Easy Motion Tourist (27 page)

Police officers were all around us. I recognised them. They were the men of Fire-for-Fire I’d seen at the police station. An officer gave his weapon to a colleague, and with the cautious movement of a bomb disposal expert, he slowly took the weapon from Amaka’s hand. She swayed and I moved towards her but someone stepped in front of me and pointed his rifle at my belly. It was a face I would never forget: Sergeant Hot-Temper.

‘Let him go,’ Inspector Ibrahim said. Although my ears were buzzing, I heard him this time. The killer cop lowered his gun, grinned toothily and winked, as if he had been joking with me. I stepped past him and reached Amaka, catching her just as her knees crumpled. She looked at me through almost-closed eyes.

‘Guy,’ she whispered, and her lids shut before she collapsed into my arms.

I lifted her off the ground and looked at her face. She was breathing.

‘Let’s go,’ Ibrahim said to his men, then to me: ‘Mr Collins, it’s time to leave.’

An officer moved to help me but I didn’t let him take Amaka from me. I carried her out of the forest and back to the bungalow.

Armed officers stood everywhere. The chatter of police radios was going off all around. About five police vans were parked in
front of the building, their doors open. I saw Ade getting his arm bandaged by an officer. The body I’d seen inside the house was being wheeled out on a trolley.

Two men came to take Amaka from me.

‘They are doctors,’ Ibrahim said. ‘They will take care of her.’ He had been walking by my side all the time. I watched as they lay her on the ground. They crouched, one on each side of her. One of them held her wrist in his fingers and watched the face of his clock.

‘That bullet was meant for you,’ Ade said. I turned and saw his smiling face.

Ibrahim saluted him. ‘Guy, meet Commander Mshelia.’

‘Did you think we’d let a foreign journalist go chasing after killers? I’m with the DSS,’ Ade said. ‘You know, like the FBI. Ibrahim asked me to keep you out of trouble. I thought it was going to be a walk in the park, as you say.’

It took a second for what he said to sink in. ‘You are a policeman?’

‘You could say so. Undercover, but my cover is blown now.’

‘You are a policeman?’

‘Yes.’ He winced as the officer tending to him wound another length of bandage round his arm. ‘I’m not Ade. But I wasn’t spying on you or anything like that.’

‘So, where is Ade?’

‘Oh, Ade, he sends his apologies. He had to jet off to Abuja.’

Mshelia explained that Ibrahim was in his office inspecting my phone when the real Ade called. As Ade’s number was the only contact stored on the phone, Ibrahim figured he could use him to flush me out. He sent Ade a text message supposedly from me, asking to meet at the Eko Hotel lobby. He found Ade there, looking impatient, and he calmed him down by showing him his badge and placing him under arrest.

Ibrahim wasn’t sure what to do with the journalist so he took him to the Navy Dockyard, to his friend in the secret service, Commander Mshelia. Together, the two officers began to interrogate Ade but the journalist was just as eager to impress them with his knowledge of his rights and what the law was pertaining to those rights. Commander Mshelia offered him a deal: spend the next few days in detention at the Navy Dockyard while the police continued investigating the murder that the Briton might be involved in, or, cooperate and help us find the foreigner before he gets himself into even more trouble.

Weighing the charge of conspiracy in a murder against his freedom and some time in a crowded cell, Ade chose the latter. He confided in the officers that he had never trusted the man’s story, anyway. A UK-based Nigerian journalist, an old acquaintance, had found Ade through the Associated Press and offered him the task of looking after the British journalist, but as far as Ade knew, the entire setup could be a CIA thing. For this reason he had stayed away from Guy from day one: this reason and the fact that only once Guy was airborne did he learn that he wasn’t even getting paid for the job. He had never even met the man before. He didn’t even know what he looked like.

Ibrahim took over. According to him, Mshelia was first to get the idea of impersonating Ade, but he, Ibrahim, preferred a different approach. Ade had told them that he was in touch with Guy’s boss. They made him call England and explain to Guy’s boss that he could not find Guy. Ibrahim wanted Guy to come to him. Amaka, he could only assume, was still with him; she just might suspect something if Mshelia turned up pretending to be a journalist. Ade gladly made the call but soon started ad-libbing. Guy’s boss swore and shouted when he learned that Guy
had not bothered to meet up with his guide, and then he asked Ade to do him a favour and tell the fool that he was fired – if he managed to speak to him.

‘That’s how the call ended,’ Ibrahim said.

They both paused to look at me, unsure if they’d just given me bad news. I nodded and Ibrahim continued.

They released Ade, who said he had to return to Abuja, and Mshelia became a journalist. My phone showed that I’d sent several messages to Ade and tried to call him a few times. They decided to gamble on me getting in touch again; that way, I wouldn’t be suspicious when Ade suddenly became available to meet.

‘Ibrahim wasn’t sure how you got yourself mixed up in this mess,’ Mshelia continued, ‘but he was afraid you were sniffing around and endangering yourself. My job was simply to steer you clear of trouble so that he could do his job without having to worry about a white boy getting himself killed on his watch. By the time you told me your girlfriend had gone to the suspect’s house, we were already aware of Amadi’s involvement in the crime. I called Ibrahim from the hotel and updated him. We agreed that he should go to the suspect’s house to make sure Amadi knew that he knew Amaka, and that he knew she was at his place. That way, we believed, he wouldn’t dare harm her. I guess we were wrong.’

‘Commander Mshelia texted me the flight numbers Amaka found and he told me what you came up with,’ Ibrahim continued. ‘I obtained the flight manifests from the airline and requested the medical records of everyone on board who wasn’t based in Nigeria. He was updating me by phone as both of you tailed Amadi’s car. It appeared as if the man was making a getaway and taking Amaka as hostage, so we decided to strike.’

‘It looks like you might have exposed an international syndicate, Guy,’ Mshelia said. ‘You and your girlfriend, Amaka. From the way that this place is setup,’ he pointed his good hand at the bungalow, ‘it appears they were probably doing operations in there. Very crudely.’

‘So, you are with the secret service?’ I said.

‘Yes.’

‘And you followed us?’ I was looking at Ibrahim.

‘Yes. I had enough evidence to make an arrest. And I was concerned over your safety, and Amaka’s.’

‘So you didn’t want to kill me?’

‘Oh no. Why would you think such a thing?’

‘So I’m not under arrest?’

They both laughed.

‘By the way,’ Ibrahim said, ‘take your phone. I’ve been trying to return it to you since yesterday.’ He held it out to me.

I hadn’t expected to see it again.

‘Where are they taking her?’ Amaka was being placed in the back of a police car.

‘She needs medical attention. They are taking her to the clinic. Maybe you should go with her.’

‘I should.’

He looked past me at her. ‘She’s made quite an impression on you,’ he said.

I didn’t know how to respond to that. I got the feeling she’d made quite an impression on him too.

Mshelia groaned to remind us he was still there. He waved away the hand of the officer seeking to inspect his bandage. ‘Well then, go,’ he said. And as I turned to leave: ‘And listen, if you break her heart, you’ll have us to answer to.’

I stopped to shake hands with both men. ‘Sorry about that,’ I said to Ibrahim, holding my hand to the side of my face. He smiled.

Amaka was still out of it. I got in the back with her, placed her head on my lap and began pulling shreds of clingfilm off her neck. Sirens went off as we left the little house in the bush.

We went to the medical clinic at Wilmot Point, the naval base on Ahmadu Bello Road, close to Inspector Ibrahim’s police station. Navy nurses took her and wouldn’t let me follow them. I waited in the corridor, breathing in antiseptic cleanser. A woman in a naval uniform brought me a chair. I thanked her but continued pacing the corridor. Men and women in military or medical gear walked past me, coming and going through double doors, but not from where they had taken Amaka. Then, about an hour later, three women and two men, all in white coats, hurried to the room she was in. I froze in front of the door.

Fifteen minutes later a doctor appeared.

‘Are you Guy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Please come with me.’

I was afraid to ask him anything. He took me into the room and asked the nurses standing round Amaka’s bed to excuse us. They had been taking tubes out of her arms. Her eyes were closed and she wasn’t moving.

‘She’s still slightly sedated but she asked to see you,’ he said.

‘She’s OK?’

I walked up to her side and placed my hand on hers. Her fingers curled around mine and squeezed. Her eyes opened and I felt tears burning behind mine.

She didn’t talk. She stared into my eyes and held my fingers even tighter. The doctor drew a chair up to me and I sat by her side. Her eyes closed.

Aunty Baby arrived with Flavio by her side. She asked the nurse at the reception to take her to Amaka.

Inspector Ibrahim walked up to her and introduced himself. He explained that her friend, Guy, had found her number on Amaka’s phone and asked him to call; he was with her now.

Apart from a headache and a sore throat, Amaka had recovered and she insisted on being filled in on everything that had happened. She wouldn’t let go of my hand, and I couldn’t let go of hers.

Inspector Ibrahim and Commander Mshelia walked into the room and behind them, Flavio and Aunty Baby.

I looked up and saw the expression on Aunty Baby’s face; I smiled to let her know everything was OK.

She and her husband joined me at the bedside. I stood to let her sit and she placed the back of her palm on Amaka’s forehead. Amaka smiled. They wanted to know what had happened. After that, I didn’t get any time alone with her but I was happy just to see her smiling and talking again, alive and well.

I stood back and watched everybody: my contact who turned out to be a spy; Ibrahim to whom I owed my life; Aunty Baby and Flavio who had been as worried as I was; and Amaka, weak but still here.

‘Guy mentioned a database,’ Ibrahim said. ‘I would like to see it if you don’t mind. It could really help us flush out more of these bad guys.’

Amaka looked at me. She smiled to let me know it was OK.

‘Yes. I would love to hand it over to you. Guy has it.’

‘He also told me how you use it to keep girls safe. Would I be asking too much if I request that you keep doing this? We will only use the information as leads, we will keep it secret, and we will give you a few officers to work with, if ever you need them – women you can trust.’