An Honourable Fake

by Terry Morgan

Dobson called Martin Abisola on Vigo's phone but it went straight to an anonymous messaging centre. Thinking that was because Vigo's number was unrecognised, Dobson risked his own phone. It was only four thirty but Abisola picked it up immediately. "What's the urgency?"

  "The one called Godwin on Lazarus's list," Dobson said. "I've got a name - Abubakar Aliyu."

  There was an unusually long silence from Abisola. "You sure?"

  "Sure. He runs a protection business. And something else. A guy was shot dead at Pink Lips an hour ago. It was Benji who helped my team deal with Balogun."

  Vigo and Chelsea heard that and woke up completely.

  Dobson heard Vigo muttering "Fuck," under his breath while he waited for Abisola to say something.

  "Benji. Benny Fashola?" Abisola asked.

  "Benny Fashola?" Dobson checked with Vigo.

  Vigo nodded. "Fuck."

  "It's been a bad night, Abisola went on. "We've also had shootings here in Abuja. Two hours ago, it was Danny Idamo and Casper Daramola. You know them?"

  "Danny? Casper? Dead?"

  "Fuck," said Vigo and Chelsea in unison.

  "Multiple gunshot wounds. You want my opinion on what this is about?" Abisola said. "The big guys have heard about warrants and arrests for banking fraud, corruption and money laundering and they're thinking things are getting too close to home - just like I warned. So, they're firing warning shots saying, 'Don't mess with us' and they're saying it to anyone showing enthusiasm for Pastor Gabriel, to those who help unwelcome foreigners and to the unwelcome foreigners themselves. As for Gabriel. I reckon he'll need all the help God can give if he returns right now.

  "But I now understand what Lazarus's suicide note meant," Abisola continued. "Abubakar runs several companies including one called Golden Churches. It's an insurance company with an advertising strap line 'God Wins'. Lazarus probably knew it as Godwin.

  "And Abubakar owns other businesses - Golden Opportunities, Golden Finance - but dig down and it's drugs, prostitution and protection. What's more, Abubakar is a friend of Festus Fulani and Zainab Azazi. This is Nigeria, Mark - organised crime, gangsters on a par with Chinese Triads and Italian Mafia. You see what a nightmare we face trying to eradicate corruption? Turn over a few stones and all sorts crawl out. Unravelling it is almost impossible. It's why prosecutions fail."

  Mark Dobson understood. He'd spent the best part of fifteen years tangling with what Colin Asher called snake pits.

  "So, let me get this straight," Dobson said. "Pink, known as Pink Panther to most of Pink Lips, actually works for Abubakar's Golden businesses and calls himself Godwin. Lazarus, confused as always, paid protection money to someone he knew as Godwin but that money went to Abubakar."

  "That's probably it, although if Lazarus paid cash I wouldn't guarantee it went to where it was supposed to. Abubakar is an international criminal, a con man and a multimillionaire who mostly lives outside Nigeria - last time I heard he was in Los Angeles."

  There was the usual pause for reflection and, suddenly, a few clicks on the line.

  Then Abisola said. "Stop using this phone, Mark. Move now." And then the phone went dead.

  Dobson stared at his silent phone. Had someone logged it. Traced it? He stood up.

  "Vigo, Listen. I'm leaving right now. Chelsea. I need your phone. Hand it over - right now! Get up for Christ's sake and go downstairs, anywhere. Just stay out of sight for a few hours then check in like you've just arrived in Abuja. Get a room together and keep your heads down. Understand?"

  Vigo jumped up, eyes wide. Chelsea wasn't sure, but eventually, seeing Vigo already moving fast, stood.

  "I'm going now. Do as I say. I'll contact you somehow later. Move."

  Dobson picked up his laptop, took the fire escape at the end of the corridor, ran down the stairs, pushed the fire door and found himself in a service area at the rear of the hotel. It was still dark, dark enough to move between parked cars and out onto the main road. Five minutes later he was standing behind a tree watching the still brightly lit hotel entrance

  Within seconds a Mercedes arrived, the driver waved a card at the night-time attendant but barely stopped and drove straight to the hotel entrance. Three men got out. One stayed by the car, two disappeared inside.

  Two minutes later there was a knock on the door of Dobson's room but inside it was empty. Vigo and Chelsea had fled, following Dobson down the fire exit and out into the car park.

  From behind the tree, Dobson watched and worried. It was not five o'clock but there was already movement in the hotel lobby. He took out Chelsea's phone and rang Dickson's number. Dickson answered. "Can you transfer this call to the boss, Dickson?"

  "Yes, Mr Dobson. Is everything OK?"

  "No. Where are you?"

  "Boss called me to go to the Sheraton."

  "Don't go there, Dickson. It's too late. Pick me up on Benghazi street. You know where?"

  "Sure. You want to speak to boss?"

  But Martin Abisola's voice immediately came on the line. "Bring Mr Hicks to NCHQ, Dickson."

  It was 4am UK time when Colin Asher took a call from the French private investigator, Maurice, who held an unpaid debt to Asher & Asher.

  "Zis homme Nig?rian," Maurice said. "Someone with manteau d'hiver et chapeau mou just check out of Radisson Blu in Marseille Vieux Port."

  Asher, trying to sleep on a camp bed in his office jumped up. "Chapeau mou? Qu'est-ce mot, Maurice?"

  "It eez hat, Colin. Chapeau mou. Like Inspector Cluseau."

  "A trilby sur un homme noir?" Colin interpreted. "Pas commun. And manteau d'hiver? Winter coat, right? What time did he check out, Maurice?"

  "Twenty minutes, Colin. He sit and wait in hotel bus for Marseilles Provence airport. I go fast by car. Bus not arrive yet. What to do, Colin?"

  "Find out where the hell he's going and call me back. Good work Maurice."

  "Boss will come soon," Dickson told Dobson as he escorted him to the interrogation room at Abisola's NCHQ.

  Dickson left and Dobson logged onto the Asher site to find a message marked URGENT.

  "Ayo has bought a ticket for Cairo from Marseilles, south of France. Flight details to follow. Rather than wait to be shot in Abuja why not meet Ayo in Cairo? Craig's on standby. RSVP."

  Dobson sat back. It took less than a minute to decide. "I'll fly to Cairo."

  Back came a reply: "Ayo is flying Turkish Airlines via Istanbul. ETD midday, ETA 2030. There's an Egypt Air flight from Abuja to Cairo that could get you to Cairo just before Ayo. Your move."

  Martin Abisola then arrived. "So, you're still in one piece."

  "Thanks for the warning. Five minutes later would have been too late. I've decided to go to Cairo."

  "Cairo." Abisola repeated after Dobson had explained. "A co-incidence. Monday's just unscrambled a message from Ahmad Sherat, an Egyptian Homelands Security guy I spoke to when I was in London. EHS want ID details and any other names that Fulani uses. Colin Asher found links between the Islamic Bank in London and the Abu Dhabi Islamic Bank in Cairo and there are accounts at the ADIB Cairo opened with forged Nigerian passports. Colin Asher found six aliases he uses. These went to the NCA and the NCA contacted the EHS."

  "But I'll follow Ayo and see where that leads us."

  "Ahmad Sherat's team at EHS might be useful."

  Dobson thought about that. "Agreed, but right now, I'm going to Cairo as part of my duty for Gabriel and Solomon," he said. "I'll soon know if it's time to call in the EHS."

  Abisola nodded and they sat for a moment, thinking until another message from Asher appeared. "Gabriel has arrived in Accra. He's with Solomon."

  "Christ," said Dobson. "Why do I think he's planning on returning here just as I'm leaving."