by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 16
Pastor Ayo of Christ's Centre of Holy Visions had taken a liking to his hat. He'd seen people wearing a trilby at a horse race meeting in England once and with his winnings that day had bought six. Today he was wearing the brown felt one with gold ribbon around the crown. Ayo liked changing his style though he stuck with the Armani suits - unless, of course, something really special was called for, in which case he'd go for an Ermenegildo Zegna. Light grey fabric with a faint sparkle was a favourite. Today it was just an Armani.
Sitting opposite Ayo was the squat form of Pastor Lazarus of the Good Tidings Christian Peoples Church.
It was mid-morning on the day Mark Dobson flew back to London and the two Pastors were sitting with a tray of tea and biscuits in the plush Wellington Lounge at London's Hyde Park Intercontinental Hotel.
The overweight Lazarus was clad in a tight-looking black Italian suit. With his arms stretched over the back of the sofa facing the window and the iconic Wellington Arch, Lazarus was in full flow, his cheeks rippling with distaste. He mostly wore dark glasses outside, but took them off indoors so people could judge his emotional state through his eyes. Lazarus could turn salty tears into liquid gold just by squeezing his eyelids.
Ayo was emptying the last drops of the pot of tea into his own cup.
"It is no place for us, Ayo," Lazarus hissed, waving the glasses." They are like animals. I have been there before. It is the Nigerian High Commission for God's sake not some dirty office for issuing visas. It is run by imbeciles. It is like the hell without Jesus. I will not be treated like that."
Tears formed in the red corners of his eyes as he stared at Ayo. A waitress came to ask if they'd like more tea. Ayo pushed the tray towards her. She sniffed at the smell of aftershave, gathered the tray and walked away.
"Patience, Lazarus. It is, I agree, a zoo," Ayo said waving an arm. "To wear a boubou in London is out of place. We business people should not need to change our dress."
"And it is such a mess, Ayo," Lazarus continued, turning the gold ring with the ruby on his middle finger. "Did you ever visit the Commissioner's office? It is so cluttered it reminds me of the kitchen of Abela's house in Calabar. You remember that day when we met the bastard Gabriel Joshua and his assistant?"
"No need to remind me," It was Ayo's turn to rotate a gold ring - one with a huge blue stone. Then he glanced at his Rolex. "Our visitor is late."
"They are always late," Lazarus giggled. The tears had evaporated. "They like to create an impression. An important man must always be late. Ah, but wait, this might be him now."
Lazarus and Ayo rose to their feet in unison as a big, tall Nigerian wearing the sort of garment they had just denounced as impractical appeared at the entrance. He strode over in shiny black lace up shoes with his long white gown embroidered with black and gold. The matching hat seemed to add another six inches to his height.
Ex Major General Zainab Azazi, the President's brother, swept towards them across the lounge peering through a pair of heavy rimmed spectacles and holding out a hand that was bigger and far stronger than the hands of Lazarus and Ayo. Ayo beckoned him to sit. Lazarus checked the bones of his hand.
"I do not have long," Azazi said, pulling up the sleeve of his boubou and looking at his watch. "You have another visitor."
"Another visitor, sir? Who sir?" Ayo didn't like surprises. Things outside his control.
"Be careful what you say to him. Do you understand?" A worried look had spread across Azazi's big round face. Ayo and Lazarus glanced at one another.
"He is. ah, close to the President," Azazi said hesitantly, glancing behind him as if he thought the other visitor might already be right behind. "So," he said more quietly, leaning forward. "Where is the bastard Pastor Gabriel fucking Joshua?"
"We don't know, sir." Ayo said.
"Why? You are in the same business." He licked his big lips with a fat, pink tongue. "You were instructed to find him."
Lazarus stared. Ayo sniffed.
Azazi was not just a big man in size but a big man of influence. Azazi was not only the President's brother but knew people - politicians, chiefs, governors, judges, those in charge. Azazi fixed things, sorted relationships, oiled wheels of financial transactions and, most importantly, handed out favours.
So why, Ayo in particular observed, did he seem so nervous? A man like Zainab Azazi should be able to relax because he was untouchable which meant his friends were also untouchable. Ayo had always thought he was one of those untouchable friends but, right now, he was making Ayo feel nervous.
Lazarus, though, seemed totally oblivious.
Azazi leaned forward, removed the spectacles and made them disappear amongst the swathes of cotton. "Listen to me. An arrest warrant has been issued. But it is not enough. He must be found, do you understand?"
"So, it is important, sir?" Lazarus asked timidly.
Azazi shot him an angry look, an arm flew up and the spectacles slid from a fold onto the floor. He bent to retrieve them. "Of course, it's fucking important," he spat. "If that bastard's not stopped we are all finished."
Lazarus shrank back. "I see, sir."
"We have dealt with his London office, sir," Ayo said. "His local manager is, uh, gone. It is, uh, progress, sah." Ayo hoped that was enough. It wasn't.
"What else?"
"And we went to his office but he wasn't there." It was a lie but Azazi wasn't to know. "We will try again, sir."
Zainab Azazi leaned forward, beckoning the two Pastors to do likewise.
"Listen to me," he said in a loud whisper. "I don't care about his fucking business What I care about is who runs the fucking country. Presidents decide what is important and what is not. Presidents decide who runs the army. Presidents choose their friends. Presidents meet other Presidents. Presidents, my God-fearing friends, don't like their plans upset by unelected fucking actors and stage performers. Got it?"
He returned the spectacles to their rightful place and stared at them through the lenses.
Ayo fingered his lips, thinking. It was as if Azazi was now the President not his older brother. As usual, Lazarus ruined Ayo's train of thought.
"It is why we met the President, sir," Lazarus piped up. "That man Gabriel Joshua is like a politician."
Azazi winced as if he had no wish to hear those precise words. He wrapped his hands over his face and ears. "So, fucking well find him," he growled. "We need him out of the way. Understand?"
Lazarus nodded and opened the front of his tight jacket to scratch an armpit that felt damp. "Tea?" he asked.
Azazi's face swelled in size as he took a huge breath. He turned towards the entrance and checked his watch. Ayo was still trying to figure out what to say next when Azazi pointed a fat finger at him.
"Do you know about Mr Balogun?"
"Kenneth?" Ayo checked. "He was in England, sah, but returned to Nigeria and........"
Azazi interrupted. "I mean do you know what happened to him yesterday?"
"Mr Balogun advised us on how to deal with the bastard's business. He recommended Osman Olande to...."
"Yah, yah, yah. That was weeks ago. Listen to my fucking question. You know what happened to Mr Balogun yesterday?"
"Yesterday, sah? No sah."
"He was assaulted. Almost killed."
Lazarus put a hand to his mouth. "Such a nice man, sah."
"That is not good," said Ayo. "But his advice on Osman was useful. Osman came to deal with the basstad Gabriel."
"And helped you to fail."
"Well, yes, sah," Ayo said. "But he dealt with the Englishman, Dobson, who went to Lagos to help the basstad Gabriel"
Azazi sat back, puzzled. "Who is this Englishman?"
"Dobson, sah. He works for Ashah and Ashah, sah. Osman says they are private investigators."
"Who is Ashah? How many Ashahs? ......No, I do not want to know." Azazi looked at his watch yet again. "I will return to Nigeria but you will find the basstad Gabriel and his fucking assistant
and the bloody man Ashah Dobson. Do you hear?"
And then he stood, turned and, without another word, walked away, his boubou swishing and his shoes scuffing on the floor of the Wellington Lounge.
When he'd gone, Lazarus touched Ayo's arm. "I've seen those markings on someone else," he whispered.
Ayo closed his eyes in utter disbelief. "Facial markings? You've seen them before? My God. You've seen them on President Azazi, Pastor."
Lazarus's mouth opened. "Ayya! So they are related?"
"Brothers you fool. They are brothers."
"Ah." Lazarus nodded and settled back into his chair. "More tea?"
"My stomach is distended with tea."
"So, who do you think is now coming to see us, Ayo? And with no proper appointment. I want to return home to where people wait to see me, Ayo. I would like to see my wife."
Ayo could hardly believe his ears. "Your wife, Lazarus? Your wife left you years ago for a Catholic fucking priest."
"But she still lives inside my head, Ayo."
"If you are still living inside her head, Lazarus, I'd be very surprised. She'd tried out several Catholic priests before settling on the one from Cape Town."
Lazarus nodded sadly. "God demands a man take the rough with the smooth."
Ayo was tempted to say that Lazarus's ex-wife was, indeed, very rough but held his tongue. Nevertheless, his patience with Lazarus was at its limit. He stood up, holding his head but then sat down again because the Polish waitress was watching them. Instead, he leaned towards Lazarus.
"Do you ever use your fucking brain, Pastor?" he hissed. "Do you ever think? Do you know what you are doing? Do you understand that you are up to your ears in things outside your control?"
Lazarus looked bemused at the anger. "It is God's doing, Ayo. We are in his hands."
Ayo's hiss almost became a scream. "Does your God never talk to you at night Lazarus? Does he never whisper into your ear: 'Lazarus, Lazarus, my son, you are in deep, fucking shit.' Does he?"
The Polish waitress glanced over.
"No, never," Lazarus said apparently unaware of the anger bubbling opposite Ayo. "He only tells me to live a good life so when I die even the undertaker will feel sorry." He paused, remembering something else. "And he says God gives and forgives. It is people who get and forget."
"So, did your God with his infinite wisdom and deep understanding of the way of the world never advise you to get out while the going was good? To cash in your fucking chips, Lazarus?"
"No."
"Then your fucking God's a different fucking God than mine, Pastor. Because mine's been telling me for a year we're in such deep shit that he's saying: Ayo, you're on my own. Sink or fucking swim, my son. Go with the tide or go to......go to fucking prison. Got it now, Lazarus? Got it?"
Lazarus was twisting his big lower lip with his fingers. "I see. You mean it's no longer just business, Ayo? Is it politics?"
"Congratulations, Pastor. Perhaps you should try talking to my God sometime."
Lazarus was still pulling on his lower lip when he saw another Nigerian speaking to the Polish waitress by the door. This man was slimmer and more athletic looking than Azazi. Lazarus kicked Ayo beneath the table and nodded in the direction of the door.
"What suit is that?" Lazarus whispered as the man walked purposely towards their corner.
This new, Nigerian visitor looked as if he might have just endured an overnight flight from somewhere far away. He wore a drab, grey suit and a crumpled white shirt with a florescent green tie that hung below the unfastened top button of his shirt. He strode over holding out a bony but strong looking hand.
"Martin Abisola," he said softly. "You must be Pastors Ayo and Lazarus."
They didn't get up but nodded in unison, Lazarus noticing a strap fastened around his waist and a bulge from something concealed behind his jacket.
Abisola ignored their apparent indifference. "You met Zainab Azazi?" he asked in a quiet voice tainted with an English, educated accent.
"Tea?" asked Lazarus.
"No thank you. But I have some questions."
Ayo sniffed and Lazarus settled back. Then the questions started.
"Tell me about Pastor Gabriel Joshua. Do you know the one called Solomon? Who is this Englishman called Dobson?
Ayo provided short answers followed by more sniffs and Abisola listened. nodding, sitting quietly and confidently, legs crossed, hands together unmoving in his lap. "We know very little," Ayo concluded. "What we know we've already told General Zainab Azazi."
Abisola nodded. "Where is Osman Olande?"
"Ah," said Ayo to give time to think.
"Living quietly, sah," said Lazarus. "The police are looking for him."
Ayo squirmed.
"Is that so? Why are the police looking for him?"
"Olande knows something about the death of Mr Kenneth Eju," Lazarus said proudly as if he was the only one who knew.
"And who is Mr Kenneth Eju?"
Lazarus, trying to be helpful to a man who listened and didn't show such frightening aggression, spoke about Solomon Trading. "It is in Croydon, sah. Do you know Croydon?" He ended with: "Are you sure you won't take tea?"
It was mid-afternoon when Abisola sat back, smiled and said he'd finished his questions. Ayo said he had a question of his own. It was one that had whirled around in his head since Abisola arrived. "Excuse me sah. We've not met before. Who do you work for?"
"The Nigerian SSS - the State Security Service."
Lazarus chewed a finger nail and looked from the corner of a slightly damp eye. Ayo sniffed. "Ah, I see. And your position in the, uh, SSS, sir?"
"I am its head." Abisola waited for that to sink in, then added: "This is a most unpleasant business. One arrest warrant has already been issued."
Ayo relaxed. "Good. Arrest warrants for the basstad Gabriel must be acted upon and made to stick."
Abisola nodded. "Indeed," he said. "Arrest warrants are useful and very necessary sometimes. Perhaps we will issue more warrants soon."
Lazarus smiled and nodded. Ayo just nodded. Abisola continued.
"Warrants can be used to arrest anyone - including both of you."
The words had been spoken without blinking and Ayo and Lazarus looked at one another. This time, the tears in Lazarus's eyes weren't forced. "Oh, my Lord Jesus," he whimpered.
Ayo, feeling utterly betrayed tried composure but felt his voice breaking. "That seems very harsh for men of God. like us...... May I ask on what grounds."
Abisola took a deep breath and stood up. He then looked down at them, loosened his green tie so much he might just as well have removed it entirely. "On what grounds?" he said, and then he held up his fingers to count them off. "Bribery, corruption, extortion, false representation, fraud, deception, money laundering, theft of church funds, plotting against the government, telling lies to the President. Don't worry. I'll think of something."
When he'd finished, Martin Abisola, the head of the Nigerian SSS, had used up all ten digits.
