As he looks for a boat to the creeks, Hunter comes under gun attack in PH

10 May As he looks for a boat to the creeks, Hunter comes under gun attack in PH

The two days after the meeting with Prebiri were boring. There was no fresh information on the crisis – no attacks on oil facilities and no hostage-taking. Yet the security situation in Port Harcourt and the rest of the Niger Delta remained tense. Night life in the bustling Garden City, with beautiful hookers at strategic spots and street corners, was dead.

Even in the afternoons, people especially expatriates moved around town with heavy police escort.

While locals were said to have no “hostage value,” foreigners had because of the large ransom paid for those taken hostage. Despite his unmistakable Nigerian features, Hunter knew he belonged to the group with “high hostage value” because of his profession, but he had to source for news outside the safety of his hotel room.

He was attracted to the popular Java Restaurant, a few kilometres from the hotel, which was a choice eatery for oil workers. He took a hotel cab there on the second evening and had a good time with some oil workers, who painted a graphic picture of the risks involved in field work at that time. As expected, he heard complaints about what some of them called the “marginalisation of Nigerian oil workers in their own country.”

Later, as the cab drove away from the line of security men at the gate, he felt that the night was too quiet for comfort.

“It is a safe way back to the hotel,” the driver assured him.

He was wrong. Cracking gunfire ahead made the driver slow down. As the noise grew louder, he stopped and turned nervously to Abel. “Oga, (meaning Boss), trouble is coming to ….,” he said, his voice trailing off.

Hunter said nothing.

The driver made a quick attempt to turn around and screeched to a halt near the gutter.

“You have to reverse first!” Hunter shouted.

The sound of gunfire had become louder and down the road the way they came a car was turning back. Hunter heard the scream of a woman from that direction and wondered if she had been hit. The driver of his cab was also lily-livered. He was panting as he finally got the cab facing back in the opposite direction.

Just then, headlights from the direction of the source of the noise hit the driving mirror of their car.

“Yei!” the driver screamed and zoomed off. He drove so fast that before Hunter knew it they were back at the restaurant.

“We can’t go back now, we can’t go back,” the driver said, his breath still racing.

Hunter sat quietly in the back seat trying to calm his nerves. He wondered why the armed policemen who usually patrolled the city at night had not rushed to the spot to arrest the criminals who were wrecking the peace of the night. However, some fifteen minutes later, the sound of gunfire stopped and soon after, a truck-full of armed soldiers drove past.

“Can we go now?” Hunter asked the driver, who had his head on the steering wheel.

“No, sir”, he said flatly.

But just then, Hunter was happy to see a police patrol truck driving down towards the trouble spot. He flagged it down and told the three occupants they were stranded.

“Follow us then,” one of them said.

The driver of the cab did.

Later that night, Hunter shared his experience at the restaurant as a joke with Editor Duke. Hunter also told him about his intention to move out of the hotel into a secret guest house, but he was worried Prewire would not find him when he needed to talk to him.

That made Duke laugh. “I have a strong suspicion that Prebiri would have no trouble finding you even if you hid in a hut on an uncharted island,” he said. “His people could probably find Osama bin Laden, Amelia Earhart, that blonde American girl who vanished in Aruba, and Elvis Presley, if as some people believe, he’s actually still alive. In fact, I’d love to commission those guys to find that American Enron crook everyone knows faked his own death to avoid a prison sentence. That would be a great story, wouldn’t it?” Duke chuckled again at his own wit.

“Let’s stick to the topic at hand, Boss?” Hunter said. He was in no mood for levity.

“John my boy,” Duke said, laughing even louder, “Prebiri knows you write for The News Hub His people have always known how to get in touch with the media. This is nothing new for them.”

Hunter blew out a deep sigh. “Yes,” he said, “you’re right about that.”

“You need to get back out in the field—for your own good as well as the readers’. You’ve probably gained twenty pounds from eating all that junk room service food.”

Hunter managed to laugh. In truth, he felt as if he had lost some significant weight. His obsession over the Dove situation had caused him to lose track of time, and as a result, he had missed quite a few meals along the way.

With no further attacks by DNDR, Hunter knew it was time to change his approach to the story, but he needed more time to develop a new strategy. Many days after the attack on the Dove facility his investigation remained at a standstill. He had received no personal contact from Prebiri or anyone else connected—directly or indirectly—to the DNDR.

The only news he had gotten was the same statement that all the media had been given three days earlier: The DNDR reaffirmed its refusal to peacefully vacate the Dove facility. They declared that it was their land and their water, and thus anything built in the region was under their jurisdiction. This declaration was apparently not up for further negotiation. No acceptable responses had been made to their demands. Asari remained in prison and was forbidden from making public statements for fear he would attempt to send coded messages to his followers.

Finally, after so much silence, Prebiri’s words became truth. A statement was definitely made. Unfortunately, it did not come in the form of a telephone call or an email message to John Hunter . Instead, it was announced in a series of violent attacks, which were met with equally violent responses.

Hunter meticulously chronicled the events as they played out.

January 24: The DNDR raids the Eni Daewoo offices in Delta Capital. The raiders reportedly killed nine people and made away with $31,000. In cash.

January 29: The DNDR raids the Daewoo offices in Port Harcourt. The raiders reportedly got away with between $285,000 and $307,000 in cash.

January 30: DNDR releases the four hostages taken from the Dove platform earlier in the month, but still maintains control of the facility.

February 15: Nigerian military helicopters attack barges engaged in illegal oil bunkering from pipelines in a creek near Prebiri’s community in the Gbaramatu area of Delta State. This hard-to-access area lies approximately 20 miles west of the state capital of Warri, which is believed to be the base of the DNDR. Military sources claim that approximately eight barges were destroyed in the attack. The DNDR issues a statement accusing Crust of facilitating the attack by allowing the military helicopter gunships to use its airfield at Osubi, Warri, and warns of retaliatory strikes on Crust facilities and aircraft.

February 16: Crust issues a statement announcing that it has no say in whether military forces make use of any airfields constructed by the company. The military assumes control of such facilities as it seems fit for the purpose of national security.

February 17: A military helicopter is fired upon with machine guns as it pursues a new operation against ground targets near Gbaramatu. The DNDR claims three military casualties.

February 18: The DNDR’s forces attack a state-owned pipeline at Escravos that carries petroleum products to the northern city of Kaduna.

February 18: A pipe-laying barge owned by a Crust contractor is attacked near the Forcados export terminal. Militants travelling in five boats chase away security forces and escape with nine expatriate hostages. According to the DNDR’s public statement, the hostages include three U.S. citizens, two Egyptians, two Thais, a Filipino, and a Brit. A fire is simultaneously reported after an attack on the offshore Forcados export platform, and immediately thereafter, an explosion is reported from a pipeline on Chanomi Creek. Militants claim to have destroyed the Ekeremor-Yeye manifold and the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation (NNPC) pipeline, which carries gas products from Escravos to Lagos.

 

 

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“Trust me on this, Boss. There is absolutely no other way,” Hunter said in a call to Musa Duke in Lagos to discuss his next move. “I need to travel to the creeks and meet face-to-face with as many DNDR members as I can find.”

It was so quiet at the other end that Hunter feared the satellite phone had failed. He was relieved when he heard his editor clear his throat and unwrap another stick of chewing gum.

“I would love to see you do it,” Duke said. “Where do you intend to start?”

Hunter thought for a moment. “I don’t know yet,” he replied, “but I’ll figure it out. Don’t I always?”

Duke sighed. “You’ve cheated death so many times, I’ve lost count,” he said. “He, and I mean death, must be pretty angry by now, so don’t be surprised if he comes after you with a vengeance.”

 

 

 

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“Mister, if you want to commit suicide, go drink rat poison as they do here. It will be quicker and less painful. Just don’t share with others, and of course, not me.”

That was one of the more polite responses Hunter received as he called around trying to hire a speedboat and a driver to take him to the creeks in the Niger Delta. He wasn’t completely surprised by that. No man in his right mind would drive a speedboat into such a precarious combat zone just to make some extra cash. Hunter was nervous about returning himself. The memories of Urodo, where he narrowly escaped death three times in the space of two short days, were still fresh in his memory and his injuries were far from healed.

Still, Hunter hoped he might come across a man in his right mind—one who had an adrenaline addiction that would drive him to do the craziest things just for the chance to feel a frenzied rush. Such soldiers of fortune existed all over the world. Hunter just needed to find one who had a speedboat. Perhaps Lucy could have helped, but she had disappeared. It took hours and dozens of telephone calls, but eventually one man stepped into the breach.

“I must meet you first,” the man said sternly over the telephone.

“My pleasure,” Hunter said. “Where would you like us to meet?”

Hunter wrote down the directions, and then following every cited landmark along the way, soon found himself on the front stoop of the man’s home near the popular Waterfront, a large slum notorious for crime.

“Welcome, Mister Hunter, ,” the man said. “My name is Love Pattan. This is my wife, Blessing.”

They wore faded clothes, the woman a big red blouse over a jeans skirt and the man, a flowery beach shirt over starched khaki trousers. Hunter shook hands with them.

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Hunter, ,” Blessing said. “I have read some of your stories in The News Hub. You have done some very impressive work.”

“Thank you.”

She flashed a worried expression at her husband and took a step backward. “I will leave you two gentlemen to discuss business.” She turned around and left the living room of the small house.

Pattan turned to Hunter. . “She is very concerned about my sailing to the creeks,” he said.

“I certainly don’t blame her,” Hunter agreed. . “It’s a severely volatile area right now.”

Pattan nodded. “She is only giving me her blessing for this trip because you are the potential client,” he said. “I have wanted to go on my own for a few days now, but she begged me not to, so I stayed back.”

He guided Hunter to the kitchen, where they sat down at the table.

“There are not many people willing to go anywhere near the fray,” Hunter said. “Are you somehow connected to it?”

“I may not always approve of the DNDR’s methods,” Pattan said, “but I strongly support their objectives. I consider myself part of the struggle. As an ex-soldier, I am familiar with some of the people involved, which might provide us with a certain degree of safety, but security cannot be guaranteed. No matter how you look at it, this is risky business.”

Hunter studied the lines on Pattan’s face. He seemed to want to make this trip as much as Hunter did.

“What makes you so determined to be part of the struggle?” Hunter asked .

Pattan pointed out the window. Two young children, a girl and a boy, were playing in the backyard. “I owe it to them. You must have noticed the squalour we live in around this neighbourhood. ”

“I take it they are your children,” Hunter said.

A sweet smile flashed on Pattan’s face as he nodded. “It’s strange, isn’t it?” he said. “We shouldn’t be forced to fight for our children. I honestly don’t believe in fighting. I don’t want to teach my babies that they must always fight for their most basic rights—and yet it appears they must. We all must, at least at the moment anyway. They shouldn’t have to live in fear that war might destroy their home, or that their father might leave the house and never return. As much as I resent being put in this position, I am willing to battle to my very last drop of blood to create a world for my children in which they never have to fight at all.”

Hunter watched the children scamper across the grass smiling, laughing, teasing, and completely unaware of the danger their father was willing to face on their behalf. Hunter did not have children, but the sight of Pattan’s two little ones gave him a complete understanding of the sacrifices so many people were willing to make. How beautiful it would be to preserve this innocence, this carefree existence, for all time.

Pattan slid a slip of paper across the table towards Hunter. He picked it up and read the number scrawled across it.

“What is this?” he wondered.

“That’s how much money I will need to take you to the creeks,” Pattan said. “I will need seventy-five per cent up front. You can pay off the balance when we return.”

Hunter’s eyes popped wide open. “I was expecting a hefty fee considering the circumstances we’ll be facing,” he said. “I also know that you need to maintain your vessel and supply the fuel. Even so, this is pretty expensive. And you want seventy per cent up front?”

“Yes,” Pattan said, all business-like. “Cash only.”

Hunter knew he could get the money. It would be just one more item on The Hub’s expense account. Still, he wanted to be sure that he wasn’t being fleeced. .

“Mr Pattan,” he said, “I can give you forty per cent now, thirty-five per cent when we return, and the remaining twenty-five per cent one month later. I will be using your boat often.”

“No.”

Hunter read the man’s determined eyes. “How about I give you…”

“No!”

Hunter was taken aback by his sudden angry tone. Pattan drew in a deep breath to calm himself down.

“The price remains as stated,” he said. “I’m afraid I am not at liberty to negotiate this deal with you, Mr Hunter . I will be taking you to a very dangerous environment. To do so, I will be leaving my wife and children behind. I must ensure that they have ample money to last them for a while in the event that I do not return.”

There was clearly no need to discuss the matter any further.

 

 

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The sun was beginning to set as Hunter drove back to The Hub’s local office in Port Harcourt. He had already stopped at an ATM and withdrawn the cash Pattan demanded for the trip. The mission seemed within reach, and yet it also seemed more ominous. For a moment, he was tempted to put Pattan’s offer on hold and search for another speedboat driver, not because of his expensive fee, but because he would feel guilty if anything happened that prevented Pattan from returning safely to his family.

He wondered if he might find a single man, a loner perhaps, who had much less to lose for taking such a risk. After some thought, Hunter decided Pattan was probably the best driver he could find. He was personally connected to the struggle, he knew some of the people involved, and he had good reason not to behave in a reckless manner. This trip would have value for both of them.

It was getting dark enough to need his headlights as he drove back. He noticed a car lagging back about three car lengths with its headlights off, even in the increasing dusk. At first it seemed odd, but as the sky grew darker, it became suspicious. Wondering if he were just being paranoid, Hunter turned off into a side road.

Through the rearview mirror, he noticed the car following him. He took another turn, but the car did not follow this time. He shrugged and continued on towards The Hub’s branch building. Some blocks away from the office, Hunter noticed a car straddled across the lanes, blocking traffic. It wasn’t raining, so it was unlikely that the car had spun out. He looked around to see if there had been an accident and if other cars had been involved. The area was oddly quiet, lacking the usual commotion that follows traffic accidents. Before Hunter could get a better look at the situation, another car pulled up beside him. A darkened window rolled down just enough for Hunter to catch sight of a gun barrel pointed in his direction.

He quickly cranked the steering wheel and stomped on the accelerator. The tail end of his car banged against the car with the gun-toting passenger as it spun. Hunter immediately found himself driving against traffic, and a few cars swerved off the road to avoid a head-on collision.

A moment later, a loud blast assaulted Hunter’s ears, but he continued driving as fast as conditions permitted. When he was finally far enough away from the commotion, he looked back and saw that the back window had been shot out of his car. Fragments of glass were scattered all over the vehicle’s seats. Some had even landed inside the collar of his jacket, but he had been too preoccupied to notice—or care.

He quietly pulled his car into a small alley and killed the headlights. Someone had been following him—and they meant business. But who were they?

He ran through possible suspects. He wondered if some people in government might have it in for him out of fear of exposure in The Hub. The DNDR would naturally be apprehensive about Hunter learning too much about their firepower and activities. Perhaps Prebiri reconsidered his remarks and decided he had said too much. There were other suspicious candidates as well, including illegal oil bunkerers, and even rival media. Hunter didn’t know where to begin, but he did know one thing: he could not return to his local office to discuss his trip with his colleagues.