Chapter One

 

Olu Shango took a moment's glance at the visa papers of the white couple seated across his desk from him and smiled to himself. There's a fool born every minute, and by God, he'd just found another.

The couple sat contentedly before him, holding hands across their chairs like only white couples would do as if they were here on holiday. Quite sappy, really. Olu offered them tea and biscuits and even allowed the husband the chance to smoke a cigarette, anything just to calm whatever premonitions they might be having now with regards to being in a country far from home, especially in this case, Africa. Olu was well aware of the nonsense that's regularly being spread about Africa through foreign bureaucracies: famine, pestilence, corrupt governments, and all the rest. He recognized the look on the expats' faces whenever he lunched or dined with some them and of how they often regarded him as much of a second-class citizen even in his own country. It was sad, but true. A lot of them still see Africa as one big country rather than one big continent. He'd made an effort in his job to put such people at ease whenever they stopped by his office, the same as what he was doing with this couple ... except they can never be clued on to his reasons why. He'd shared humorous anecdotes and conversation with them, and wasn't surprised to hear the hubby explain that this was their first trip to any African nation. And how was that possible? He'd just been offered a contract job with a thriving oil company located in the Niger-Delta region of Nigeria. But more than that, it was a first-time experience for both of them and they couldn't wait to start living it. The wife though carried a hint of nervousness about her. Were it not for her husband's insistence, she explained, she never would have thought of embarking on the trip with him. Olu pretended to share their enthusiasm of making the milestone journey. Unbeknownst to the white couple though, his reasons were far different entirely from theirs. Oh sure, he would make damn sure they enjoy their stay in Nigeria ... most especially the Mrs.

The couple differed from each other incidentally. While Arnold Coltrane was a stocky-framed man of average height, well into his mid-forties, possessing sandy-colored hair that were turning grey on the sides, his wife, Becca, was a tall, buxom, light-blonde beauty. Olu was aroused by the sight of her tits which appeared somewhat sagging behind her blouse, seemed like they want to push out and hug the air before them. She's got some natural hips too, this he'd noticed when they walked into his office and approached his desk. That her ass looked like it was begging for something black and strong. There was a stirring coming from inside his pants. He observed her face and told himself he couldn't wait to get her pert-shaped lips acquainted with his 9-inch superior black pounder.

Olu had a plan so devious and cunning it was unbelievable, and such was what he was about to enact.

The couple had obtained a temporary two-week visa at the Nigerian Embassy over in London office a day before they boarded their Air France flight that brought them here to the state capital. Arnold's employers were well aware of this and thus had furnished him with Olu's cell-phone number as well as a four day-period to see about getting further extension on his papers. Olu had gotten the call the previous day and after noting that the couple were in Abuja and cooling off at the Nicon-Noga Hilton, had arranged today's meeting to get a better look at what he had to work with. While he'd kept up the flow of conversation, he'd excused himself and stepped into a side office where two state security men sat awaiting his command. They were loyal men whom he often used for such clandestine assignments. He gave them the go-ahead and without another word, they were off. He needn't instruct them on what to do or how to get it done; they were familiar with this type of work. By the time Olu returned to the couple, his boys were getting into their nondescript vehicle and screeching out of the embassy's gate. It was a twenty minute drive to the hotel, but the officers turned on their siren and broke through the city's traffic easily, cutting the journey in half.

Another thirty minutes later and Olu was seeing the British couple out of his office, acting jovial in each other's company as if they were old friends; such was the charm he exerted whenever meeting foreign couples for the first time. Arnold was much impressed with his effortless manner in acquiring for him what he'd come here for. The company's fellow top expat who'd furnished him with Olu's number had stated that Olu was someone who knew how well to cut through whatever bureaucratic red-tape bull-shit he was bound to encounter once he arrived here. Olu waved at them as they got into the taxi that had brought there and drove out of the large compound. The two security officers had long returned from their mission. They were in Olu's office waiting for him when he returned.

"It's done, sir," said the most senior.

"No one at the hotel lobby got noisy asking any questions?" Olu inquired.

"None, sir. We didn't announce our actual intention, and swore the Manager not to reveal anything."

"And you deposited the package where neither will find it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good." He opened one of his desk drawers and took out a bundle of money which he gave to them to divide amongst themselves. They smiled, saluted him, and left his office. It was only then that Olu allowed himself to sit down, lean his head back and laugh.

Everything was going exactly as planned. By this time tomorrow, he would have the couple feeding off the palm of his hand. He couldn't wait for that moment to happen.

 

Chapter Two

 

There was a Virgins-Nigeria local flight leaving at 10:00 A.M. the following morning from Abuja to Port Harcourt, which was Arnold's destination. At 8:35 A.M. that morning, he and his wife Becca, checked out of their hotel suite and flagged a taxi to take them to the airport. Olu had called the previous evening to reassure him that his papers of extension would be ready for him by the following week; it would be mailed to his company's Port Harcourt office signed and delivered, and Arnold had nothing more to worry about.

Their worries began that morning at 9:22 A.M., right after Arnold and Becca had checked their bags at the airport terminal and were ready to board their plane. They were stopped by two security officials, the same two officers whom Olu had sent to do his dirty work the previous day, though the couple were unaware of this. Both men were dressed in starched gabardine uniform, sporting a stern outlook on their faces. One of them flashed his state security badge before the stunned couple and informed them that one of their bags had sounded a red flag just as it was being cleared through Customs. As they were talking, several patrol officers swarmed into the airport lounge. One of them trailed a hungry-looking German Shepard while another held an automatic rifle in both hands. Other commuters milling about the lounge began making themselves scare from the vicinity. The unlucky couple were unaware of how state security officials this part of the world tended to operate; when it involved hard drugs or anything illegal, they seldom fuck around.

"We will have to check through the contents of your bag," one of the security men explained to them. "Hope it's all right with both of you."

Becca turned a disbelieving look at her husband. "My God, Arnold, what could they possibly want­-"

"It's okay, darling. Let's just let the fine officers do their job. I'm sure it's just some false alarm or something," her husband tried calming her, though he too was just as worried as she.

Their bags were inappropriately laid out on the floor unopened, and the dog began sniffing its nose one at a time. By now a thriving murmuring crowd was drawing towards the plight of the white couple; other security men assigned themselves towards crowd control. Arnold and Becca could do nothing but observe the level of mistreatment was being enacted upon their luggage.

One of the patrol men turned one of their large bags on its side, enabling the Shepard dog to run its nose along the bag's side pockets. Suddenly the dog tensed up and its mouth curled into a growl, followed by a string of harsh barks. The dog's barks unnerved the couple and almost everyone else that stood there watching the spectacle. Right away the security men indicated for two other officers to pick up the bag and then they led the way towards a back doorway with the couple harried in tow.

The door gave way to a narrow corridor and the harsh sounds of the airport and chattering commuters in the lounge area died away immediately as the door closed behind them. Becca asked where they were being taken to, but neither officers answered her. They made a left turn into another lonely corridor with numerous doors alongside it. One of the security men pushed open one of the doors and ushered them inside.

The room was a square-foot in size. The walls were painted light brown, and except for a window at the end that was enclosed behind a mesh, all the room boasted of was a table that took up half the room's space, with two chairs on one side and a single one positioned across. The scene looked like something that had been rehearsed time and time again by the two security men, except other times the victims have been different. Only they and their boss knew how this scene usually always played out. Not once had the plot failed.

The couple sat on the two chairs just as the patrol officers dropped the bag on the table and took their leave. One of the security men positioned himself by the door, having turned the lock. The couple watched apprehensively as his colleague wore on a pair of surgical hand gloves; above their heads, a CCTV camera watched the live action, transmitting the feed to a video monitor in a room a couple of doors from where they were. Inside the room, Olu sat beside a video technician whose duty it was to record the proceedings. Both of them wore headphones and their eyes were glued on the TV monitor in front of them which was filming the security official open the suspected luggage, unearthing its contents on the table while Arnold and his wife watched in muted silence.

The security man was patient with the way he took his time empting out every item that was inside the bag. It was part of the plan to keep intended victim/victims on edge as they too saw what was ongoing. Arnold couldn't help glancing at his wristwatch, noting how close the hour for their flight boarding was approaching; either way, they were going to miss it. Done with the inner contents, the security man turned his focus to the side pockets. There were few items there: dispensable razors, a pack of handkerchiefs, two ball-points pen ... and then there was a small black pouch bag. The couple's eyes too set on this as the security man dropped it carefully on the table before them as if it carried an explosive device.

Arnold was the first to declare: "What is that? Whatever that is, it's not mine. I've never seen that before. That thing doesn't belong to us."

"At all, officer," Becca too asserted.

The security man didn't bother listening to them as he opened the pouch bag and emptied its contents in front of them. The couple's eyes seemed to grow wide at the same time and their lips uttered gasps of surprise as they took in the mountain of white power that was undoubtedly cocaine spilling out of the bag.

"Does this," the state security man waved his hand at the revelation displayed on the table, his eyes switched back and forth to either couple, "belong to either of you?"

"My God, you must be crazy! I already told you that's not mine!" Arnold exploded. His features became livid with rage at the officer's accusation, coupled with the fact that in the next twenty minutes they were going to miss their flight. He slapped his palm in frustration on the table. "I don't know where you pulled fucking thing out from, but that shit wasn't in my bag when we got here, I swear it!"

"That's true, officer," his wife said in support. "Please listen to him."

"You both ought to know, neither of you are the first caught bringing in this type of stuff into the country," the officer said, impervious to Arnold's diatribe. Both officers have seen such antics before and knew how well to handle it. It was part of the scripted plot: first arouse anger, then break the victim's will totally. "This is some serious crime you both are into," he politely continued. "The chances of either of you coming out of this clean are very slim, and damaging. However, my colleague and I can turn a blind eye, as you both are new to the country, though we'd very much like for your co-operation in this­-"

"Listen to me, you stupid fucker!" Arnold rose to his feet, pushing his chair back, and leaned his now red face towards the security officer. "I've had just about bloody enough of you and your bullshit. I've already told you, that shit ain't mine, or my wife's. We don't use that crap! And that's all there is I'm going to say. Now, I want you and your friend over there to let us the fuck out of here and let me talk to someone that's got more brains that yo...

He was aiming a finger at the officer's chest while he spat his anger. Olu in the other room watched what was happening, shook his head and smiled. Big mistake, Arnold, he muttered quietly to himself.

It was here the plot turned serious.

The security officer grabbed Arnold's pointing finger and gave it a sharp twist. Arnold's brow concocted into a mask of pain a second before he let go a screeching wail. The officer grasped his palm upside down and slammed it on the table next to the mountain of cocaine; Arnold let forth another scream. His wife screamed too and got up, but the officer gave her a severe look and snapped at her to shut up and sit down. Becca did that instantly; her lips trembled with fear.

The officer leaned his face towards Arnold's and said to him, still in his measured tone: "Don't you ever raise your voice at me, mister. And don't you ever in your life point your finger at me, or I'll go and get a machete and cut off this hand of yours and feed it to our dogs outside. Do you understand me?"

For emphasis, he gave his hand another deft twist; Arnold got the message and sputtered an apology.

Olu knew that was his cue. He gave the technician a thumbs-up and carrying along a file folder exited the room and walked to the interrogation room and tapped on the door. The officer standing by the other side knew he was the one, and unlocked the door, saluted, then stepped aside for him to make his entrance. Olu entered the room and turned an angry eye at the scene playing before him. Arnold returned to his chair, hugging his hand, even as his wife showed some relief at Olu's arrival. The other officer quickly came over and saluted his boss-this was the next phase of the plot.

"Exactly what has been going on in here, officer?" Olu blazed at him with feigned anger, hurling abuses and insults in Yoruba language. "I gave instructions that neither of them was to be touched until I got here..." he went on chiding the officer along with his colleague before instructing them to get out of his sight. "I'll deal with the both of you later," he admonished them as they left the room, closing the door behind them. His face became instantly compassionate as he approached the couple. "I'm so terribly sorry for what that officer did to you," the look on his face suggested to the couple that he sincerely meant that. "It was unacceptable and quite unnecessary. Please accept my deepest apologies."

"Those men ... they are nothing but filthy animals," said Becca, still tending to her husband's hand.

"Without a doubt," Olu replied. "And I'll make sure they get what's coming to them, believe me. However, this changes a lot of things." He unbuttoned his suit as he sat down on the chair across from the couple. He related to them how he'd left his office and hurried down here after receiving a call from one of his subordinates of the white couple's distress. And now with this business of cocaine," he shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that things have suddenly turned ugly for the both of you."

For the next thirty-plus minutes they argued, harangued, and counter-argued with him, but all to no avail. No argument was going to set them free from the hot water they were in. Olu was aware of Nigeria's current policy regarding cocaine smuggling, and was happy to acquaint them of the enormity of their situation. It brought some measure of joy seeing the look of fear on their faces while they squirmed with the news.

"I'm going to be as honest as I can here. You're both looking at five to seven years max for possession with possible intent to distribute, and that's only because you're foreigners; if you were locals, it would have been much severe. It doesn't matter how well or how much you plead the case. Maybe you sneaked it into the country, or maybe you went out after you'd settled into your hotel suite and purchased it, it doesn't matter. The drug was found in your bag, in your possession, and that makes it more incriminating than if it weren't. I'm not here to point fingers, mind you. I don't know if the drug's yours or not. Just letting you know the facts, and right now, the facts speak a lot that isn't good. One way or another, there's going to be a conviction, and your government too will go along with it, no matter how much you try to appeal. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

The news shocked and devastated the couple almost at once. The fiery anger had long departed from Arnold's eyes and all he could give was a crestfallen sigh. Olu waited for them to say something. If neither of them did, then he would have to be the one to ask the question. Fortunately, the wife did just that.

"But please, isn't there something ... anything that you can do to help us?" she looked at him pleadingly. She reached over for his arm. "Please, Olu. If there's anything we can do to ..."

Olu felt like congratulating himself right there and then, though his face remained concerned to their plight. This is just too easy, he thought to himself.

"Well ... there possibly is something ..." he emphasized on the something, pausing when he saw the light returning to the couple's eyes.

"Yes, what? Please tell us," the wife urged him.

He shook his head as if it were a bad idea. "I really don't know if you'll both agree to it. But right now I can say it's the only thing that will help. It's nothing illegal, and it doesn't involve any form of bribery on anyone's part. Still, I don't know if I should-"

"Please, tell us," said Arnold, now a cowered and humble man. "Whatever it is, money or otherwise, Becca and I will try to agree with it."

Olu gave them a curious look, gauging their acceptance. "You're both willing to try? Absolutely willing to hear what it is I have to say?"

They nodded their heads in agreement. "Yes, absolutely," said Becca.

Olu fell silent for a moment as if in contemplation, then smiled and said: "Alright. First off, don't either of you worry about it; I know it's something you'll both thank me for afterwards." He opened the file folder he'd brought along and took out a sheath of paper that was inside it. "First, I'll like both of you to look through this agreement. After which I'd like for you, Arnold, to sign it."

Olu sat back, crossed his leg and observed the movement of their eyes as husband and wife read through the document's contents. He rubbed his silk tie, glanced at his fingernails and drummed them lightly on the table's surface, while they went on perusing the document. This was the climax of the plot-the moment he'd anxiously been waiting for. He noticed the gleaming look their eyes as they paused in their reading to glance at each other, then turn their eyes to look at him as if surprised to find him still seated there in their midst. Olu flashed them a grin and indicated for them to finish reading, which they soon did.

The husband was the first to react, pushing himself away from the document and shaking his head emphatically like a child refusing a treat. "No. no ... I won't ... I won't sign for this. No fucking way!"

Becca read through the fine-print once again before looking up at Olu with surprise in her eyes. "You can't be ... you can't really be serious?"

"But I am serious," Olu sat forward and rested his arms on the table. "I'm very, very serious. And I think both you and Arnold should take my offer quite seriously, as this is the only offer you're both going to get from staying away from my country's jail."