The Stash

by Dan Fletcher

  He turned to the balcony and climbed over again, swinging down to the third floor. Alan managed to time his landing better and soften the impact, but it still hurt like hell. Repeating the painful process another three times Alan finally landed in the flower bed near the pool. He caught himself on an acacia bush, its long thorns digging deeply into his skin.

  Ignoring the thorns, and the pain in his leg, Alan hopped along the side of the building using the wall and balconies of the rooms as support. There was bright light coming from a set of doors that was between him and the fencing around the whole pool area. Alan wasn’t sure what was beyond that, one step at a time, or one hop in his case. He bent low, and peered around to look inside.

  There was a bell-boy talking to someone behind the desk with his back to him, otherwise the place was deserted. Alan half hopped and walked as quickly as he could to the other side of the entrance, making his way along the rest of the building to the fence. There was low lighting both around, and in, the pool but otherwise it was dark.

  Alan got down on all fours, and crawled along the bottom of the fence, dodging bushes, looking for an opening. Then he found one. It looked like a dog must have burrowed its way underneath, probably in a desperate effort to find food. At least Alan hoped it was a dog. Images of wildlife documentaries popped into his mind.

  He took a nervous look around. Seeing nothing he made the opening as big as he could and lay on his back. It was tight, but using the fence he managed to drag his torso through the hole. Sitting up, he then shuffled backwards, using his hands as well, until he was clear of the fence.

  Alan could see a car passing on the road they came in on. He headed towards it, dragging his bad leg behind him in an awkward shuffle. He was doing his best to block out the burning pain and get away from the hotel. If he had ever been to Lagos at night before he most likely would have turned back.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  They laughed hysterically as they watched Alan fall from each floor and then crawl along the fence. Knowing full well they would catch him as soon as he got through. They managed to keep quiet, their sides heaving, waiting for him to approach their surveillance position in the field.

  ‘Stop! Police! Stay where you are and put your hands up!’ shouted Lieutenant Kehinde, standing up and managing not to snigger. They were pretty sure Alan wasn’t armed.

  ‘Did you say police?’ said Alan, pausing mid-shuffle and raising his arms just in case.

  ‘Yes! Now get down on your knees and keep your hands behind your head. Don’t move, or we’ll shoot.’ They were both fighting the urge to laugh. Alan looked pathetic stood on one leg.

  ‘Alright calm down,’ he said, doing as instructed. ‘Bloody hell, am I glad to see you fellas!’ Alan was actually genuinely pleased to see a police officer for the first time in his life. ‘Do you think you can give me a hand mate?’ he said, holding out his arms.

  ‘I said don’t move!’ Kehinde shouted. Moving behind Alan he expertly handcuffed his arms behind his back and pulled him to his feet. ‘Let’s go and have a chat shall we,’ he said, leading Alan towards the car park. The other officer came to help his colleague drag Alan to their car. They put him in the back seat and got in either side of him.

  ‘Are you Mr Simonds or Mr Shorey?’ was the all too familiar question, but tonight it took Alan by surprise.

  ‘Shorey. How the fuck do you know who I am?’ said Alan, wondering why there had been no rescue attempt.

  ‘If you don’t mind Mr Shorey I’ll ask the questions.’ Kehinde previously radioed headquarters for information on the two westerners. They got back to him ten minutes later. There were only eight none-nationals on the flight with Tunge. The rest of them all checked out as businessmen, who were regular fliers.

  ‘Now, what is your relationship with Mr Akintola?’ said Kehinde.

  ‘I haven’t got a bloody relationship with Mr Akin-to-la!’ shouted Alan, ‘he’s got my family hostage and forced us to come here!’

  ‘We’ll go into why he held them hostage later. For now let’s say I believe you. Why is he holding you and Mr Simonds?’ said the lieutenant, stifling another laugh, this time at Alan’s accent.

  ‘He wants us to take two bloody suitcases to LA! You’ve gotta help us. John needs a hospital,’ yelled Alan.

  ‘By the way you climbed down the building I would say that you might need some medical attention yourself,’ said the other officer, finally unable to contain a snigger.

  ‘You watched all that?’ said Alan, incredulously.

  ‘Never mind that, what’s in the suitcases?’ said Kehinde.

  ‘How the fuck should I know. He hasn’t told us has he, but I’m guessing it’s not candy floss!’ screamed Alan. ‘Now are you gonna help us or not?’

  ‘Just stay here one minute,’ Kehinde said. Giving the other officer a look that said ‘watch him’, he moved away from the car and called the Commander.

  ‘Are they moving?’ said Ibisi, causing Kehinde to finally lose control and laugh.

  ‘Err...sort of sir. One of them has escaped from their room using the balconies,’ he reported, stifling another one.

  ‘What are you laughing at Kehinde? This is a serious business! What has he told you?’ said the Commander.

  Kehinde quickly relayed what he knew, managing to stop any further losses of control. When he had finished the Commander paused before speaking.

  ‘Tell him he has to go back to the hotel and do whatever they want. If he doesn’t, he’ll be serving life for conspiring to traffic narcotics with his friend. That should do the trick. If you have to, tell him that we will be protecting them,’ said Ibisi.

  ‘Sir?’ Kehinde said, wondering how.

  ‘Dayo is following the Chief, he’s probably going to LA ahead of the delivery. This must be important so we’ll be working with the DEA in Los Angeles, but only tell him if he refuses to go. I don’t want them finding out that Dayo is there,’ instructed the Commander.

  ‘Yes sir,’ Kehinde said, surprised at the turn of events but remaining professional. ‘Mr Shorey says that his family is being held hostage in the UK, might be worth checking out knowing the Chief’s methods, sir.’

  ‘Get the address and I’ll see what I can do. Let me know when they leave for the airport. We’ve checked and the four of them are booked on tomorrow’s flight via Washington. Make sure you stay close to them,’ Ibisi said hanging up.

  Kehinde got back in the car and relayed the information to Alan, telling him that they would try to help his family, but omitting the parts as instructed.

  ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding!’ exclaimed Alan, glad they were doing something about the girls but not ready to be anyone’s bait. ‘You want me to go back in there! I’ll take my fucking chances in prison.’

  ‘I don’t think you’ve seen our prisons Mr Shorey. Much better to take your chances in there,’ Kehinde said, nodding towards the hotel. The car park was well lit and a few well dressed gamblers passed by on the way to the casino. If any of them noticed the three of them cramped in the back of the car, they made no sign of it. It seemed that in some ways Lagos was a lot like London, self-protection winning over good citizenship.

  ‘You might as well shoot me right here, I’m not going back in there. My only chance to help John is from out here not in there,’ he shouted, pointing at the hotel emphatically.

  ‘We will, of course, be protecting you at all times, along with the help of the DEA,’ Kehinde said, deciding he had to lay all the cards on the table, as this was going nowhere.

  ‘DEA? Why didn’t you say that in the first place?’

  ‘We don’t want to jeopardise the operation, it’s on a need to know basis,’ said the Lieutenant, trying to make it sound better organised than it actually was. ‘We’ll be with you every step of the way. As soon as there’s any sign of trouble we’ll pull you out. If you help us catch the Chief then you and your friend can walk away from this as free men. If you don’t, you’ll both rot in jail. T
he choice is yours,’ said Kehinde.

  ‘Looks like I haven’t got much bloody choice have I?’ replied Alan. ‘How the fuck do you expect me to get back in there?’ He had just remembered how he got out.

  ‘Leave that to us Mr Shorey, we know the staff,’ Kehinde said, getting out the car. ‘Come on then!’ he shouted, and Alan was helped to the front by the other officer.

  ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ muttered Alan under his breath, as they approached the main entrance. The porter politely opened the door, welcoming them to the hotel.

  Kehinde had a brief chat with the concierge and came back with a master key. He led them to the elevator, which took them back up to the 5th floor. Alan resisted the urge to bolt, or hop, back down the corridor, as they got to the bend near their room.

  ‘When they answer the other door go in quietly and head straight for the toilet.’ Kehinde slid the key into the slot, wincing as it made a loud click. The TV could still be heard in the bedroom, covering the noise. He stood back, holding the door slightly open for Alan to take.

  Kehinde went down the corridor to the other door, while the other officer hid behind the corner they had just come around. He took out his Smith & Wesson handgun and held it in front of him in a crouched position, just out of site.

  The lieutenant nodded to Alan and knocked loudly on the door. Alan shot into the room and closed the door as quietly as he could behind him. He could hear movement in the other room and slipped quickly into the bathroom. He heard Patience speaking.

  ‘Yes? Who is it?’

  ‘Room service sir. You ordered some champagne,’ Kehinde said, hoping his bluff would work. Fortunately for everybody concerned it did.

  ‘We didn’t order any champagne,’ Patience replied, gun in his hand.

  The lieutenant paused, pretending to consult his pad. ‘My mistake sir, it should be 537 not 527! I’m terribly sorry. I hope I didn’t wake you,’ he said, trying to sound as sincere as possible.

  ‘Just go away and leave us in peace,’ Patience shouted, heading back into the room. Happy was peering through the adjoining door. Just then Alan flushed the toilet and came out the bathroom.

  ‘What are you doing out of bed?’ barked Happy.

  ‘What the fuck do you think I was doing?’ replied Alan, hopping past John’s bed to his and collapsing onto it.

  Happy tutted and turned back into the other room out of sight from Alan. He looked at his friend still sleeping, an almost peaceful look on his face.

  ‘You lucky bastard!’ Alan thought, before lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  Commander-General Ibis leant back in his chair, feeling utterly helpless. He didn’t want to involve the DEA, if the Chief was questioned by them some truths would no doubt come out. Truths that could destroy his career and see him end his days in Ikoyi prison. Situated right next to his favourite golf course, but unable to see it over the high perimeter wall. Or worse, they might publically execute him as a national traitor. The preferred method was to string you up to a cross and shoot you with machine guns.

  The posts were set up at the Mhyoung Barracks, next to the university playing fields. They liked to time executions to coincide with a football match on Saturday afternoon, just to make sure there were as many witnesses as possible. The commander had sent many men to their deaths there, in his role as Drugs Saar of the city. He shuddered to think that he might end up being one of them. He had seen the flies on the bodies, swollen and distorted by the sun, when they were taken down and burnt in a communal pit. It wasn’t how Ibisi wanted to go.

  Dayo would be boarding the flight by now, there was no turning back. Besides the scrutiny he was receiving from the Minister and others within central government in Abuja left him no choice. He just had to hope they got the Chief back to Nigeria, or shot him dead. Picking up the phone, he waited for his secretary to answer.

  ‘Yes sir?’ said the expectant voice of his assistant, a keen young officer from Kano in the north of Nigeria, called Lekie.

  ‘Get me the number for the DEA in Los Angeles,’ then realising he would have to inform the British authorities regarding the people held hostage, ‘and get me the number for the Metropolitan Police in London while you’re at it. Make it quick we haven’t got much time!’

  ‘Yes sir,’ Lekie replied, into the already dead receiver.

  Less than five minutes later Lekie called the Commander back with the numbers.

  ‘Thank you,’ Ibisi said, pressing the cradle down to cut the line. He dialled the number in London first. It was answered by a desk sergeant on reception in New Scotland Yard, St James’s Park.

  ‘Hello. How can I help you?’ was the sergeant’s gruff greeting.

  ‘Hello, I’m the Commander-General of the NDLEA calling from Nigeria. I need to speak to someone urgently regarding a hostage situation,’ Ibisi said.

  ‘A hostage situation sir?’ replied the duty sergeant, his ears pricking and his back straightening. This wasn’t the usual boring enquiry he got from the public.

  ‘Yes, we have been following an international drug smuggler and believe that he’s holding a man’s family hostage, there in London. I have the details here,’ Ibisi said, still reluctant but resigned to the course of events.

  ‘Hold on sir. I’m afraid there’s no point giving them to me and I’m not sure who to put you through to in this situation. I’ll have to take you’re number and get someone to call you back,’ said the sergeant, pen poised at the ready.

  ‘Call me back? We’re talking life and death here! Put me through to your superior,’ screamed the Commander.

  ‘Please calm down, sir. I’m afraid it wouldn’t do any good, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t know who to call either. Give me ten minutes and someone will call you back. I’ll make certain of it,’ replied the sergeant.

  ‘OK, I’ll wait for your call but make it quick. Peoples’ lives are at stake,’ shouted Ibisi, ending the call. He decided to phone the DEA whilst he waited.

  This time he was put straight through to a senior Detective, who was more familiar with international drug crime, heading their unit against narcotics in downtown Los Angeles. He had dealt with criminals bringing cocaine over the border from Mexico. The recent influx of heroin meant that they were very short on resources. The gangs controlled their little pockets of the city and the police were fighting a losing battle. New faces replaced those they arrested before they were able to process them through the overloaded court system.

  ‘How many bad guys are we expecting and what are they bringing with them?’ said Detective Mendoza, getting straight to the point. The Commander had briefed him on the Chief’s arrival and Dayo’s role as observer.

  ‘We expect four altogether, plus the two men they are forcing to carry the suitcases. We suspect that it’s heroin and haven’t been able to confirm who his contact is in LA. That’s why we thought it would be mutually beneficial to combine resources on this,’ said the Commander.

  ‘OK, I’ll get a surveillance team ready. We’ll wait to see who they meet and take it from there. Send me over what you have on this Chief guy so we can identify him when he arrives, we don’t want them getting stopped in customs and blowing the whole god damn thing,’ Mendoza said, starting to think who, and what, he would need to mobilise.

  ‘OK, I’ll send you the details. We would prefer to get the Chief on Nigerian soil. He is wanted for numerous crimes here that will make a bigger case against him. We’re trying to make an example of his sort,’ said the Commander, hopefully.

  ‘I can’t promise anything, Commander. We’ll just have to see how things pan out. There’s no telling how an operation like this might go, but we’ve got to prepare for the worst. Tell Dayo we’ll be at the airport to meet him undercover. He can brief me fully then,’ Mendoza said.

  ‘Thanks. Please let me know if there are any developments and I’ll confirm when the second party leaves
Lagos tomorrow evening,’ Ibisi said, hanging up.

  Not long afterwards the light flashed on his phone showing an internal call from his assistant.

  ‘Yes, what is it?’

  ‘It’s Scotland Yard on the line for you sir, a Chief Superintendent Pickles. Hold on and I’ll put you through,’ Lekie replied.

  There was a short delay and then they were connected.

  ‘Hello, Commander-General Ibisi?’ said Pickles.

  ‘Yes. Hello. Thank you for calling me back. By the sound of it we have a very serious situation on our hands. We have reason to believe that a Mr Alan Shorey’s wife and two children are being held hostage at their home in Tottenham. I have the address for you here.’

  ‘How do you know they’re being held prisoner?’ said Pickles, taking furious notes.

  ‘We spoke to Mr. Shorey earlier this evening. He is being held hostage here by the same man, a Mr Babajide Akintola, and being taken to Los Angeles. I’ve contacted the DEA and they will be running the operation there to ensure his safety,’ replied the Commander.

  ‘Los Angeles?’ said Pickles taken aback.

  ‘Yes it’s in the United States of America. You know the other side of that big pond,’ Ibisi replied.

  ‘I know where it is, thank you sir. I was just wondering what they are taking Mr Shorey to the States for?’ replied Pickles, not showing his irritation.

  ‘It’s complicated and not your concern. Your only concern is the safety of Mr Shorey’s family,’ was the Commander’s curt reply.

  ‘I agree Commander, now could I have the address for Mr Shorey please?’ said the Detective, swallowing his pride, the safety of London’s citizens his priority.

  ‘Here it is,’ Ibisi relayed the address to Pickles, ‘you may also want to check out his warehouse in Tilbury. We know he has been using it for the smuggling of cocaine into the UK and he may be holding them there.’ The Commander gave him the address in Hume Road.