Panic in Port Harcourt as search for oil bombers begins

26 Apr Panic in Port Harcourt as search for oil bombers begins

Rain fell throughout the night, resulting in a very cold December morning in Port Harcourt. Through the window of The News Hub’s office on Aba Road in the city, Hunter watched its bundled-up residents struggle with the morning traffic jam, worsened by flooded streets.

He had always found the city, right down to its history, interesting. Port Harcourt was founded in 1912 by the British as an export point for coal. It was named after Viscount Harcourt, Secretary of State for the Colonies in 1913.

Upon the discovery of oil, Port Harcourt, called Garden City, quickly transformed into an oil city with high-earning oil workers – Nigerians and expatriates – who became models of success. The oil wealth also made it an expensive city with a fast life. The nights bustled with fun seekers at hotels and bars, and with beautiful women in skimpy clothes for interested male customers.

For the One-Oil Nigeria Company (OONC), there was a different kind of struggle that wet morning. Hunter had assaulted its executives with voice-mail, text, and e-mail messages from the moment he got off the phone with Duje earlier. He hadn’t received any concrete answers to his many questions, but he was offered several cryptic responses that he presumed were designed to satisfy him while the company developed a strategic plan for dealing with this latest disaster in the Niger Delta.

“The incident at our facility is currently under investigation.”

Incident? Hunter was irritated by the term.

“OONC is unable to comment on the situation in Ododo at this time.”

Comment? Hunter was sure that the situation had inspired some rather excitable comments at the OONC home office, especially in the Public Relations department.

“You will be informed when an OONC representative makes a public statement.”

Public statement? Hunter was curious to hear that, but he was also convinced that the private statements were probably more interesting—and probably significantly more animated.

That public statement arrived in Hunter’s email box just before noon. It hit his Blackberry phone as he was going to the fridge for a bottle of soda water.

He read it quickly and returned to his seat to examine it more meticulously.

An explosion has occurred on a crude oil pipeline at the Manifold across the Ododo Channel, some 75 kilometres east of Port Harcourt in River State. This has resulted in a major oil spill and fire. Preliminary investigations reveal that the fire, reported in the early hours, may have been caused by a dynamite attack. To help starve the fire of crude oil, OONC has discontinued oil production in the affected areas. Some 190 barrels per day of oil have been deferred.

That provided a nice overview. Hunter was impressed by its construction. It attempted to sound detailed with its measurements and directional points when, in fact, it said very little that Hunter didn’t already know. Then again, Hunter hadn’t expected a press release to provide thorough details. He couldn’t recall reading one that ever did. Once in a while, however, one might inadvertently provide him with some clues that would help him fill in the blanks. In this case, he knew exactly who he had to call.

“Lucy, it’s John Hunter.. I hope you have some free time on your hands.”

“If you need me, I do.”

Hunter couldn’t think of a graceful way to make his request, so he just came out and said it.

“Something happened in Ododo yesterday. I need you to make some phone calls for me.”

After the call to Lucy, he tried to talk to The Hub’s contacts in Port Harcourt, which had been provided by their Bureau Editor, but no luck. He checked his email every few minutes and surfed the Internet, hoping some additional information on the explosion would pop up and that he might be able to find some nugget of information that would tell him who he needed to call so he could proactively pursue this story. Still blank. No fresh information, not even from wire services like Reuters and AFP, noted in Nigeria for breaking news.

He had really not had time to think about Canaday, but suddenly he seemed to jump into his mind. He searched for updates on him, but there were none. Why the Senator’s son would keep mum over his experience in the Niger Delta baffled him. As he thought about what could have happened to him, his phone rang – his favourite Bob Marley’s song, “Natural Mystics.”

The caller ID displayed Lucy’s name, so in the interest of efficiency, Hunter didn’t bother with salutations.

“I hope your parents are safe,” he said when he picked up.

“Yes, they are. Ododo is quite some distance from my place.” Lucy informed him, “but others were not so fortunate. The situation goes far beyond an explosion on the pipelines.”

Hunter expelled a resigned sigh. “I would have been surprised if it hadn’t,” he said.

Lucy flipped through her notes noisily. “After I spoke to my parents, I called some friends who put me in touch with some other people,” she said. “I have some names of the people who spoke with me, but to be honest, I’m not sure if they are real names. The villagers want the story to get out, but the paranoia level is extremely high right now.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Hunter said. “People don’t want to find their names on a trash list.”

“They are also afraid of being perceived as rats,” Lucy said. “They fear talking to anyone outside of the Niger Delta will be taken the wrong way, as if they are giving information to the authorities. Right now people are more frightened of the militant elements than the oil companies.”

Hunter made quick notes in his pad. “I don’t care about people’s names right now,” he said. “There’s no need to set anyone up for retaliation. I just need to know exactly what happened. If no one can tell us that, we need to gather enough information to build the puzzle for ourselves. Do you have anything we can use as a starting point?”

“I have the site of the explosion,” she said.

“Excellent,” he said. “Where exactly?”

“From what I’ve been told, the target was the network of pipelines. No one will identify the specific culprits, although I get the feeling that some of the folks I spoke to either know exactly who was involved or have strong suspicions about who might be.”

“Okay,” Hunter said as he continued writing. “What do you think? Is this an organized effort or just a few people unleashing some spontaneous anger?”

Lucy blew out a sigh. “I’m not really sure,” she said. “It might fall somewhere in-between. One man told me that he believed the attack was planned because he had heard someone say that the world would change on December 19. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

“Not likely,” Hunter said.

“I didn’t think so,” Lucy said. “Right now, I would call the perpetrators Nigerian militants, but no one has identified an organized group. A few of them who tried to be vocal in the past were silenced.”

“I assume no person or group has claimed responsibility for the explosion,” Hunter said.

“No,” Lucy said, “at least not yet anyway. It seems as if everyone is lying low for the time being.”

Hunter sat back and played with the small puzzle pieces before him. He didn’t have much to go on, but it was a start—and that was better than nothing. He knew things were about to get worse, so he wanted to get the first part of his story published and bring some attention to the area before the violence had a chance to escalate.

“Lucy,” he said, “you said your parents are all right, but some people weren’t so fortunate. How many people died? Who were they? Were they killed by the explosion?”

Hunter could hear Lucy shuffling through her papers. “I don’t know,” she said. “A local council member told me there were casualties, but he wouldn’t tell me how many or who they were.”

“He may not have known for sure,” Hunter said.

“Maybe not,” Lucy conceded. “Everything is still pretty murky at this point.”

“Is there anything else you can tell me right now?”

Lucy let out a small grunt. “I’m afraid not,” she said, “but I’m still chasing down a few people who might be able to offer some facts.”

Hunter smiled. He realized that Lucy had a personal stake in the outcome of this situation, but he admired the way she was able to step back and pursue evidence without losing her composure. He thought she would probably make a pretty good journalist or detective.

“Thanks for all your help, Lucy,” he said. “If you hear anything more, call me immediately, day or night.”

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

“Council Chairman, this is John Hunter from The News Hub. I understand you have a difficult situation in your corner of the state. I’d like to hear what you’re facing right now.”

Hunter hoped that if a council chairman would speak to Lucy, he would speak to him as well, but he understood that such cooperation was not guaranteed. Speaking to a citizen in the midst of chaos was one thing. Speaking to a journalist and a widely recognised one at that was something altogether different.

Lucy hadn’t specifically identified the man with whom she had spoken, so Hunter decided to start at the top of the line. He called the office of Timmy Paul, the Ododo Council Chairman. He was likely to have access to the most accurate information. Hunter just hoped he would be willing to share some of it with him.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, but Hunter waited patiently.

“It was a horrible night, Mr Hunter, ” Paul finally said. “Several men from the village are confirmed dead from the fire.”

“How many?” he said.

Paul let out a soft groan. “I can provide you with general information, Mr Hunter. I can tell you what happened and when, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you the casualty number.

Hunter nodded to himself. “I will appreciate anything you can tell me, Chairman. Please share whatever you know at this time.”

“I heard the engines blasting from my home somewhere around nine-thirty last night,” the Chairman began.

Hunter noted the time.

“My wife and I ran outside to see what the ruckus was all about. Other people in the village had heard it as well. There were nearly fifty people outside at that point.”

“What kind of engines were they, sir ?” Hunter asked. “Could you see them?”

“They turned out to be speedboats.”

“Speedboats? As opposed to naval boats?”

“That’s correct,” the Chairman said. “They were the smaller boats, not the big military patrol vessels. I’m not sure how many there were. I thought I saw three, but my wife insists that there were four. I’ll take her word for it. For all we know, there could have been five or even more. We all ran for cover when the shooting started.” His voice was quivering.

“Did the gunfire come from the boats?” Hunter asked.

“I wouldn’t know that,” Paul said. “Everyone in my area started running. Some people just hit the ground. I grabbed my wife and pulled her along…” His voice petered out.

Hunter gave him a moment to recover. He pictured the man holding the phone, shaking from the memory of the trauma he had so recently experienced.

“I hope she’s all right,” he said.

“What?”

“Your wife,” Hunter said. “I hope she’s all right?”

Paul cleared his throat. “Oh, yes,” he said with a little more energy. “I think she got bruised up from my grabbing her. I acted out of fear. I wasn’t exactly gentle in the moment. I can’t think of anyone who would have been under the circumstances.”

“Sorry about that, Chairman.”

“Thank you,” the Council Chairman said. “Shortly after the sound of gunfire ceased, there was a loud explosion, so loud I thought my eardrums had ruptured, then there was fire everywhere on the channel. The force of the explosion and the fire affected neighbouring settlements. At the last count, eight villagers were confirmed dead.”

“I’m so sorry,” Hunter said.

“That number will probably go up by tonight,” Paul said. “For all I know, it may have risen already. It was a massive attack, the intensity of which no oil company in this country has experienced before.”

Hunter keyed the information into his computer, shaking his head in disgust. “How many people were injured, sir?” he said.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Do you have any idea who the attackers were?”

“Not a chance, no. All I know is that they came with a purpose.”

Hunter thought for a moment. “Forgive me, Chairman” he said. “I understand how difficult this must be for you, but I really need your help. How long did it last?”

“Mr Hunter.” he said, his tone one of disgust, “you cannot imagine how fast all of this happened. I suspect the attackers are professionals. If you don’t mind, I will go into a meeting with my council members now.”

Hunter understood him. “Thanks for your time, Chairman,” he said.

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

Hunter had become so engrossed in the Ododo story that he hadn’t taken time to eat. He finally grabbed a sandwich late in the afternoon, and he was just about to take his first bite when his phone rang. He dropped his lunch into its wrapper and reached for the receiver.

“Have you checked your email ?” Duke asked, wasting no time with formal greetings.

“Are you kidding?” Hunter said. “I check it every three minutes. Nothing new.”

Duke groaned. “They must be avoiding you.”

“What do you mean?”

“There’s some movement at the pipeline site.”

“Is OONC involved?”

“It is their pipeline, John.”

Hunter winced and took a bite of his sandwich. He swallowed quickly and turned his attention back to the telephone. “What are you hearing, sir?”

Duke wrote the information down. “There’s a new post on the OONC Public Relations website. It says the company has teamed up with officials of Clean Nigeria Associates to investigate what they call ‘the situation’ along the pipeline in Ododo.”

Hunter gritted his teeth and snarled. “Those bastards!” he said. “They said they would contact me if they were making any new statements.” He quickly opened his email box , but he found no new mail from OONC, not even a form letter. “I’ve got nothing here, Boss. ”

“Maybe you need to become one of their Facebook friends,” Duke said.

Hunter threw back a swig of juice, using the few seconds to control his anger. “I don’t understand this,” he said. “You’d think they’d want me to know that they were working with an environmental group.” Clean Nigeria Associates had been formed in November 1981 by the oil-producing companies, a non-profit organisation with a mission to enhance the oil-spill containment and clean up capabilities of each member oil company operating in Nigeria. “I’m surprised they haven’t called an international press conference to tell the entire universe about it.”

Hunter took another bite off his sandwich and reached for his computer mouse. “Okay, Boss , let me get to work on this, but I like your special interest in this story.”

“It takes only one incident for the world to change, Hunter my boy.”

“You are correct, sir,” Hunter said, “and I know what you feel in your guts about the war-gaming.”

“We should not be beaten on this story, John,” Duke said.

Unlike other publishers, the wily old editor was always involved in the writing of The Hub’s big stories. The newspaper was his life.

The pressure on Hunter to file his usual style of detailed story meant that he worked hard and fast, talking to as many prominent people as possible. After talking to Duke , he called Clean Nigeria and after the initial stalling by external communications department, the call was transferred to a Mr Soros Tubi.

“Mr Tubi, I know it may be too early for you to speak publicly on the explosion in Ododo,” Hunter said. “But you would admit that this is an urgent situation. Can I speak to you for a moment?”

There was a nervous pause on the other end of the line.

“Sir,” Hunter pressed, “Are you there?”

“I will speak off the record if I must speak.” Tubi said quietly.

Hunter smiled. “All right.”

“To be honest, Mr Hunter,” Tubi began, “there isn’t much to tell at this point. There is simply a list of the noted damages.”

“Why hasn’t that been released?”

“I don’t know, sir. It may be incomplete at this point.”

Hunter scribbled notes. The damage list might have been incomplete, but that didn’t seem to explain why the results of the preliminary investigation had not been released to the media.

“What do you know now, sir?” Hunter asked.

Tubi sucked in a breath. “At this point, the investigation shows that a significant section of OONC pipeline has been ruptured.”

Hunter quickly scrawled down the information.

“A major supply line to the Port Harcourt refinery was also severed.”

Hunter’s eyebrows shifted on his forehead. He hadn’t noticed this information being reported within Port Harcourt—not yet anyway. “Anything else?” he wondered.

Tubi exhaled. “A line to the Nigeria Gas Company is reportedly damaged.”

Hunter continued writing as his contact spoke. His pen was running low on ink, so he gave it a hard shake and then scribbled some more. He was about to press Tubi for further details, assuming he actually had any, when his mobile phone vibrated on his desktop. The caller ID told him that Lucy was on the line. Figuring that her information would be more up-to-date and less corrupted by officialdom than that coming from the man on the land line, Hunter opted to take the call.

“I will call you right back, Lucy,” he said into the mobile and turned his attention back to his land line. “Thank you, Mr Tubi,” he said in a sincere tone. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”

“Remember,” Tubi said nervously, “my words were off the record.”

“Absolutely. Have a nice day, sir.”

“You too, but we agreed —”

Before he could finish his plea, Hunter pushed the button on the phone, disconnecting the call. The guy may have been worried, but he had no reason to be. Hunter meant what he said about protecting his sources—and this source was no different from the hundreds of others whose identities he had kept hidden throughout his career.

Hunter called Lucy back. “Sorry about that, I was picking the brain of a guy from Clean Nigeria.”

Lucy laughed. “That doesn’t sound like fun,” she said.

“It wasn’t, but I think it was useful.”

“Really? What did he have to say?”

“Things are worse than the big guns are letting on.” He sat back and let out a long sigh. “What do you think?”

“It’s hard to say just yet.”

“I assume you called because you’ve got something new to tell me,”

“I spoke to a friend of my father’s. He can see a considerable amount of the action from his house, but he doesn’t want anyone to see him talking on the phone while he watches.”

“Smart man,” Hunter commented..

“He said the fire is still burning,” she said, “but with much less intensity than last night.”

“I’m guessing that’s because the safety team has closed all the valves connected to the damaged pipeline,” Hunter said and tried to review his computer screen for fresh notices on either the OONC or Clean Nigeria websites. There was nothing new in the news sections of either site.

“I have some indirect information,” Lucy said, “that is, if you’re interested in hearsay.”

“What?”

“My father’s friend said someone told him that Clean Nigeria’s crew had boomed off the oil spill at the refinery supply site to limit the spread of the sheen.”

“That makes sense,” Hunter said. “It might also help the team to put out the fire completely.”

“There is something else, John,” she said in a whisper.

“I’m all ears,” Hunter said anxiously.

“My dad said that a few weeks before this attack, there had been a massive attack at Cawthorne Channel in which many naval ratings were shot dead.”

“Cawthorne Channel,” he muttered and rubbed his head. Missing out the Cawthorne Channel attack meant he had not done enough background reading.  He excused Lucy with the promise to call her and engaged his Internet search engine.

According to the various reports, an army spokesman Maj. Sagir Bussa had said 15 soldiers on a routine boat patrol were attacked in an ambush by some 70 militants, who sank two military boats. One of the soldiers managed to escape and raise the alarm. Although he had not confirmed it, other reports indicated that five soldiers were killed in the attack and nine others missing.

The Joint Revolutionary Council, an amalgam of different militant organisations in the Niger Delta, claimed responsibility for the attack, saying that they used it to prove to the soldiers that they can bite. According to a statement issued online by C. Whyte, on behalf of Niger Delta Peoples Volunteer Force (NDPVF) and The Martyrs Brigade, they wanted the unconditional release of their leader. They said they would roll out the drums of war if their demands were not met on time and would not hesitate to commence action against the collective interest of the Nigerian nation.

I’m not sure this story was adequately reported by the Nigerian media, Hunter said to himself and quickly checked the timeline of protests by the oil-producing communities.

From Isaac Adaka Boro, who was widely recognised as the Niger Delta’s pioneer activist and revolutionary, there had been gradual escalation of protests spearheaded by notable Niger Delta activists like Kenule Saro-Wiwa, a popular writer, television producer, and staunch environmentalist, and the fiery Asari Dokubo , formerly Melford Dokubo Goodhead Jr. and typically referred to simply as Asari.

Just as he thought he had enough information to sketch his story, Hunter’s computer sang out a tone alerting him to the receipt of a new email message. The time was 6.15 p.m. and production of the following day’s newspaper of The News Hub would have started in Lagos.

 

“J This just came in. Someone is claiming responsibility for the chaos. This message was supposedly sent to all major media, so everyone will be talking about it in a matter of minutes. D.

Hunter read the forwarded message from their editor in Port Harcourt. The opening line went straight to the point.

 

LEAVE OUR LAND WHILE YOU CAN OR DIE IN IT. OUR AIM IS TO TOTALLY DESTROY THE CAPACITY OF THE NIGERIAN GOVERNMENT TO EXPORT OIL.

 

Okay, gentlemen, Hunter thought, you’ve got my attention.

 

The message continued in a professional yet angry tone.

 

We represent the Defenders of Niger Delta Resources (DNDR). We have waited patiently for the politicians and the oil company executives to work with the people of the Niger Delta to protect the environment, share the revenue earned from our natural resources, and provide jobs and social services to our villagers whose homeland has been invaded and exploited. The oil companies have forced the inhabitants of the Niger Delta to live in appalling conditions, with air that is toxic, water that is not drinkable , and land that is so badly damaged that healthy vegetation can no longer grow. There are no suitable schools to educate our young people and no accessible medical clinics to take care of residents when they become ill or injured. One Oil Nigeria Limited does not provide long-term jobs for the villagers. Thus, they are forced to live in poverty, fishing in poisoned waters, while all around us , oil wells owned by foreign companies pump billions of dollars’ worth of oil every year. The DNDR has taken action to put a halt to this exploitation of the Niger Delta. We will end this standoff peacefully if our demands are met.

 

Hunter felt the muscles in his body tighten as he continued to read.

 

Our demands are as follows:

The immediate release of Alhaji Asari, who is currently on trial facing trumped up charges of treason

The release of former State Governor Alamieyeseigha, who is facing bogus charges of money laundering

Local community compensation for the environmental damage caused by oil company operations in the sum of $1.5 billion U.S.

Withdrawal of all foreign oil industry personnel and all Nigerian security forces, who occupy our villages and intimidate our residents

 

Hunter leaned back away from his computer screen and scratched his chin. He couldn’t argue with DNDR’s demands regarding compensation for damages and the withdrawal of foreign personnel and military units. The release of the two prisoners would be another issue.

The government was not likely to hand over people it has identified to the world as criminals in exchange for some oil facility personnel. The last thing they wanted was appear weak and vulnerable to hostage-taking by other factions wishing to have supporters released from prison. This posturing on both sides could mean death for the hostages.

Frustrated and angry, Hunter resumed his research, hoping that some tiny piece of information might provide him with a strategy allowing him to get to the centre of the crisis. In a move spurred by desperation, Hunter logged back onto the One Oil website. He had no idea what he was looking for. Perhaps something might present itself.

And something did. With DNDR releasing its demands, the company had no choice but to acknowledge that “an incident” had taken place at one of its offshore facilities. The press release blasted across the company’s home page.

 

Due to an ongoing situation at the facility, One Oil Nigeria Company has discontinued production at the Dove offshore field. This field normally produces an average of 120,000 barrels of oil per day. Yesterday, unidentified armed persons invaded a support vessel in the Dove field and abducted four expatriates. At this time, no fatalities have been reported, but the company has been advised that one of the abducted persons has sustained injuries.

The four hostages have been identified as American, British, Bulgarian, and Honduran nationals. Their names will be disclosed to the public only after their families have been contacted.

One Oil Nigeria Company has made an official report of the incident. We are currently working with the authorities and field service companies who are employers of the abducted persons to gain their safe release. The authorities have also mobilized to effectively secure the area of operations.

All non-essential service personnel in the offshore field have been evacuated from the vessel in line with standard emergency response procedures. The affected support vessel, which had 28 crew members on board at the time of the incident, departed the field and arrived safely at Port Harcourt earlier today.

 

Hunter stood up and paced about in his hotel room. It felt good to stand for a moment after having planted himself in the desk chair staring at his computer screen for most of the evening.

His neurons continued to pump thoughts, ideas, and strategies even as he wrote his story to email to Lagos. He was sure many reporters would contribute to the story of the first major bomb attack and hostage-taking in the Niger Delta, and in the tradition of the paper, the by-line would be “By Our Reporters” and not John Hunter .

After the story, he prepared his to-do list for the following day. First was to identify the persons who made up the DNDR, followed by the need for a better understanding of the reasons behind their demands.

Given that the hostages were foreign nationals, the situation had world-wide ramifications. The Brits and the Americans always received the spotlight on the world stage. It was not in their best interest to appear weak in front of the rest of the world. The Bulgarian and the Honduran hostages would be considered expendable, as Honduras and Bulgaria were in no position to declare war against an international enemy.

The Brits and the Americans were another story. Injury to one of their citizens would not be tolerated, especially by the Americans. They were heavily dependent on Nigerian oil, as well, and likely would consider extreme action to open the flow once again. Hunter was not sure if the DNDR had taken such international anger into account when it embarked upon this venture.

This is getting all the more interesting, Hunter thought as he packed his personal stuff for the Presidential Hotel. Tired, he slept after a quick dinner of pounded yam and vegetable soup.

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

In the morning, Hunter checked his to-do list which was mainly a combination of data gathering and diplomacy. He washed , put on a striped brown suit, and left his hotel room. He would visit the OONC offices that morning even if he had to storm through several security units to get through to an executive. He felt energised by the previous day’s achievements as he headed through the hotel lobby, stopping only long enough to grab a strong cup of coffee at the café.

The taxi dropped him off in front of a high-rise building. The glass front reflected bursts of sunlight into the morning air. Hunter tipped his driver and pushed his way through the building’s large revolving door. He was immediately met by a large, barrel-chested security guard.

“May I help you, sir?” The guard’s tone was professional, yet he still managed to sound intimidating.

Hunter pulled out his journalist ID and held it up for the man to examine. “I’m John Hunter from The News Hub. I’m here to talk to the people in charge of the media.”

The security guard walked over to his desk and made a telephone call. Hunter didn’t know if the guard knew or cared about the offshore crisis, or if he had received orders from OONC to keep the media out of the building. The building itself was very quiet, which made Hunter slightly uncomfortable.

The guard left the desk and approached him. “Someone will come down to see you, sir,” he stated. “Please wait.”

Hunter had no intentions of going anywhere until he spoke to an OONC representative. He just wondered how long that person would make him wait.

It didn’t turn out to be long at all.

Less than five minutes later, a small man with a wiry frame and a disproportionately bushy hair stepped out of the elevator. The guard motioned toward Hunter.

“Mr Hunter,” the man said, “I’m Sam Wene. I work here.”

Hunter was surprised by the man’s cordial demeanour. He was expecting someone from OONC to be either confrontational or evasive because of the attack. He was already suspicious.

“Good morning, Mr Wene,” he said. “I have come to get some more detailed information regarding the ongoing crisis at Dove.”

Wene nodded. “That’s what I assumed,” he said, “but I am afraid that I am not at liberty to provide any further information than has been released by the company’s Public Relations department.”

Hunter had expected this. He knew statements on such big issues were cleared in the home office, kilometres away from Nigeria, but he wasn’t willing to accept it. “Could you please put me in contact with someone who can speak to me on the matter?” he said.

“I’m sorry, Mr Hunter ,” Wene said, “but the executives with such privileges are never here on Sunday.”

Hunter’s eyes popped open. It was Sunday! He was so completely off his schedule that he hadn’t even identified the day of the week. No wonder the office building was so quiet.

“Do you have a business card?” Wene asked.. “I can send your information to the people working on the crisis and have them contact you.”

Hunter pulled a card from his wallet. “I would like your card as well, sir ,” he said.

Wene was pleased to make the exchange. “I will forward your information immediately,” he said.

Hunter simply nodded and pushed his way out through the revolving door.

 

 

( ( ( ( (

 

Back in his suite at the Presidential Hotel, Hunter ordered food from room service and suddenly felt the need to sleep. Considering that he had been awake for a long time it was probably in his best interest to rest. No further information had been provided by OONC, no further demands were made by DNDR, and no calls had come in from his sources.

He woke up to the beep of an incoming mail. A representative from OONC had sent a message. The note did not address him personally, so he could not be sure if he was receiving a response to his request or a copy of a release sent to all media outlets. He rubbed his tired eyes and read:

 

Our attention has been drawn to reports that a group claiming responsibility for the attacks on One Oil Nigeria Company facilities has asked for a $1.5 billion ransom for the release of four hostages taken from the Dove offshore field. Resource control for the Niger Delta States, as well as the release of the activist Asari and a former governor are included on the list of demands. We wish to state that the issue of resource control and the detention of the two men are legislative and national issues over which we have no control. The company is open to dialogue with stakeholders over issues that can mutually be resolved, however, the company does not pay ransom as a matter of policy.

 

The company maintains that it is a corporate citizen that has continually sought to carry out its operations in Nigeria in a responsible manner. All actions taken by the company have been in compliance with the regulations issued by the regulatory agencies and have been in accordance with the best international standards available…

 

“Oh, the rest is sounding like mere PR, it is pretty run-of-the-mill corporate stuff,” Hunter said out loud.

He continued to contemplate the contents of the note when his phone buzzed. He absent-mindedly flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Do you still wish to meet with Mr Prebiri?”

“Oh, yes!” he said. He had forgotten his colleague Darri’s promise for him speak to one of the insiders of the crisis, who had worked closely with some of the activists.

“We will contact you with further instructions.”

The call went dead.