Hunter escapes from Oil Baron in the Creeks

12 Apr Hunter escapes from Oil Baron in the Creeks

The boat defied the poor visibility of the night, speeding up the creek at a rapid pace. The burly driver was obviously familiar with the route, and Hunter was impressed. When Biggie moved near the banks, tall grasses brushed against the side of the boat, as if paying homage to his skills.

About a minute later, Biggie brought the boat to a quiet stop. Hunter could see the silhouette of a block-shaped structure against the night sky. He sat patiently and waited as the men secured the boat. He didn’t want to make any move that could be misinterpreted as hostile. Although he could not completely condone their theft of crude oil, he couldn’t bring himself to condemn it, either. It was one of those situations where, in a twisted way, the end justified the means.

Smallie pulled him to his feet; Biggie had already climbed out of the boat and was waiting impatiently. The men marched Hunter stoically towards the building. Hunter followed unspoken orders, hoping to appear cooperative.

Although no one spoke, the possibility of danger was not lost on Hunter. Biggie walked ahead with torchlight in hand, with him sandwiched between him and Smallie, who wielded a Berretta pistol. The men walked through the marsh until they reached a dingy stone edifice on a tiny island in the creeks. From what he saw in the light of the torch when Biggie flashed at the structure, it was a small block of three rooms in a straight line. The small, high veranda of the structure had an unkempt lawn at its base.

“Right this way, Mr 007,” Biggie ordered and he opened the brown steel door of the middle room and led them into it. Hunter remained calm, taking in as much of the room as possible.

But suddenly, Smallie pushed him from the back, sending him crushing to the floor. The hard floor reacquainted Hunter with the pains in his ribs.

As he wrapped his arms around his torso to squelch the pain, Biggie clamped a shackle around his right ankle that chained him to the wall, and sighed with relief.

Smallie let out a heavy sigh and rubbed his eyes. “I need to get some sleep,” he said.

Biggie nodded. “Me too.” He pointed down at Hunter sitting on the floor. “Don’t worry about him. He can get some sleep too. He won’t be going anywhere.”

Both men walked away leaving Hunter in the dark. He heard the key turn noisily in the door and resigned himself to fate. Once alone, Hunter stretched the long frame of his body out onto the floor and tried to develop a strategy to keep himself alive.

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

 

“Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!”

Hunter was jarred out of his tortured slumber by a loud voice and a slap across his face. When his eyes popped open, he found himself once again face-to-face with Biggie. In the daylight from the door, he saw he had a bulging frame, in jeans trousers and black T-shirt, twice as big as what he had thought.

A moment later, Smallie joined them, carrying two bottles of water. He drank from one and dropped the other on Hunter’s sore stomach.

“We can’t have you dehydrating on us,” he said. He looked good in a blue jeans trousers and a jeans shirt.

By the mere power of suggestion, Hunter suddenly found himself dying of thirst. He quickly unscrewed the bottle cap, but just as he was about to indulge in a large gulp of refreshment, he recalled the nausea-inducing concoction he had received from his previous captors. He decided to take a small sip and allow the liquid to gently skim his tongue. It was unexpectedly cool and it felt pure in his mouth. He wasted no time chugging down the bottle’s entire contents.

“Great,” Biggie said. “Now we’ll get thrown off schedule because we’ll have to stop for the bathroom”

He dumped the satchel that Hunter had brought with him to Urodo onto the floor. Hunter had forgotten all about it. He had some money and a camera inside, but he assumed that anything of even the slightest value had been taken.

Biggie sat down on the cement floor next to Hunter and rested his back against the wall. “We went through your belongings,” he said, stating the obvious. “We discovered your papers, among other things. It’s been a long night for us. We made some calls, and based on the information from our most reliable sources, we have concluded that you are telling the truth. Your name is John Hunter, you are a journalist, and you travelled to Urodo to see the recent oil spill.”

Hunter nodded. “Who did you speak with?” he asked.

Biggie shook his head. “Not a very intelligent question,” he remarked.

Hunter cracked a smile. “Can’t reveal your sources. Sounds like you guys would make good journalists.”

Both men exchanged looks and smiled and Hunter was pleased to feel at least a fraction of the tension evaporate.

“We’ll leave the reporting to you,” Smallie said, “as long as you agree to report the truth.”

Although the mood had lightened just a bit, Hunter sensed the serious sub-text of the man’s statement, and he nodded to him in a serious manner.

Smallie ignored him and looked up at his partner. “Is the boat ready?”

“Fuelled up and good to go.”

“Good,” Smallie said. “We need to reach Godspower before he takes off to attend to other matters.”

Hunter tried to get his bearings. “Please, what time is it?”

Biggie pulled his sleeve back and looked down at his watch. “Six.”

“Six o’clock in the morning?” Hunter asked, trying to get them friendly.

They ignored the question.

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

 

The ride in the speedboat was much more pleasant this time around. Just being able to see the scenery and anticipate the turns made the experience easier on Hunter’s stomach. And although his captors were still serious and determined, they had relaxed a little – less angry and agitated.

The sunrise sent golden beams across the horizon that glimmered off the creeks whose banks were lined with lush green mangrove forest. Birds flew overhead, oblivious to the buzzing of the speedboat’s engine. It was the most serenity Hunter had experienced since he walked out of Duke’s office at The News Hub in Lagos.

None of the occupants of the boat spoke. After thirty minutes of meandering through the middle of nowhere, Biggie pulled the boat into a slip in front of a white one-story building with a manicured yard. Surrounded by shanty fishing huts, with rusty roofs, the white building was conspicuous.

“Is this what one can buy with God’s power?” Hunter asked in another attempt to get his captors talking.

Both men exchanged looks.

“Don’t waste your effort,” Biggie said. “I assure you that he’s already heard every joke created by his name.”

“In several different languages,” Smallie added.

“And in case you’re wondering,” Biggie said, “it is his real name.”

With Hunter sandwiched between them, the men walked up the gravel path and entered the home directly through the front door, as if they had done it many times. Hunter studied his new environment carefully. Clearly, Godspower was richer than his neighbours, but in an unusual way. His elegant home communicated a sense of restraint, as if the owner made a conscious choice not to put his wealth on display.

“Wait here,” Biggie said, worsening Hunter’s confusion about which of the two captors was the boss.

Biggie quickly scaled the stairs, leaving Hunter and Smallie standing in the foyer. Hunter would have enjoyed taking a tour of Godspower’s home. Little clues about people’s priorities and values could be excised from their photographs, art and books.

But shortly afterwards Hunter’s attention was pulled back to the stairs. A middle-aged man, who was still buckling his belt, was following Biggie down to the foyer. The short, dark-complexioned man of about 65, obviously had a problem getting his belt buckled properly on his large tummy to hold his jeans trousers. His hairy chest was bare, as if to show that he had enough hair elsewhere to compensate for his shinny bald head.

“Caught you sleeping, did we?” Biggie said with a smile.

“Fishermen aren’t supposed to sleep late anyway,” Godspower replied, still fiddling with his belt. He then looked over at Hunter and smiled. “John Hunter of The News Hub, I presume.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hunter extended his hand, wondering if his new host would ignore his torn, dirty shirt to take it. Godspower earnestly shook it.

“The name is Godspower,” he introduced himself.

“So I have been told,” Hunter said.

“We need to get back,” Biggie said. He turned to Hunter. “Mr. Godspower will take care of you. You journalists can be arrogant , so show him some courtesy. You do know what I mean by that.” He flashed a mischievous smile.

Hunter nodded. He watched as the two men casually walked out of the front door. Before he had a chance to turn around, he felt a heavy hand land on his shoulder.

“I suspect you’ve got rather grimy since your arrival in the Delta,” Godspower said with a wry smile. “Perhaps you’d like to clean up a bit.”

Hunter was both startled and genuinely grateful for the offer.

“I most certainly would, sir,” he said.

Godspower led Hunter upstairs to the bathroom, a nicely tiled set-up with a shower. As Hunter had his bath, Godspower set out a clean pair of trousers and a well-pressed shirt for him. Hunter suspected these were clothes that no longer fitted his host.

On sighting a fresh set of clothing Hunter let out a long, satisfied sigh. He had been too distracted trying to stay alive to think about his clothes, but they were a total loss; dirty and torn in many places, and they smelled so bad.

The bath soothed the bruises on his body, and the clean fabric felt soft and fresh. But deep inside him, he struggled with an uneasy feeling about how his arrival had transformed itself from high danger, captured and roughly treated, into a civilised and relaxed reception.

As he went downstairs, his plan was to find some quick explanations and learn as much as possible from Godspower.

He found his host seated in front of a polished brown, wooden table in the dining room. There were four wooden chairs, each at a corner of the square table.

“You look like a new man,” he said.

“I feel like one,” Hunter said. “It was very kind of you to lend me your clothes. I promise to return them to you as soon as possible.”

“I hope they won’t be in the same condition as the clothes you wore when you arrived here,” Godspower said.

Hunter winced. “I hope so too.” He scratched his chin.

Godspower laughed and gestured for Hunter to be seated. “Please join me for some tea.”

Hot tea and some of the freshly sliced bread sitting on the table looked very good. The comfort of the neat environment of the round dining room with cream walls unleashed his appetite.

“I understand you’ve come to explore the relationship between the oil companies and the people of the Niger Delta,” Godspower said.

“That’s correct,” Hunter replied. . “I decided to start by examining the results of the latest spill.” He sipped his tea, enjoying the liquid’s soothing herbal aroma. “This is good tea, Mr Godspower.”

Godspower smiled. “I drink only Ceylon tea”.

“People in Sri Lanka boast that their tea is the original tea. I have been there,” Hunter said. “And you seem to be enjoying your retirement here in…”

“Akuku Creek,” Godspower finished the sentence. “It is a fishing village which has also suffered from pollution”.

“So you must have witnessed less-than-ethical practices.” Hunter said.

“More than my fair share,” Godspower said. “I’d like to say that was all in the past, but I don’t think that will ever truly be the case. Once you have the knowledge, you can see the truth everywhere—despite attempts to hide it.”

After they finished their tea, Godspower suggested that they sit outside and take in the fresh morning air.

“I enjoy sitting out here on beautiful mornings before I dive into my day’s work,” he said as they got comfortable in the chairs set out in front of the house. “I don’t ever take such natural beauty for granted. The way things are going, we could wake up tomorrow morning and find this whole area completely destroyed.”

Hunter glanced around at the lush, spacious scenery. Unlike the monotonous mangrove swamp and forest he had seen, Godspower’s compound, the size of half a football field, boasted a wellkept lawn under various fruit trees – mango, orange and guava .

“Your family lives here?”

“My wife and children are currently back at our house in Port Harcourt,” Godspower answered . “The children go to secondary school there.”

Hunter noticed the proud smile on Godspower’s face when he mentioned his family. “How many children?”

“Three, but sometimes it seems like ten,” Godspower said with a grin. “They are teenagers with so much youthful energy. There are many days when I find it hard to keep up with them.”

Hunter laughed, but deep inside him he rued his inability to raise a family and live a settled life because of the nature of his job. Ladies liked him and he loved kids but he had not time for both. Many times, he had planned to quit his James Bond kind of assignments but he was hooked on the thrill of his job.

“What brought you out to the creeks?” he asked Godspower.

“Fish,” Godspower replied. “I’ve always enjoyed fishing, ever since I was a little boy. I’ve developed a passion for fish farming which I do with the workers here in the creeks. They are very hard workers, you know. They deserve to be well-compensated for their efforts.”

Hunter nodded. “But your fortune did not come from fish farming. Oil?” he asked. “And the guys who brought me here seem to work for you.”

A long pause extended between them.

“Oil? Well, I was part of that world ” Godspower said, “which is why I know the oil companies too well.”

“You worked for an oil company?”

“Yes.”

A quiet moment passed as Godspower gazed out at the creeks and Hunter tried to read his expression without staring.

“I served the barons for twenty years,” Godspower explained . “I was quite young when I started; fresh from university and ready to do anything these men wanted merely for the chance to be just like them. I would like to say it took many years for me to recognise the depth of their depravity, but in truth, it was always in plain sight. I simply chose to ignore it, and whatever I couldn’t ignore I always found a way to justify.”

Hunter studied the lines on Godspower’s face. He sensed pangs of guilt, along with a yearning for his lost youth.

“All oil companies are driven by the bottom line,” Godspower said.

“The same is true for all businesses,” Hunter said. “But why are your boys – I don’t even know their names – so interested in me?”

“Oh, those boys? Some reporters who come around here seem to be on the payroll of the oil companies. Their stories on pollution are spiked in favour of the companies…”

“Would that be why they work with guns and have a detention camp?”

“Emm, you know, Mr Hunter , how security men sometimes get overzealous. That must be an example. Besides, my business has to be protected.”

“From the oil companies?”

“Rival businessmen and oil companies that try to get funny,” Godspower tried to explain. His discomfort at Hunter’s ’s questions showed in his laboured breath and the sweat breaking on his forehead. So Hunter decided to go easy with him since he was in custody, with no viable strategy for escape. “You don’t seem to trust the oil companies, do you?”

“Who would?” Godspower said, relieved somehow. “They brandish far-reaching powers here. They hold politicos in the palm of their hands, and create instant worldwide catastrophes on a whim. It’s downright godlike. Obviously, the people who control the oil, by some significant measure, control the world. That might not be so bad if the people who held such power accepted accountability and remained noble in their pursuits, but I assume you know the old adage about absolute power”

“Oh, yes,” Hunter said.

“Absolute power!” Godspower said.

With that, he pulled his body out of his chair and casually walked into the house.

Hunter remained sitting outdoors. He wondered about Godspower’s unease at his questions and the implications for his safety, and what else he wasn’t being told.

 

 

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By midday, Hunter welcomed the opportunity to stretch out on a sofa in one of the two guest rooms. Godspower had excused himself and headed to his office. But the house was so quiet and peaceful the silence actually made Hunter uncomfortable.

As he took temporary ownership of the sofa, Hunter wondered if he would ever feel rested again. He laid down and allowed his eyes to close, which caused the silence to deepen in his ears. At that moment, he finally understood the concept of deafening silence.

A short while later, Hunter’s ’s ears picked up the muted sound of movement down the hall. Through the partially open door, he heard the clicking of computer keys and the occasional musical tone associated with various software programmes. Hunter didn’t think much of it until he heard Godspower’s voice, presumably speaking on the telephone.

“— knows about it. Did…tell…how the —”

The words faded in and out, so Hunter carefully raised his head in an effort to pick up more of Godspower’s side of the conversation. The voice was so faint, he couldn’t get much. But he heard, or so he thought, the mention of “barges, oil” and later, “we have to delete soonest,” and in a raised voice, “yes, delete is your job.”

Delete what? Hunter wondered. Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good because in local parlance delete meant kill. Hunter didn’t perceive Godspower as dangerous, but he knew a good man could become dangerous if he became desperate—and the two oil thieves working with Godspower were desperate. He remained on the sofa thinking fast about his options.

A soft knock on the door startled Hunter out of his thoughts. The door was still ajar, and Godspower’s knock pushed it all the way open. The host appeared to notice something odd about Hunter’s ’s expression.

“I’m sorry. Were you sleeping?”

Hunter stretched his arms up over his head and sat up. “I’ve been dozing off and on,” he said.

Godspower nodded and flashed a small smile. They were being extremely cordial toward each other, but they were both hiding secrets. It was as if they were trying to read each other’s minds.

“Lunch will be ready shortly,” Godspower said.

Hunter rubbed his eyes. “Is it lunchtime already? I must have slept longer than I thought.”

“Please come down to the dining room in fifteen minutes,” Godspower said and disappeared down the hall.

Lunch turned out to be gari and palm nut soup. The men sat across from each other, relishing the meal and engaging in careful conversation.

“I am checking with my sources in Urodo to see how many people will be willing to speak with you on the record for your story,” Godspower said. “Many will not be available until later in the day. They’re out trying to earn a living, you know.”

Hunter nodded. “And they are doing so under such difficult circumstances.”

“Perhaps your story will change that,” Godspower said. “Your story may force the oil companies to better compensate the villagers.”

“I also hope it will make the oil companies adopt a serious approach to cleaning up the environment,” Hunter added. . “It’s unlikely the water will ever become pristine again on its own. I would like to see efforts made in that direction. Technology has come a long way, and it continues to evolve. Perhaps if the oil companies work with top environmental technicians, they can bring the air and water back to their original natural status.”

Godspower took a long, satisfying sip of wine. “I would love to see that happen in my lifetime,” he said. “If not, I hope my children will see it.”

Hunter watched Godspower as he savoured his wine and took a small sip himself.

“I have had the pleasure of tasting wines from all over the world,” he said. “Although, I am hardly a wine connoisseur, I must say that this strikes me as something from a very impressive vintage.”

Godspower smiled earnestly as he joyfully took another sip. “Wine is one of life’s pleasures I do sincerely enjoy,” he said. “This particular bottle is from Italy. I find that Italian wines go very well with food, whereas some other European wines taste better on their own.”

Hunter took another sip—a very small one. He noticed Godspower had refilled his glass at least twice. The bottle would soon be empty, and Hunter had only poured himself one glass. He was hoping, in a matter of time, Godspower’s love of wine might work in his favour.

When all the gari was eaten and the dishes were cleared, that favourable time appeared to be approaching.

“I must say the Europeans are onto something,” Godspower stated. “I don’t know how people get through the day with a siesta. The Americans refuse to rest after lunch. Many Nigerians are like that. Sometimes they even work through their lunches. They can barely keep their eyes open later in the day, and then they don’t understand why some of their work gets so poorly done.”

Hunter nodded in approval. “In journalism, we sleep whenever we get the chance,” he said, “and yes, when you are not well-rested, the work does suffer.”

Godspower patted him on the shoulder. “Then you will understand my need to take leave of you for a short while,” he said. “Please make yourself comfortable. I will arrange for a boat to take us to Urodo later on.”

“Thank you, Mr. Godspower. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated.”

Hunter was not lying when he spoke those words. He hadn’t been on the receiving end of such generosity while researching a story in a very long time. He went back up to the spare room and sat comfortably on the sofa. He didn’t dare lie down because of what he was planning. Soon, he heard Godspower trudge off to his bedroom further down the hall. Hunter waited.

It was a long wait. When he finally tip-toed into the hall, he could hear Godspower’s muted snores from his bedroom. Hunter carefully descended the stairs and went out to the front of the house where he had sat. The fat cook who had served them food came over to ask if he needed something, but Hunter shook his head and hoped she would go away.

She eventually did. Hunter moved around leisurely as if he was admiring nature. Then, in a hushed manner, he made his way towards the creeks.

With death lurking, Hunter ignored the pains in his ankle and bruises on his body to run as far as he could along the creek bank, constantly looking back to ensure that no one was in pursuit. When it was clear that he was not being followed, he slowed his pace to a trot and then eventually down to a walk. He was sweating and weary.

He was tempted to find a place to sit to catch his breath, but he worried if he stopped walking, he might not be able to get started again. As far as he could tell, he was out in the middle of nowhere, which was not a place he wished to be stranded. He continued to walk alongside the creek, resting his hands on his hips and drawing in deep breaths. Eventually he came to an area where the width of the creek narrowed a bit. He decided if he wanted to continue his journey on the other side of the water, he should cross at this point. Thinking about the energy it required, he doubted if he could make it across the creek, but left with no choice, he slipped into water and swam painfully to the other bank. From there, he lumbered away from the swamp, and then dropped his wet body down onto a patch of grass. He shivered a bit; the late-afternoon sun was not warm enough. But he felt better as his clothes dried.

Hunter figured he had been lying in the grass for nearly fifteen minutes when he decided he had better continue on his journey. The further away from Godspower and his boys before dark, the better his chances of survival.

As he desperately thought about which direction he should take , he heard the sound of a speed boat motor in the distance. It grew louder as the vessel approached. He debated whether to risk exposing himself in the hope the boat was operated by a cordial stranger or hiding himself in case it was one of Godspower’s men. He headed to the bank to get a better look. He didn’t recognise the man, but he saw the AK-47 machine gun that was slung over his shoulder.

Hunter stepped back and squatted as low as possible out of sight in the leafy swamp. As the boat passed, he saw it carried two men, both of whom appeared heavily armed. He wondered if they were part of the illegal oil bunkering team, and if Godspower had sent them out to search for him.

Even after the boat had passed, Hunter remained in hiding in case a second boat had been dispatched.

A few minutes later, Hunter heard the roar of engines again and his breath quickened. This sounded like a larger, more powerful vessel, and Hunter was worried about how many well-armed men might be aboard. He peered through the leaves as the boat approached, and then smiled and dashed for the bank. He plunged into the creek and feigned drowning.

“Help! Please help!” He shouted and splashed as much water as possible.

The sight of a drowning man flailing his arms and screaming at the top of his lungs must have startled the captain of the naval patrol boat. A moment later, his colleague helped John Hunter board the vessel.

“What in the world are you doing out here in the middle of nowhere all alone?” the captain asked.

Hunter let out a deep sigh. “It’s a long story, sir .”

In blue Nigerian Navy colours, with two naval ratings in uniform, Hunter felt comfortable enough to believe he had enough time to rest before telling his story – or bits of it, since he did not tell security agents his entire story.

He sat on the middle of the three rows of seat, and sandwiched between the tall, slim captain and the gun-bearing rating with bulging eyes, who had helped him on board. Hunter took in deep breaths to relax as he relished his triumph in escaping from Godspower’s house.

“You must be enjoying the breeze from the creeks, my friend,” the captain turned to Hunter .

The danger sign was unmistakable. There was no name tag on the driver’s uniform and all his incisors were gone.

“If they are Godspower’s men, this is good opportunity to delete me,” Hunter thought.

He had to think and act fast. The boat slowed as it went past a small collection of huts, but soon after that it regained its speed. Hunter remembered the captain’s question about the breeze and wondered if it had anything to do with an impending tragedy.

He stood up slowly, stretched his arms. “Oh sweet good breeze”, he said and stifled a yawn.

Then he turned to the man behind him. As their eyes met, the man quickly turned away. Hunter thought that was another cue. With all the energy left in him, he snatched the AK-47 from the man’s hand in such a way that it sent him in a spin. In another quick move Hunter pushed him violently into the water.

Still operating with nervous energy, he turned the gun swiftly on the captain, who only got to know what was going on when the boat rocked.

“ Jesus!” he screamed and turned quickly to engage the brakes of the boat. Before he could turn again, Hunter had the gun to his neck. “Your gun!”

“I don’t have any, sir.”

“Get up!”

The captain did, still calling Jesus.

Hunter ignored that. He patted him quickly. “You work for Godspower too?”

“No, Sir. He hired my friend, who hired me.”

“Who is your friend?”

“Julius, the one you pushed into the water,” he said and pointed to the water behind Hunter, who turned impulsively to see Julius swimming some fifty metres behind them with much difficulty.

“He must be a good swimmer,” Hunter said casually. “How long is Port Harcourt from here?”

“Jesus, he can’t swim that far?” the captain said. “It is about 30 minutes from here.”

“No, for you and me. Now move.”

“Yes, sir .”

“You know the creeks very well, which is why they hired you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I may keep the gun away so I don’t shoot you accidentally, but I will be at alert all the way. Your name?”

“Edward Teki,” he answered as the engine came alive.

“Now move!”