Hired assassins attack Peter Abel in Lagos

29 Nov Hired assassins attack Peter Abel in Lagos

As Peter Abel stepped off his British Airways flight at Murtala Mohammed Airport, Lagos, he inhaled the familiar warm tropical air. As always, Abel was aware of a sweet smell that was stronger than even the fumes from various planes and maintenance vehicles. Normally, Abel was comforted by this sensation, knowing he was once again home. But this time, he returned to Nigeria with a sense of foreboding. Forces were at work that could destroy him. These were powerful men and women, the most influential in the State; and if Abel got in their way, they wouldn’t hesitate to dispose of him.

Abel went through customs.  He knew the officers there.  Although he had nothing to declare and no goods that required payment of duty, Abel handed Dare a bottle of Irish whiskey. It was his habit to bring a “gift” to the customs inspector whenever he re-entered the country, thereby making and keeping a friend. There were times when he had things in his bag he did not want spotted, and he was invariably waved through. This was no exception. Dare welcomed him back, marked his bag, and sent Abel on his way.

It was late when Abel’s taxi dropped him off. He quickly checked his mail, noting some bills he would have to pay the next day, then changed.  Abel didn’t have time to take the shower he really desired. He had arranged to meet Idi Camp under the bridge at one A.M., and it was after midnight. He’d have to hurry, especially because he would need to follow a circuitous route to make sure he wasn’t followed. Abel felt tonight would be safe, however, since he had returned two days earlier than originally planned. This was intentional. He had information for Camp and wanted to get it to him as soon as possible.

Abel figured these clandestine trips from Bammakk City to Lagos were becoming tiresome for Camp. But there was no way the two of them could meet safely anywhere inside Tinnaka State. At least Camp could cover his tracks when he came to Lagos since he frequently had business with some government agencies.

As Abel pulled out of his driveway and onto the road that led to town, a silent passenger held to the chassis by a strong magnetic base, an electronic tracker.

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At exactly one A.M., Peter Abel was standing in the familiar damp and darkness under Eko Bridge. He listened to the traffic, which was light this time of night, especially during the mid-week. An occasional car rumbled across the bridge overhead, knocking pieces of dirt down onto Abel’s head. He was prepared this time, wearing an old hat, which protected his head.

Then, as had happened before, a figure stepped out of the darkness. It was Idi Camp.

“Minister,” Abel greeted him.

“Welcome back from London, Mr. Abel. I am told you had a fruitful trip.”

“Yes.”

“You have brought me something.”

Abel reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a folded eight and a half by eleven inch paper. On it were a series of numbers, seven rows with various numbers in each row. Each number corresponded to a letter of the alphabet. But one had to add five to each number, then subtract two to find the right letter to which the number was assigned. It was a prearranged code.

“Names, sir. Provided by your London police inspector friend.”

“Did you beat him at darts?”

“Yes. Every time.”

Camp laughed quietly. “The man isn’t as good as he’d like to think. How many names?”

“Seven, sir. They appear on deeds for houses in the London neighbourhood we targeted: recent purchases. Each person on the list travels under a Nigerian passport.”

“And you hope to trace these men back to certain officials in Nigeria on whose behalf they are buying expensive properties?”

“Yes, no doubt using pilfered public funds to do so.”

“And what exactly do you need from me?”

“Some are employed by your ministry. But my paper hasn’t been able to find any records on them. Someone is protecting these individuals from scrutiny. We need you to get to their personnel files.”

“I can do that.”

“But quietly, sir. Nobody can know you’re doing this. If they see you’re investigating the men who are fronting for them, they’ll know you’re on to them.”

“I understand, Peter. Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

Camp shook Abel’s hand, then turned and left. Abel waited the usual ten minutes before emerging and making his way back to his Jeep, which he had parked several blocks away.

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Abel drove through the Lagos night, the streets deserted at 2 A.M. A few dogs rooted through piles of garbage and the occasional lone pedestrian appeared out of nowhere.

Abel swung off the main street and headed down a small paved road, which would lead him to his neighbourhood, a few kilometres away. That’s when he noticed the bright headlights behind him, a minivan only a few feet behind. The lights on the van nearly blinded Abel. He tried to pull off to the side of the road, thinking the driver wanted to pass him, but the van tailed the Jeep, remaining close.

Abel floored the accelerator and the Jeep lurched ahead towards the Epe road, but the van kept pace. “Sonofabitch!”  Abel was convinced they were either drunks who didn’t know what they were doing or thugs out to rob him. He reached into his glove compartment and pulled out a .32 handgun.  He checked to make sure it was loaded, then placed it in his lap. If someone wanted to rob him, let him try.

That’s when he noticed the red tail lights of another vehicle up ahead.  As Abel got closer, the vehicle slowed down then came to a stop.  He was suddenly trapped between the two cars.  This was no drunk on his tail nor was it a robbery. This had to do with the story.

Abel’s car was within a hundred metres of the front car, which was effectively blocking the small deserted road. Abel glanced to his left, then his right, trying to find a lane or road cut into the fields and trees on the sides of the road.

The distance to the lead vehicle was now cut in half. Soon he would reach it, and he had to make a decision. The lead car was a small sedan, maybe a Honda Accord or Toyota. If he got up enough speed, he might be able to ram it off the road and keep going. But he also might flip his Jeep, not the most stable vehicle in the world.

He saw a stand of trees on his right about thirty metres ahead. He could stop there and make a run for it through the woods. In the darkness, they might not find him. If they did, he was outnumbered and his gun only carried six shots.

Abel suddenly caught the glimpse of a dirt lane off to his left just before some tall trees. He had no idea where it led to, but the vehicle up front would take a few seconds to back up in the dark and his Jeep might be able to outrun the trailing van, not built for off-road driving.

Abel made up his mind. At the last possible second, he yanked the steering wheel left and skidded off the main road onto the dirt lane. He mashed the accelerator and roared off. He noticed the van take the same sharp turn, but it spun out and ended up in some brush. It took precious seconds to get the van backed up and moving again.

By this time, Abel’s Jeep was a hundred metres ahead and moving fast. Abel had no idea where the road went.  He glanced in his rear view mirror and saw that there were now two sets of headlights following him. Both cars were speeding down the lane. Abel looked up ahead, trying to read the unfamiliar landscape in the utter dark night.

Suddenly, the road seemed to drop off, and the Jeep hurtled through the air and landed with a crash in water as it hit a creek bed. Because it was a Jeep, Abel could manoeuvre through the shallows and emerge on the other side. He forced the Jeep up the steep embankment and stopped his vehicle right at the crest.  The creek was maybe twenty-five metres below, the small dirt lane rising at a sharp incline.

Abel watched and waited. He saw the reflection of the headlights approaching and then the bright lights flared into view. The van shot out into space, as his Jeep had done, but it wasn’t meant for such a stunt and crashed heavily into the water, hit a rock and flipped over twice before coming to a rest on Abel’s side of the creek. The other vehicle was approaching quickly.

He leaped from his Jeep and took a position behind the open driver side door, .32 aimed at the spot where the second vehicle would appear. He didn’t worry about the occupants of the demolished van. They were either dead or injured.

When the second car crested the lane, the driver jammed on the brakes and the Sedan skidded to a stop, fishtailing around so it wound up on the rise above the creek, driver side facing Abel.

Abel fired three shots into the driver side window, which exploded. He heard someone cry out, then silence. Abel got back into his Jeep and drove off, shaking. But at least he was alive.

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Abel spent the next two hours driving through the countryside, finding his way back to Lagos.  He worried what this pursuit might mean. The fact that they were after him meant they knew he was working on the story. But worse, they had followed him from the bridge where he had met with Camp. Did that mean they knew about Camp as well?

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Back in Bammakk City, Timo Tiko slammed down a large crystal ashtray in his home office. It was the dead of night, but everything was lit up. The tray exploded, pieces of glass flying everywhere. Tiko didn’t care. He glared at one of the killers he had hired, Jonas, the one with one eye.

“You idiots! How could he get away?”

“He’s familiar with the landscape. He chose well. Perhaps you’ve under-estimated the man.”

“More likely I’ve over-estimated you. I am certainly over-paying you if these are the results I get.”

“One of my men died tonight. Three others are injured. One critical. Broken neck.”

“That’s your problem. Mine is that Abel knows we are aware of his investigation. And that we’re willing to see he doesn’t complete it. From now on, the man will be a much harder target.”

“What of the Commissioner?”

“Camp? Well, that’s one thing that’s been fruitful tonight.”  Camp had followed to the same area of town where the men had followed Abel. They had lost Camp after he left his car, but Tiko was certain he had been there to meet Peter Abel. He was talking to the press, helping them investigate.”

“So, do you want him dead?”

“Eventually. But I don’t want him slaughtered like some sheep. Even here in Nigeria that would bring a hell storm. We have to see that his death appears tragic. Accidental but tragic. And that takes planning.”

“Give me a week.”

“I’ll give you five days. Who knows what Camp is up to? We can’t let this go on for too long. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Tiko smiled at Jonas Jatta, who stared back at him with his one good eye.