When Trouble Sleeps

by Leye Adenle

  ‘Madam, you are welcome,’ Hot-Temper said.

  Amaka nodded. She moved aside so Ibrahim could climb in. Ibrahim slapped the shoulder of one of the men causing him to cry out in pain. He turned in his swivel stool. His laptop was displaying a grainy image of a road. His left hand was bandaged and in a sling.

  Amaka gasped. ‘Captain…’ She tried to remember the name of the secret service agent to whom she probably owed her life.

  ‘Mshelia,’ he said. ‘But please, call me Bala. You are now a guest of the Nigerian Navy. Please, sit.’

  Amaka looked around. The only place was on the bed with Hot-Temper and Alex. She remained standing. ‘Your arm,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ Mshelia replied. ‘I should be in bed, but I hear you’ve been digging up more trouble for us.’

  ‘I’m really sorry about all this,’ Amaka said.

  ‘Nah. Don’t say that. We’re just doing our job. Ibrahim and our young friend here have filled me in. I wish we had more time to prepare, but we will get the idiot if he strikes.’

  Amaka looked at the image on his computer. ‘Is that…?’

  He swung round to face the laptop. ‘Yes. Ozumba. And it’s live. CCTV. You didn’t know we have CCTV in Lagos, did you?’

  Amaka shook her head.

  ‘We like to keep it that way; it makes the criminals lazier. And once he contacts you, we will deploy this baby.’ He looked at the drone. ‘Gboyega here will pilot it and we will get a live feed right in here.’

  Ibrahim answered his phone and left the cabin.

  ‘That one, he likes you,’ Mshelia said.

  Amaka nodded, looking around again for a place to sit.

  ‘Madam,’ Hot-Temper said, standing up, his head almost touching the roof of the cabin. ‘Come and sit here. I want to go and smoke.’

  She smiled at him and sat next to Alex.

  ‘Abeg, jus’ no touch my gun o,’ Hot-Temper said, grinning as he left the small cabin.

  ‘What about the oyinbo?’ Mshelia said. ‘Guy Collins. He also likes you, you know? If not for him you wouldn’t be here. I mean, well, we were on to the bastards and we would have caught him, but Guy played his part. How is he?’

  ‘He has returned to England. What time is it?’

  ‘And by, ‘what time is it?’ you really mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’ I get it.’ He smiled. She smiled back. ‘So, I need to ask you, do you look for trouble or does trouble look for you? First, Malik threatens you, then you almost get yourself killed trying to stop a lynching - very brazen, but not recommended. Then your house is raided. My young colleague here is convinced it was an attempt on your life.

  ‘Before I lose count, how many lives is that so far? Not to mention all the shenanigans with Amadi. It’s like your life is on drugs right now. On hyper gear. Even a cat doesn’t have that many lives in Nigeria o.’

  ‘I know, I know. And I’m a good girl o. You won’t believe it, but if you put butter in my mouth, it won’t melt, lai-lai. It’s not like I’m the one looking for all this trouble…’

  ‘But trouble keeps seeking you out. Mm. When trouble sleep, yanga go wake am.’

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘But your own trouble is for good reasons, if that is even correct to say.’

  ‘You know what they say, there is no rest for the righteous.’

  Ibrahim climbed down the steps, his face creased with worry.

  ‘What is it?’ Amaka asked.

  ‘I sent officers to your office. Just a precaution. They’ve just reported a shoot-out.’

  Amaka shot to her feet. ‘My staff,’ she said.

  ‘They’re OK. We engaged them before they gained entry into the building. They managed to escape. They were heavily armed. I’ve sent out a signal for their vehicle.’

  ‘Do you think it’s the same people who attacked my house?’ Amaka said.

  ‘It’s possible. They sustained injuries. Every officer on duty in Lagos today is on the lookout for them.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you sent men to her office,’ Alex said.

  ‘That’s where I sent my car after you came up with your theory. I told them to go there and wait till they see her. Then I told them to remain there, just in case you were right.’

  ‘You could have compromised my mission,’ Alex said.

  ‘Your mission? Without me there would be no mission. I saved the lives of everyone in that office. I could only spare two people – my driver and a sergeant. Maybe if all the officers here had been there instead of here, carrying out your crazy plan, we would have apprehended them.’

  ‘It’s my mission and I should have been informed.’

  ‘Erm, boys,’ Mshelia said, ‘you’re on my boat. My boat, my mission.’ He smiled at them, but their eyes remained locked on to one another.

  ‘I’m just saying, he should have told me about it.’ Alex said.

  ‘I don’t need your permission.’ Ibrahim said.

  Gboyega raised his hand. ‘There’s something happening,’ he said.

  They all turned to his screen. It was scrolling with text.

  ‘Tango One reported an okada with a female passenger,’ Gboyega said. ‘Tango Two also confirmed. Heading east. Now, Tango Three has reported sighting the same Okada with the same passenger, returning.’

  Ibrahim checked his watch. ‘It’s too early,’ he said. ‘Tango Four should have eyes on them.’ He unclipped a radio from under his shirt.

  Gboyega was typing when the screen scrolled up; he stopped as they all read the new message from Tango Two: ‘Female passenger alighted in front of Roundhouse. Driver on the move.’

  Ibrahim spoke into his radio. ‘Tango Two, maintain your position. Tango One, pursue and pick up the driver.’ He turned to Gboyega. ‘And no one has reported any suspicious movements?’

  ‘Nope. Nothing.’

  ‘Any activity from the boat?’

  Gboyega scanned his screen. ‘Nothing from Tango Five,’ he said. ‘Tango Two says subject is standing on the road using her phone.’

  Amaka’s phone vibrated. She read the message then she held the screen up to Ibrahim and Alex so they could read it too: ‘I am at Fiki Marina. Where are you?’

  67

  ‘Could it be Florentine?’ Ibrahim said. ‘Could she be alive?’

  He checked the time. ‘It’s only two o’clock. She said three, abi?’

  ‘Yes,’ Amaka said.

  ‘And she said she would take a ferry to Fiki Marina. Or was it that she would take a Ferry from Fiki Marina?’

  Amaka began to scroll through her messages. Her phone beeped as another came through. She read it out. ‘Are you close? I’m standing outside Fiki Marina.’

  ‘What should I say?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s bring her in,’ Alex said.

  Ibrahim pulled out his mobile phone. ‘Fatima, female subject just made contact in front of Roundhouse. We are doing plan B.’

  ‘I’m deploying the drone,’ Mshelia said.

  Gboyega picked up the aircraft and its controller and headed above deck. Ibrahim spoke into his radio. ‘We are going with plan B. I repeat, plan B. We have a lone female subject in front of Roundhouse. Fat girl moving into position.’

  ‘And we are live,’ Mshelia said. He moved away from his monitor so Ibrahim and Amaka could see the aerial view on his screen. Alex joined them. The camera swept over the lagoon, the marina and the moored boats, the vessels within the muddy compound of Fiki Marina, and the cars parked along the wall. The drone steadied. It showed Fatima walking to Amaka’s Bora and getting into it. A girl was standing on the other side of the fence, a few metres away from Tango Four who was watching her through scratched dark glasses from where he pretended to beg for alms.

  ‘Is that her?’ Mshelia asked.

  Amaka peered at the screen. Looking at the girl from above, all she could tell was that she had black hair, wore a purple top, and had a red bag.

  ‘I can’t see her face,’ she said. />
  ‘Send her a message,’ said Ibrahim. ‘Say exactly this: Meet me inside the car park.’

  Amaka sent the message. On Mshelia’s screen they all watched the girl reading the message on her phone. She looked about her for the gate, then began walking. On the other side of the fence they watched Fatima straightening the wheels of the Bora as she rolled towards the gate. Behind the car, the other undercover officers she had shared a table with were fanning out, their hands inside the rucksacks they carried.

  The drone followed the girl.

  She looked up, as if into the lens, and continued walking. Her hands flew up and she fell backwards. The image on the screen shook. Inside the boat, everyone ducked at the sound of machine-gun fire from outside.

  The undercover officers inside Fiki Marina ran for cover behind cars and boats as shots pelted the ground around them. Amaka’s Bora stopped moving. The gunfire was concentrated on the car, punching holes through the bonnet, through the windshield, through the roof.

  Mshelia screamed at the screen. ‘What the fuck is happening?’

  The camera swept over large swaths of road and water before steadying on four figures standing on the bridge, firing automatic rifles. As they used up magazines, they reloaded and continued raining bullets upon the immobile Bora.

  68

  The shooters crossed onto the other lane on the bridge and got into a waiting black Lexus SUV. The car drove at speed towards Ikoyi while the men continued shooting from open windows. The few motorists they encountered pulled over fast.

  Sergeant Hot-Temper ran below deck grunting ‘Dan banza’ over and over again, and grabbed his gun. He didn’t bother waiting for instructions from his superior as he dashed back up the steps. Ibrahim pulled the pistol from his belt and followed the sergeant. At the door he turned round. ‘Stay here,’ he said, pointing the gun at Amaka, then he was gone.

  Alex clasped his hands over his head as he stared at the screen, his mouth open and his eyes bulging with disbelief.

  ‘This is fucked up,’ Mshelia said, shaking his head at his screen. The drone hovered over the bullet-riddled Bora. The undercover officers were standing around the car; some of them had their backs to it, their weapons drawn.

  ‘She won’t make it,’ Mshelia said. ‘Even if she was wearing a vest, she’s gone. This is so fucked up.’ He turned to Amaka. She was breathing fast. ‘You know this was an illegal operation?’ he said. ‘This.’ He waved at the equipment. ‘We didn’t get clearance for any of this, and now an officer is dead. This is really fucked up.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Amaka said.

  ‘For what? You didn’t kill her.’

  ‘That should have been me.’

  ‘Lucky for you it wasn’t. Who exactly is this man; this Malik who is supposed to have set this up? Those guys on the bridge, they were not ordinary criminals. The way they handled their guns; the way they leaned in to shoot – they are trained. They are military. Or ex-military. Who the fuck is this guy?’

  On the jetty, Ibrahim and Hot-Temper ran past civilians cowering on the ground, fingers clasped over the backs of their heads. At the car park all four doors of the Bora were open. A woman was inside, feeling for a pulse on Fatima’s neck. She got out of the car; her fingers, arms, and the top of her shirt were smeared with her colleague’s blood. She looked at Ibrahim and shook her head.

  Ibrahim looked into the car. Fatima’s body was covered in blood and glass. She had been reaching for her pistol on the passenger seat. His radio crackled. He held it to his ear. ‘Tell me,’ he said.

  The officers nearby also heard the message: ‘We’ve found their car. It’s on Alfred Rewane Road. Near Aromire. They’re not moving. Officers approaching now.’

  The undercover cops gathered round Ibrahim to listen.

  ‘The vehicle is empty.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  69

  Ibrahim climbed into the Navy boat. Amaka was sitting on the bed with her hands on her knees. Gboyega was putting the drone back into its box. Alex was standing in the corner by the bed.

  ‘Why didn’t you follow the car?’ Ibrahim said to Gboyega. His pistol was still in his hand.

  Mshelia spoke: ‘Range.’

  ‘They escaped,’ Ibrahim said. ‘They abandoned their car on Alfred Rewane and they escaped.’

  ‘What of the girl? The one texting Amaka?’

  ‘Arrested. Her ID says Elizabeth Babalola. They’re taking her to the station now. I’ll find out if she knows anything.’

  ‘Fatima?’ Amaka said.

  ‘Dead. Show me that message with the location.’

  ‘Amaka told me about that,’ Mshelia said. ‘Some girl suddenly sends the location of The Harem. It sounds like another trap.’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Ibrahim said, ‘but unless they have a battalion there, I’m going. They just killed my officer.’

  ‘It’s on my screen,’ Mshelia said. He moved aside so Ibrahim could see his laptop. ‘What do you see?’

  Ibrahim moved closer. ‘A big house in the middle of nowhere. Just like Amaka said.’

  ‘Yes, but look at the road. They’ll see us coming a mile away.’

  ‘If they think they got Amaka they won’t be expecting us.’

  ‘Yes, but still you’ll need more than a few police officers to carry out such an operation. You don’t know what they’ve got in there. Those guys shooting from the bridge, they were military. If there are more of them, if they’ve got equipment, all it takes is one RPG.’

  ‘Like I said, unless they have a battalion there, I am taking that house. If we dismount here,’ he pointed at the screen, ‘go through the forest here, we take the building from all sides. Surprise them.’

  ‘How high do you think that perimeter fence is?’ Mshelia said. He squinted at the screen. ‘And is that barbed wire? We can’t just go and storm a building we know nothing about. What do we know they’ve got in there?’

  ‘You don’t need to be a part of it if you don’t want to. It is my officer they killed and I am going to get them.’

  Mshelia stood up. ‘Ibrahim, you’re not thinking. For God’s sake, you cannot let emotions rule you now.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? Let them get away? Will you tell Fatima’s family what happened to her?’

  Gboyega was standing rigid, watching the two men square up to each other. Amaka remained still on the bed; Alex did not speak a word.

  Mshelia sighed. ‘Everyone has been put on riot patrol right now. At best I can get two men. Four max. And some equipment.’

  Ibrahim turned to Alex. ‘You. Can you handle a gun?’

  Alex nodded.

  ‘That’s five,’ Ibrahim said.

  ‘There could be blowback,’ Mshelia said. ‘Basically, we’re going to be mounting another illegal operation. We need to come up with a reason for carrying out an operation in Oyo State and it’d better be good.’

  ‘This is all my fault,’ Amaka said.

  Ibrahim shook his head. ‘No. It’s mine.’

  ‘The only guilty parties are the ones who killed Fatima,’ Mshelia said. ‘And we’re going to get them.’

  70

  With one arm around the driver, the wind in his face, the passenger on the speeding motorcycle shouted into his phone. ‘Chief, the information is good. We have successfully delivered the message.’ With just one hand he slid open the back of the phone, and removed the battery, letting both components fall into the road. He felt inside for the SIM card and put it in his mouth. He threw the rest of the phone away and spat out the chewed up SIM.

  Otunba stood up from the sofa, followed immediately by Ojo.

  ‘You want to follow me to the toilet?’ Otunba said to his son-in-law. Ojo smiled and remained standing while Otunba walked away with his phone in his hand.

  He went into an empty bedroom and closed the door behind him, looked out of the window onto the pool as he waited for someone to answer, then said: ‘Your information was good.’

  Malik dropped t
he towel onto his bed and sat down on the mattress. His body was still wet from his shower. He listened. He waited. Otunba didn’t speak. ‘She showed up?’ Malik said.

  ‘I believe so,’ Otunba replied.

  Malik closed his eyes. A smile spread across his face. He waited for the older man to talk, but again Otunba said nothing.

  ‘She’s taken care of?’ Malik said.

  ‘What do you want?’ Otunba asked.

  ‘Sir, what do I want?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Like, how, sir?’

  ‘What do you want from me?’

  ‘In return? Nothing, sir. You asked me to tell you what I know about Ojo, that’s all I did, sir.’

  Otunba drew his finger across the glass and looked at it.

  ‘If you don’t want anything,’ he said, ‘that means you think you already have something.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t…’

  ‘Shut up and listen to me. Whatever you think you have, whatever you are planning to do with it, you will not live long enough to regret your actions if you go ahead. You will leave Lagos today. You will stay away till after the election. You will not contact me, or my son-in-law, or anybody, till you hear from me. Then, when I say it is OK, you will return to Lagos and you and I will talk.’

  Otunba put his phone in his pocket and walked out of the bedroom.

  Malik placed his hands on his hips and looked down at the bed. He stood still for a few moments, then he scrolled through his contacts and placed a call.

  ‘Who is this?’ a woman’s voice said.

  Malik ended the call. He gritted his teeth. His hands curled into fists and he hurled the phone at his bed. It bounced once on the mattress and settled onto the wet towel.

  Ojo stood as Otunba returned to the parlour and sat on the sofa. Members of the Market Women’s Association who had come to assure the kingmaker of their support for his son-in-law were talking amongst themselves. Otunba looked around. ‘Where is your friend? Where is Shehu?’