by Ponzo, Gary
She was wearing a sleeveless skintight red dress that dropped to her knees. It had a sensual one-shoulder neckline which accentuated Nailah’s slender silhouette. Nailah’s raven hair was neatly pulled back and arranged in a topknot, with a loose tendril on the right side of her face. She had opted for a thin eyeliner and a bright red lipstick that matched her dress and created a stunning effect against her mochachino skin.
“And you’re always the sweet talker.”
They sat down, and the hostess left them after announcing their waitress was going to arrive in just a few moments.
“What’s with the wild look?” Nailah asked, then added right away, “No, don’t tell me.” She dropped her voice to a hush. “It probably has to do with some secret mission.”
Justin nodded. “It’s so I can fit in. Make friends.” He ran his hand over his beard.
“Oh, you’ll have no problem fitting in, all right, and you’ll make friends and even more,” Nailah said in a playful tone.
Justin grinned. Nothing improper had happened during his last mission in Nigeria and nothing was going to happen this time either. But that did not stop Nailah’s double entendres.
“And you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” Justin said.
The waitress arrived to take their drinks order. Nailah was drinking white wine and she ordered another glass of the same. Justin asked what it was and the waitress gave him the full name of the French wine: 2008 Domaine Leflaive Puligny-Montrachet Les Folatières. Justin could only assume it had to be some expensive Chardonnay from France.
“What are you getting?” Nailah asked.
“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll start with a club soda.”
The waitress nodded and left.
Nailah leaned forward and pursed her lips. “You’re just going to have water? I thought we were going to have fun tonight, but to you, all this, and I, we’re only business, right?”
Justin swallowed and thought of a quick reply. “Hmmm, no. This is to catch up on things. And I said it’s only to start. Who knows, I might pop a bottle of red.”
“There, that’s better.” Nailah took a sip from her glass, her pouty look still stamped on her face.
Justin looked at her. Nailah gave him a big smile, then ran her fingers along her pearl necklace.
“What are you thinking, Justin?” Nailah asked him in a soft purr which implied the reply she wanted to hear from him.
“Nailah, you’re . . . you look beyond gorgeous tonight.”
She smiled and shrugged. “Flattery will get you anything.” She tilted her head to the left and leaned forward.
Justin smiled. “It has brought me into such great company.” Justin nodded at her, then at the window. “In such a lovely place.”
Nailah spread her hands in the air. “Yes, I love Banana Island. So peaceful, clean, chic. Such a contrast to the rest of Lagos and Nigeria.”
“It’s a great choice, and thanks for making time to meet me.”
“Not a problem. Any time.”
The waitress appeared with their drinks. Nailah raised up her glass. “A toast,” she said. “To us, for prosperity and health, happiness and love.” Her voice turned softer at the last word, but without any flirtatious undertone.
“Cheers,” Justin said.
They took a few moments to decide on their meals. Justin allowed Nailah—a regular patron of Le Petit Café—to order for him. The menu was in French, with so many adjectives before the names of the meals that Justin was at a loss. He told Nailah he wanted a steak and trusted her judgment to pick up the right thing among a dozen or so options.
The waitress came and took their orders. Justin and Nailah drank and chatted about life in general, old acquaintances, and new events in their lives. Nailah had no boyfriend or fiancé at the moment, but she was always looking for her Prince Charming. She blamed her work for her having very little time to pay attention to her personal life. She told him about her climb up the ladder of the NNPC, the office politics, backstabbing, mudslinging, and widespread corruption. She noted more than once her hard work and pointed out that she deserved her success. She added that she worked as a consultant for two international oil companies, which provided her a constant stream of income to maintain her current lifestyle. But Nailah recalled she had not always been rich, and told Justin she grew up in Makoko, one of the poorest slums of Lagos.
Justin could not say much about his operations, so he stuck to his personal life. He told Nailah about his fiancée, Anna, and his strained relationship with his cancer-stricken father, Carter. The secretive nature of his work and the long absences affected his personal relationships, and he shared those worries with Nailah. Justin told her about his struggles to find the right balance, to make time for the people in his life, and to close off old wounds. Justin confessed to his fears about Anna’s security, worried that she might come under attack from people seeking revenge against him.
The meal arrived and interrupted their conversation. Justin’s porterhouse steak was grilled to perfection, with a golden-brown crust covering most of the surface. The veal was tender and juicy and the portion was very generous. The sauce tasted sweet, and after the second bite Justin realized it was red wine. He asked Nailah about it and she teasingly answered that it was just about the only way to get him to have some alcohol that evening.
Nailah’s carpaccio with roasted eggplant and cherry tomatoes was a feast for the eyes as well as for the palate. The chef—Nailah said he used to work in a famous restaurant in Paris—had created a culinary masterpiece. Nailah offered Justin a very tiny piece of eggplant, but it was enough to sample the scrumptiousness of the dish.
They talked some more as they enjoyed their meal. When she had finished, Nailah excused herself to freshen up.
Justin pulled out his GPS tracking device from his briefcase to check Kayo’s whereabouts. He had just arrived at the meeting place. The unmovable green dot on the screen of his device was the signal transmitted by the tracker. Justin had placed it inside a cigarette pack in the glove compartment of Kayo’s car, an old-model Mazda.
The other tracker was imbedded in Kayo’s phone, and Justin switched to another screen displaying its location. It was inside a house across from the stopped Mazda, the location of Kayo’s contacts. I hope your trip is worth something, Justin thought.
He took in a deep breath and gazed out the window at the dark waters. A solitary boat floated at a distance from the sandy shore, a small light dimly glowing at the bow. The restaurant was built about ten or so feet higher than the level of the lagoon, but there was no protective wall or fence along the shore.
Nailah returned and sat down. “You’re ready to tell me the true reason you wanted to dine tonight?” Her voice was matter-of-fact; she expected only the truth and not some nonsense reply.
Justin looked around. The nearest table to theirs was empty, and four young women were cheerfully gabbing and giggling at the one further away. He felt he could have a conversation on sensitive matters with Nailah if they spoke in hushed tones and barely above a whisper.
“I have something to show you,” Justin said.
He moved their plates to the side and cleared a few crumbs off the table with his red napkin. Then he reached for his briefcase and pulled out a white folder. He set it in front of him and looked at Nailah.
Justin said, “This is a confidential file related to Mr. Martin Duncan. He’s a—”
“Yes, the Canadian diplomat who disappeared a few months ago,” Nailah said with a slight frown on her face. She had become very attentive, her eyes focused on Justin’s lips.
“Yes, he came to Lagos for a conference, but was kidnapped right before it. I have some information about his last meetings.” Justin placed his hand over the folder. “He talked to a couple of NNPC officials. Exec directors in Exploration and Production.”
Nailah fell back in her seat as she shook her head. “No, Justin, I’m not doing it this time.”
“Nailah, you haven�
��t heard what I’m—”
“You’re going to ask me to spy on my company, on my colleagues,” Nailah said in a low voice, as she looked around. “If caught, this will get me fired or worse . . .”
Justin sighed. “It’s not that. I just need a bit of intelligence about what these directors discussed with Duncan, what deal was in the works, and whether things went south.”
“What do these meetings have to do with his kidnapping? I thought rebels were behind it.”
“So did we, but it may not have been that simple.” Justin opened the folder, turned it around, and pushed it toward Nailah. “Duncan met with these officials three times over the course of two weeks and he held meetings with CanadaOil officials at the same time. It seems to me he was mediating a deal, something big that required a lot of meetings, but also something that did not seem to go smoothly, hence all these marathon meetings.”
“Are you implying the NNPC had something to do with Duncan’s kidnapping?” Nailah’s voice had taken a sharp, accusatory tone.
Justin put up his arms. “No, no, I’m making no accusations or blaming anyone. I just want to get a better understanding of what is going on here, see the entire picture.”
Nailah peered at Justin, her black eyes turning into small slits. “What did CanadaOil say? They know what the deal was.”
Justin shook his head. “I haven’t talked to them yet. I thought you might—”
“You thought it was easier exploiting a friend. I’m disappointed, Justin.”
Nailah shook her head. She seemed genuinely saddened at the turn in their conversation.
Justin sighed. The evening had gone very well so far, and he truly believed Nailah was going to help him. She liked him even more than he would prefer she did and he had hoped she would do him that favor.
He swallowed, closed his folder, and put it back in his briefcase. When he looked up, he saw a red dot moving slowly across her face. A shooter had put Nailah into his crosshairs.
“Down, get down,” Justin shouted.
He jumped over the table and covered Nailah with his body as they both fell to the ground. A bullet shattered the window’s glass and zipped through the air, missing them by a few inches. Then a long barrage followed, bullets shredding everything around them.
Nailah had landed on top of Justin. He asked, “You okay?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Let’s stay down.”
Justin held her for a few moments as people scampered all around them in panic. Screams, shouts, and the ruckus of overturned chairs and tables and broken glass filled the restaurant. Justin rolled gently to the side and placed Nailah on the ground.
“You know how to use this?” he asked as he handed her one of his SIG pistols.
Nailah nodded.
“All right. Stay down and if a hostile gets close to you, shoot to kill.”
“Where are you going?” Her weak voice pleaded with him to stay with her.
“Can’t let the bastards go. And the guards should be here in a moment.”
The barrage continued, and Nailah’s entire body was shaking with fear.
Justin said, “It’s going to be okay.” He held her tight against his body. “I’m coming back for you. Just stay down and use the gun.”
Nailah nodded and held back her tears. “O . . . okay.”
“That’s my girl,” he said, and gave her a smile.
He pulled out his other SIG pistol and advanced with a low crawl toward the windows. Most of the patrons were lying flat on the floor, hiding underneath tables, sobbing or whimpering. One or two had been struck by the bullets and blood was pooling around their bodies. Two young men looked at Justin and gave him eager looks, willing to help him. He shook his head and gestured to them to stay low as more rounds pierced the windows, the walls, and everything else around them.
Justin reached one of the columns between the windows just as a shadow slid through one of the windows to his left. It was a man dressed in a camouflage uniform, waving an assault rifle in front of him.
Justin raised his pistol and fired two quick shots. The man toppled and fell inside the restaurant.
Another long barrage came from outside. Bullets slammed against the column, lifting marble shards near Justin’s face. He fell behind the column and ducked down. He crawled backwards and along the window, flat against the floor and hiding behind the one-foot-high wall underneath the window’s sill.
He reached the other column and took a quick peek. He saw one gunman reloading his rifle, which resembled the notorious AK. Another gunman had his rifle pointed at the other window, scanning the area and waiting for any movement.
Justin fired a quick shot at the second gunman. He missed. The gunman returned fire. A long, angry burst. Bullets struck eerily close to Justin’s head, with a couple thudding on the other side of the brick wall. He was glad the restaurant was atop a small hill; the higher point provided a bit of extra protection.
The gunfire stopped and Justin readied himself to return fire. He began to crawl forward to confuse the gunmen and pop up in between the two columns. Then someone let off a few rounds from inside the restaurant.
One of the young men had taken hold of the dead gunman’s rifle and was firing it. The rifle bounced wildly in his untrained hands and Justin doubted he hit anyone. Still, his return fire would have at least sent the gunmen seeking cover.
Justin took advantage of this situation and stole a quick glance. He saw one of the gunmen lying on the sand about thirty feet away, reloading his weapon. Justin fired two rounds, hitting the second gunman in the head.
The third gunman had disappeared. Justin examined the area outside the restaurant. There was no one in the garden, by the swimming pool, or by the little fishpond and the gazebo further to the right. The boat he had seen earlier was anchored on the shore, the silhouette of a man sitting low near the bow.
Another burst erupted from inside the restaurant. This time the shots were calculated, rhythmic, and evenly spaced out. The restaurant guards had arrived and were lending Justin a helping hand.
“Cover fire, cover fire,” Justin called out at the guards.
One of them noticed him and nodded back.
Justin jumped out through the window bent at the waist. He rushed toward the gazebo, which was the first place he would have sought cover if he were one of the gunmen. He kept his pistol in front of his face, ready to open fire.
He was halfway through the garden when a man popped up to the left side of the gazebo. He pointed his rifle toward Justin. Before he could begin to spray his volley, Justin fired two shots, then dove onto the lawn, rolling toward a cluster of palm trees.
The gunman began to thunder his rifle, but then stopped all of a sudden. Justin looked up and saw two of the restaurant guards had stepped through the windows. One or both of them must have silenced the third gunman. His body was lying flat on the sand.
Justin jumped to his feet and dashed toward the boat. The gunman on the boat had evidently spotted Justin; he gunned the speedboat’s engine, turning it around. Justin stopped and fired two rounds.
The speedboat kept going, its engine noise dying out and its white foam disappearing in the night’s pitch-black darkness. Justin kept firing until he emptied his entire magazine, then cursed out loud.
A guard ran toward him. “You got him?” he asked.
Justin shook his head. “No, he’s gone.”
“The house next door has a speedboat. We’ll give chase.”
“No use. By then he’ll be gone. Or he’ll jump out and swim to shore. That’s what I’d do.”
“So, we’re going to do nothing?”
“No, we’ll see what the dead can tell us.”
Justin returned to the restaurant. Nailah was not where he had left her. Most of the patrons were gone from the messy restaurant and the guards were escorting out a couple of elderly women. Justin sidestepped the tables and chairs thrown around as people had scampered in panic. He reached the othe
r side of the restaurant and then he saw Nailah come out of the ladies’ washroom. She still looked distraught, although she had cleaned up her face quite well and had dried up her tears. Her hair was rearranged for the most part, with a few loose hair strands on the back of her neck. A large black stain had blotched her dress on the lower left side of her chest.
“Nailah,” Justin said, and rushed toward her. “How are you?”
“Oh, Justin,” she cried, and hung tight onto him. “Why . . . What? Why would someone do something like . . .” Her voice trailed off and she began to sob quietly.
“It’s okay now, it’s okay.” Justin held her and patted her back. “It’s over and they’re all gone. They’re gone.”
Nailah nodded but kept sobbing.
“They interrupted our lovely dinner, and I don’t think these people will serve dessert.” Justin tried to lighten up the mood.
Nailah did not say anything. She sniffled a couple of times and held Justin tight against herself, perhaps even tighter than necessary. Given the circumstances, he did not really mind it.
“We’ll have to go out again and have a proper dinner,” he said.
Nailah nodded, then muttered, “Any time, Justin, any time.”
They stood there in their embrace for a few moments.
“Excuse me, miss, sir. The police are here,” one of the guards called from across the hall. His voice had the unmistakable tone of urgency and insistence, hinting strongly at them to disappear before facing the men of the law.
The thought had occurred to Justin as soon as the shooting stopped. The police would be all over the scene, considering the location of the incident, a posh neighborhood of the rich and powerful elite. The police would work hard and fast to find someone to take the blame, close this case, and ensure the residents that measures were in place to avoid such events happening again. But with his credentials and connections, Justin believed he would be able to weather this storm.
He nodded at the guard, then whispered in Nailah’s ear, “I have to talk to the police officers for a few minutes. You can come with me, but I’m sure they’ll separate us when they ask questions. We’ll tell them we were having dinner, then the shootout happened. Now we’re in shock and we don’t remember much. Leave out anything else related to the intel I showed you. Understood?”
