in her messages. Rule 3: No falling in love." Chief looked at his daughter clutched to Marcus's chest. "Looks like you both failed."

Amara turned bright red. "PAPA!"

Marcus, gun in hand, men outside about to breach, looked down at Amara and for the first time didn't hide it.

"Yeah," he said, quiet enough only for her. "I failed."

Outside, a man shouted through a megaphone: "CHIEF! GIVE US THE GIRL AND THE DRIVE AND WE LEAVE!"

Chief Opobo picked up an old shotgun from behind the altar.

"My daughter doesn't belong to anyone!" he shouted back. "And my son-in-law says you have ten seconds to leave my church!"

Son-in-law?

Amara and Marcus looked at each other at the same time.

"What?" they both said.

Chief winked.

Then the church doors burst open.

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*END OF CHAPTER 6*