Returned

Another Contact

Nine

Another Contact

Prescott sat still gazing through the window pane of the Range Rover Climber 2049 model. It was an old model but a new one. The 2049 model was rumored to be stronger than all the latest models that came after it in the past two years. The CIA Station in Southern Chad had also bought this logic as they believed it was most useful for the rugged terrain. It had not been designed to fly, but was made especially for the growing economies, particularly those in Africa and the Americas. There were fewer flying cars in such economies but they needed smart vehicles nonetheless. Most parts of Africa still drove on combustion engines as they perpetually refused to let go of the oil economy. No matter how much climate change summits they attended, their grip on the oil refused to let loose. But the Climber was solar-driven, and it moved like a cheetah.

Prescott checked his wristwatch; it read 5:15 am. They had been on the road for thirty minutes already. His rendezvous had been far off from the Station, as efforts were made to scramble the flight signal and bring him in quietly without the Chadian Authorities getting a hint. And the speed with which the vehicle moved convinced him that they were far from arrival. It worried him that he was yet to make contact with Administrator Brannon. And he still regretted that the CIA Station Director had made contact with him too soon. He had needed time to contact Brannon privately… urgently. Hurdled in the vehicle with the Director now, he could not even send a beeper message through his Pamphlet.

“National Geographic huh?” the Director, who sat across from Prescott asked.

Prescott only nodded.

“I must say, you are rather in a big hurry. Are your animals in central Nigeria moving camp?” the Director pressed, indicating Prescott’s second glance at his watch. “Must be the cattle I guess, the Fulanis move them from time to time,” the man mocked. There was a smirk on his lips that Prescott could not place.

“No… not the cattle,” Prescott had to say something.

“True,” the Director said and fell silent. No more words were uttered.

Forty-seven year old Station Director Francis Bowden had been in Chad for two years. He never liked the tropics and despised Africa with everything in his veins. But somehow, he was made to seat in this desert for nearly thirty months. His mission had never been Chad. Due to the US’ strained relations with the Chinese, every American correspondence in Nigeria had been scrambled, especially as that territory now belonged to Beijing. But somehow, America had to find some way to gather Intel on Nigeria and stay in the security loop of West Africa. This was how Bowden had found his way out of Langley, where he enjoyed the power play and office intrigues and got into the African desert. He only wished some major Intel would come by for him to prove himself and earn a seat once more at Langley or even at the Whitehouse.

As he sat across to Prescott, his hunches told him the young man may be his ticket out of Africa for good. But he had to know what his mission in Nigeria was about. The National Geographic hoax was just good bullshit. But more worrisome was the fact that even Langley was clearly not in the loop of things here. The Director had been vague on his instructions on providing the needed logistics for an American to go into Nigeria, but his paralanguage had also sold him out, that he had limited information on the American coming on ground. “What business did the US have in Nigeria that the CIA was not let in on? How was that even possible when they were the ones weaving Intel out of every part of the world?” He had to take his time nevertheless… it would all come together soon.

As thy sped through the desert, Prescott’s worry began to heighten. He didn’t like the way the Station Director was looking at him; Bowden, as he had earlier introduced himself. “What did he want to know anyway? He would have preferred to stay with Bruno, but the robot had been ushered into one of the two back up vehicles.

It was not until 6:10am that they arrived at the station. The tall fence did not reveal any buildings until the gates were opened and the cars drove in on top speed.

“Finally,” Prescott thought to himself.

***********************

Tile was already at the dining table when Jennifer came down. He had awoken earlier than the others and was having a cup of coffee which he had requested of the robot. There was something happening about him that was beginning to scare him, so he took the time to think over the cup of coffee before the others came down. He had had terrifying nightmares about Uzira and Azura all night long. And another thing, whenever Jennifer made a move towards him, it would be the image of Uzira that would be on display before him. “Had Uzira planted something in his being to resist other women?”

“Good morning dear,” Jennifer said with such calmness that surprised even Tile. He was expecting her to still be angry at him about last night.

Of course, she had been angry at the moment and had called Tile the robot to take him to bed, while she remained in the garden all to herself. Tile had thought of staying back to explain himself but had eventually decided against it. But something else had happened the previous night, maybe Jennifer’s deliberate way to frustrate Rita’s expectations or to punish Tile for her frustration. He had been kept in a separate room from Rita. Not that he wanted Rita that bad anyways, besides it was not fair to be in bed with Rita under Jennifer’s roof. “What was he even thinking?”

Jennifer pulled a chair and sat down facing Tile.

“Is there something you want to talk to me about?” she asked calmly, looking Tile directly in the eye.

“Something like what?” Tile replied, feeling unsure.

“Tile, if you do not desire me at all and you want this Australian so badly, I could arrange an apartment for you guys to stay in town till you find your feet.”

Tile didn’t know if this was some trap Jennifer was setting up for him. But he also understood that a psychological complex was bothering the lady. She had a constant consciousness that she was getting old and that Rita was Caucasian and far younger, and so was a competition she could not move against in terms of looks. But Tile didn’t see things from that perspective at all. “If Jennifer was sixty-five, she looked fifteen years younger!”

Of course, Jennifer didn’t look old at all, in spite of her age. She had been obsessed with the idea of staying young and waiting for Tile, if he was ever going to come back. Most women may have moved on with their lives, but Tile’s sudden disappearance seemed to have taken away something from her which she yearned to have back. She had put her wealth to good use to improve her physical looks and resist aging. As a result, she had become addicted to skin cosmetic jobs and surgeries. She had lifted her cheek bones, done a waist and hips job and a facial cosmetic surgery. Tile noticed that she looked more beautiful and slimmer than he could remember. She reminded him of his favorite Hollywood actress back then, Angela Basset who had refused to age at seventy. But he thought that would be a discussion they would have on another day, when things had calmed down emotionally.

“Jenny, all my life away without you has been hell,” Tile said. “Everything I did, everyday, the reckless actions and near death experiences I had over there, was to try and get back to you. Sincerely, I fell for Rita because she was a human female I was meeting for the first time in quite a long time. Do not get me wrong, I still very much desire you. That’s the only thing I have lived for, but I think I am seeing things now that I am not supposed to see.”

Jennifer didn’t understand what Tile meant in his last sentence, but all he said had moved her to tears and she shed silent tears. But she didn’t have much time to shed them tears.

“Guys… guys…” it was Charlatan shouting from the sitting room. He too had been on the way to Dining area when something on the television had caught his attention.

Tile and Jennifer scrambled to their feet and rush on to where Charlatan was calling.

“Come check this out,” the Magician was saying. But it was not magic he was conjuring.

“… the commander of the CNISF, General Kosoko Brutus has urged all citizens to remain calm, as modalities were being put in place to understand the object and its implication on the Nation. Experts were being flown in from Guangzhou with the scientists currently at work in Abuja. The orb was discorvered by a fourteen-year old Ismaila Danjuma in South-West of Plateau state,” the newscaster was blasting off.

As Tile stood there, the realization of the scenario began to dawn on him. Azura was coming to Earth.