by Terry Morgan
CHAPTER 32
If Bill Larsen thought that a helicopter ride to the capital of Nigeria would unnerve Halima, he was wrong. Wearing her black tee shirt, desert camouflage cargo pants and desert boots, she'd followed him to the waiting helicopter after it landed at the camp, climbed in with the helping hand of the co-pilot, fastened herself in, smiled and held onto her seat as the craft took off. She'd then spent the entire journey looking down at the ground. Answers to questions were given with smiles and 'yes sah' or 'no sah.".
They landed on a H mark at Abuja airport, waited for an official car that took them to the US Embassy. Daniel Bakare was waiting. He introduced himself first to Bill Larsen and then to Halima.
"Come, we'll have lunch and discuss this evening's press conference."
Dobson had an idea.
He texted Abisola knowing that he'd be sitting alongside Monday. "You reported someone called Ayo at 05.56. Have you got the number?"
Monday's reply took less than a minute. "Yes. We now believe it was a phone used by Zainab Azazi."
"OK - please call the number. Do it anonymously with a good Nigerian accent. Tell him that police working for Egyptian security arrested several Nigerians in Cairo this morning Tell him it's to do with London bank fraud and Interpol notices. Tell him you've heard that Thahab Enterprises are on their list. Suggest to him that they might like to stay away from the office for a day or so until the dust settles. Got it?"
Back came the reply. "Dickson will do it in pure Naija."
Ayo had been left alone on the sofa. He was still breathing heavily and the painful cramps had moved to his arm and his neck. He was sure it was a heart attack and the thought just made matters worse. He was sure that, at any moment, an agonising pain would erupt and he would collapse and die instantly. He needed an ambulance. Urgently.
Lying on a dirty plastic sofa was not what he'd planned for his passing. He'd imagined a private hospital with a view over verdant lawns where nurses and doctors hovered, offering soothing words and holding his hand clasped over the Bible opened at Psalm 119 verse 105, a photocopy of which he kept in his Pastor's Mega Pack. What were the words? Ah yes,
"Nun. Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path?."
But it was not the voices of nuns and doctors he could hear coming from the adjoining room but the deep voices of men he hated: Zainab Azazi, Festus Fulani and the one they called Babban. What were they discussing? His murder? Or would he die before that anyway?
He looked up at the 'Golden Finance' poster. Even in his semi delirious state, it explained a lot. He, Pastor Ayoola Eniate, had been helping a terrorist group, the COK, an organisation he often denounced in church as evil.
A phone rang in the next room and Ayo opened his eyes. Was it a doctor? An emergency medical service, an ambulance checking the address? He listened to the voice of Zainab Azazi, answering the call, but understood nothing.
"Who is this?" Azazi asked.
"A friend, sah," replied the unknown male voice with the Lagos accent. "I cannot talk long but if you are in your office I advise you to move out as soon as you can. They have addresses, sah. This morning they arrested two of my best friends. Bank problems in London, sah. You know what I mean?"
"I need to know who this is?"
"My phone is tapped, sah. I cannot speak more. Take my good advice sah, leave your office urgently."
Dickson had performed brilliantly.
It was another ten minutes before Dobson heard the door opening below. There was a general mumbling of voices around the doorway, a shuffling of feet as if one or more were walking down the steps. Then the louder voice of Zainab Azazi said, "You look too sick, Ayo, but you can't stay here. Get up."
There was more shuffling as if Ayo was being pulled to his feet. "Walk man, walk." Ayo might have stumbled for Dobson then heard. "Fuck, move your legs man." The door was shut, a key was turned and Ayo was dragged down the three flights of stairs. Dobson stood up, crept half way down the steps and stopped to look around the bend on the third-floor landing. They were all standing at the entrance, discussing something, Ayo being held upright by Azazi. Dobson then heard Azazi ask "Where's Ali?"
"Coming." Another voice said, probably Festus Fulani's. "We wait."
Dobson assumed this was their transport.
"So, what about this basstad?"
"Take him to the Ritz. Let them sort it."
From outside the recently vacated Golden Enterprises office door, Dobson phoned Adel.
"Adel, my friend. Sabah el kheer? Kayf halak?"
"Simon! Ahlan sadiqui. Colin just phoned. Maljadeed? You got trouble?"
"Just need help. You free?"
"For you, my friend, Simon, of course. But I just told Colin, I'm not in Cairo but in Alexandria."
"Ah. Mmm. What about???.?"
"Farouk?"
"Farouk. Is he free to follow some Nigerians around town?"
"Farouk, he is waiting your call. That I also told Colin. You speak too soft Simon. You sure you not in trouble."
"Not yet. Ask Farouk to call me now. OK?"
Two minutes later, Dobson's phone vibrated. "Farouk?...........Yes, good man. Listen, go to the Nile Ritz Carlton. A black Mercedes with four Nigerians will call there You might see a very sick Nigerian being dropped off. If so, leave him for the hotel to deal with and follow the Mercedes. Stay tuned, OK?"
"Yes, Mr Simon.
Despite his hatred of Zainab Azazi Ayo was so weak he found himself holding onto his arm for support as they waited for what Ayo hoped was his transport to hospital. That was when his bag slipped from his shoulder onto the pavement. Festus Fulani picked it up, unzipped it and pulled out Ayo's belongings - passport, wallet, a bottle of white tablets, a small Bible and then an envelope. "What is this?"
Ayo watched, wide eyed, fearful, but too weak to object.
"A bank draft for one hundred and ninety thousand dollars to be drawn on the International Arab Bank, Cairo," said Festus Fulani. "Very nice. Were you planning to go there after receiving your commission, Ayo?"
Ayo trembled and tried to grab everything back. It was futile.
"I don't think you'll need that. Also, everything's in here for bank ID purposes." He handed it to Abubakar who glanced at it and then handed it back to Fulani. Fulani slung the bag over his own shoulder. "Shame it's not more."
Then the Mercedes arrived.
Dobson heard the movement at the entrance and crept down to the first landing. Looking around the corner he saw Ayo being manhandled again, this time into the back of the car. Azazi climbed in after him. Festus Fulani went to the other door. And Abubakar took the front passenger seat.
As soon as the car drove away, Dobson went back to the third floor. He checked the door. It was a surprisingly simple lock but he had no gear with him. He checked it thoroughly, went down into the street, bought a can of Pepsi, some wire and a pair of scissors, drank the Pepsi and returned to the door.
Sitting on the step again he cut a decent shape, re-enforced it with the wire and tried the lock. In less than a minute he was inside and standing in a small cream-painted room with only a black plastic sofa as furniture and a door off. On one wall was a poster in English, 'Golden Finance'. On the other wall, another poster, 'Golden Insurance' and on the wall above the door 'Golden Enterprises.
Dobson went through the other door - an ordinary looking office with a single window offering a view of the backs of other dismal grey buildings with washing hanging and flocks of pigeons on flat roofs. There was a single medium sized desk with a flat screen computer, a well-worn black swivel chair behind and four hard backed chairs propped around the wall. There were files on a small bookshelf alongside leaflets advertising life insurance, vehicle insurance and business start-up finance. He opened some of the files and flipped through the contents: customer files with Nigerian names, papers held together with paper clips and staples. But the customers had addresses in Lagos, Ibadan and Kano and, to Dobson, looked as if they'd
been brought to Cairo for effect only. He checked the dates - none were recent, some were five years old. He'd seen it before - a simple and easy diversion for quick, superficial investigations.
He turned to the computer, checked cable attachments and switched it on. Surprisingly, it was unlocked. It had Windows 7 with Word 2013 and the usual set of standard icons. He pressed Explorer and got an internet connection but with nothing in a favourites box or the browsing history. He went back to Word, opened Documents and Excel and found nothing. Then he called Colin Asher.
"I need a hack," he said to Colin Asher.
"Where are you?"
"Inside the office. It's set up as a cheap but pathetic cover as an insurance company, that might just be enough to deter a quick inspection."
"Are you on a PC now?"
"Yes. It's got a well-thumbed keyboard but nothing's showing. I'm suspicious."
"Can you find an IP address."
Dobson found it, read it out and waited.
"So where are the occupants?" Colin Asher asked as he pressed keys and waited for wheels to grind on a computer back in the Edgware Road office.
"Dumping a very sick Ayo back at the Ritz Carlton. From there I'm hoping Farouk can track them to wherever they???.."
"Right I'm in. What are we looking for?"
"Usual stuff. Files, browsing history, you know."
Colin hummed an unrecognisable tune. Dobson waited and wondered what he'd do if Festus and the others returned unexpectedly. He put it out of his mind.by reading an ancient file on one Joseph Akami from Calabar and a handwritten letter from Mr Akami to Golden Insurance in Abuja complaining with dark words about a delay in settling his claim. It looked like someone had spat on his letter and screwed it up before replacing it back in Mr Akami's file.
"Christ," Asher said after a while. "There's a link to another computer somewhere and??. and files crammed with stuff. This'll take me hours. There are hundreds of memos, spread sheets and names - names, names, names. Bank details. Jesus, Mark, this is serious. And some of it'll need decoding. What the fuck have you uncovered?"
"So, can I leave you to it?" Dobson asked. "How long?"
"Six months or so should do," Asher replied, clearly enjoying himself. "You off now?"
"Yep. Over to you. Can I shut this thing down and make it look like no-one came in?"
"Sure, go ahead. Tidy up??Fuck me.......look at that. Martin Abisola will love this. Who the hell is Tatsine?"
"The COK, Colin. Looks like we've found their HQ. I always said we're better than the CIA or SIS."
Dobson tidied up, relocked the door and left the cool, quiet darkness and went out onto the hot and brightly sunlit street. Amongst the bustle of passers-by and the noise of city traffic, he checked his watch. It was midday. As often happened he realised he'd not eaten since yesterday and only drunk coffee at the hotel and a can of Pepsi. Then his phone rang.
"Mr Smith?"
"Yes Farouk."
"Those Nigerians went to an apartment in Heliopolis."
"You followed the Mercedes?"
"Yes, Mr Smith."
"What happened to the sick one?"
"They come to Ritz and sick one get out. He stood alone, nearly fall. Door mam take him inside. But I follow the Mercedes. Follow to Heliopolis, close by is Saint Markos Coptic Church. You know?"
"Not well."
"Two of them go into apartment, but one man and driver go to Arab African International Bank, also not so far."
"Did you get a good look at the driver? Is he Egyptian or Nigerian?"
"Nigerian. Too black and different shape for Egyptian."
"What happened next?"
"I waited outside the bank. After twenty minutes the man came out and I followed the Mercedes to the apartment."
"Very good, Farouk. Do you have the full address of the apartment?"
"Yes, sir. It is Kafir El-Dawar sir, opposite the tall trees. You know?"
"Not well, but I'll deal with it from now on. Good work, Farouk."
It was 2pm when Dobson arrived back at the Ritz Carlton. He phoned Martin Abisola and Colin Asher with short updates, then Adel Helmy to say Farouk had been so good he'd use him again. He checked flights to Abuja thinking there was little point in staying in Cairo with his job mostly done. Loose ends, that was what it amounted to now. A catch up with Gabriel and Solomon to say he'd done as much as he could and it was over to them to decide their future plans. And there was the Sheraton press gathering with Bill Larsen and Halima, of course. Would he make it?
As he checked flights it seemed unlikely. Then it became impossible. There were no direct flights until the morning unless he took a twelve-hour flight with a stop-over in Addis Ababa. Dobson booked the first Egypt Air flight next morning.
