The Man From Lagos Read online

  The outside security footage showed the men jogging to their getaway cars. The cars pulled away, taking the robbers toward Tin Can Access Road and then onto Apapa Expressway which would have allowed them to blend into any traffic they encountered.

  “The entire action was very well planned and executed with precision. This was no ordinary group of men. They had training. And the plan would have taken weeks or even months.”

  Sade listened intently. As usual, her face betrayed nothing.

  “All I’ve heard so far is how this was done and that we are getting nowhere fast. What about your findings?” she asked.

  As Femi provided his report on each member, he saved the one that intrigued him for last. Mama Kojo. He’d found nothing out of the ordinary or concerning with the others. Kumari was a devout Muslim so he spent his days visiting friends and stopping at the closest mosque he could find to pray when prayer calls were broadcast. Chioma never left the office once he arrived. He spent all day either on the phone closing deals or reviewing presentations on the next piece of property he wanted to acquire. Dada, he found, had a woman habit—but it only meant that his security team’s primary job was to keep Dada’s wife from finding out.

  Mama Kojo was a different story. She was secretive. Her nightclub and restaurant businesses were very hard to read and follow. Femi wished he had advance knowledge and information on her, but he had to stay with her the longest to discern any type of pattern.

  Whenever Mama went out, she would change cars and drivers. She also had her driver double back on some outings. Mama acted like someone was either following her or looking for her, she was so careful. Nigeria had many wealthy and powerful people, but this was unusual even for people who feared kidnapping. Something was up. Something was making her take these countermeasure steps. Femi aimed to find out what it was.

  He promised Sade that his next move was to visit her club in Lagos. It was the biggest club in the area and also doubled as her main residence. Sade had one last question before she left the restaurant.

  “What about Lanre? Any word on his whereabouts?”

  “Nothing yet, but we are still looking and we will find him soon. He can’t hide forever,” Femi replied. And with that, Sade left, and Femi attended to his meal and ordered another cognac—he needed another round for sure. He had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.

  Chapter 22

  Mothership

  Femi sat outside the club for a couple of days without going in. All the information he gathered was from people who worked there. Money loosened their tongues.

  The penthouse took up the whole fourth floor and was Mama Kojo’s personal residence. When you came off the private elevator, her study was just to the right, next to a hallway leading to her private bedroom. To the left was a bar, a small hallway, and then a massive kitchen area. Yet what drew everyone who stepped off the elevator was what lay straight ahead: a large window in the shape of the sun. As you walked toward the window, you were entering the receiving room which had soft leather couches on either side of the room. It had a large table in the middle of the room and side tables, which held fresh flowers each day.

  Yet for those who knew the rest of the penthouse, Mama’s bedroom was an even greater sight to behold. It was full of high-end luxuries, of course. And the room was so spacious that it had a private sitting area, a smaller but intimate office space, a sauna, an en suite that rivaled most million-dollar estates in the world, and a panic room.

  Her elevator took her straight to the basement of the building where she had access to any number of vehicles that could whisk her away at a moment’s notice. There was another elevator, too, but that one was for visitors.

  Femi was glad for the information, and meanwhile, got the feeling of the club on his own. It was only open on Fridays and Saturdays. It was set up as a reservation-only restaurant on Sundays for those who preferred fine dining and a relaxing atmosphere. The first thing he noticed at the front of the club were the two tree trunks that doubled as doormen. The twins, Femi called them. They wore matching clothing each time he was doing surveillance: black short-sleeved shirts, black trousers, and what looked like black tactical HAIX boots. The guests hoping to enter the club were lined up on either side of the building. Femi noticed that the guards wore earpieces, which told him that they had contact with a team inside. Whenever the guards outside would touch their ears, it meant they’d gotten the signal to usher in about ten people from both lines into the club. It seemed like controlled chaos, but it worked.

  Unlike other clubs in other countries, there was no fire marshal here to enforce a maximum capacity. Femi estimated that at any given time during the night, one hundred to two hundred people flowed in and out of the club’s intimate rooms. Some came to unwind with a cocktail for just a few hours, some came to dance, drink, eat, and just let off steam. The cover charge kept notable ruffians out of the club. There was also a tacit dress code, and the type of people this club attracted knew just what to wear in order to be invited inside.

  In between telling off the street vendors who knocked on the window of his parked car across the street from the club, Femi made notes in his black book. How, for instance, expensive cars would drive down the road adjacent to the club and always come out the same way, as there was no way out at the end of that side road. That must be the underground garage, then, and these people were accessing a private entrance and making their way to another part of the club. He would have to find the building’s blueprints.

  The second week of his stakeout, however, bore the mother of all fruits. He noticed a young lady standing in line. She seemed familiar. Could that be Aminu? Lanre’s on-and-off girlfriend. Here, at the club!

  He wanted to get out of the car but he thought otherwise. What would he say to her? Would she make a scene? He knew that this was a game-changing development.

  When he delivered his report to Sade, her eyes opened a fraction wider. She was thinking the same thing he was.

  Sade said, “Lanre is hiding out in the club and Mama Kojo is protecting him.”

  Femi and Sade knew that this theory couldn’t reach Baba’s ears until they had proof. Not too many knew that Lanre came from a brief office affair that Baba had had while working at the bank. His mother died of cancer and he promised her that he would take care of Lanre before she passed away. Baba kept his promise to take care of his bastard son, but he’d never treated him as a true son. Baba was quick to get cross with him and he was the only child of his that he admonished publicly, even for the slightest transgression. Femi wondered if Lanre finally had enough of this treatment and finally turned on Baba. What else would he be doing at Mama Kojo’s club? Was he indeed hiding there? Was he recruited to conduct the robbery of the warehouse, or did he provide them with the inside information about the location itself and where to find the money? It seemed likely, but they needed more evidence. And somehow, they had to get to the upper floors. No doubt Mama would have brought in extra security or extra undercover people to watch whoever came and went.

  Sade said to give her a day to think about what they should do. She stood up and left. Femi motioned for the waitress and paid the bill. He too would head home and start thinking about plans and contingencies. Whatever Kwesi and Niyi were working on will now be put on hold—everyone had to be ready to move.

  Chapter 23

  It’s Your Time

  Baba didn’t love the security changes that Femi had made around him. He preferred to move about freely, unlike a president or a Soviet warlord. Too many cars, too many men, too many pre-checks before it was determined safe for him to travel or enter buildings. He missed his Audi. He thought about sending it back to Europe to be fitted with bulletproof armor, but realized it would not change anything. Also, Sade would have none of it; she was happy about the changes. They were keeping her father safe.

  So, he would just live with it. Security and protection were important in this country. You never knew who or what was coming for you. B
aba was in his office, brooding on exactly this subject, when Sade spoke from right next to him.

  “It is time to go, are you ready?” she said.

  They had an appointment at the bank and didn’t want to be late. It was Baba’s idea to start the process of moving accounts to Sade’s name. She would have full control over all the family accounts and she would also have final authority over everything else. The other children from his other wives and family members might object, but it would not make any difference.

  Baba had already briefed Mr. Aturu at the bank and made sure they’d have the large conference room for finishing the paperwork, where they wouldn’t be disturbed. Sade already had access to the offshore banks and had all the codes and PINs. Baba had also transferred all the real estate holdings to her name. Once their business at the bank was concluded today, Sade would be in full control of the Peters Group. Baba made her promise not to change or eliminate any payments that were already in place. These were monthly stipends to his other children, his two wives, and various other people who kept the company going. Baba had not accounted for his first wife who’d left him and taken Sade’s brother with her to the States. Baba’s last words to her were that she would be cut off from any financial assistance if she left his house. She left anyway. He had always expected her to call begging to come back or asking for money, but after twenty years, he’d never heard a word from her.

  The black gates opened up as the cars made their way out of the estate. There were three cars in the convoy. The first car carried four heavily armed men all carrying Tavor Tar-21 assault rifles. The second car was Baba’s heavily fortified black Range Rover, with the driver, Femi in the front passenger seat, and Sade to his left in the back. The windows were blacked out. The third car carried additional men who’d ensure no one could attack the convoy from behind. Today’s itinerary was taking them to Victoria Island. Behind his mirrored sunglasses, Femi was uneasy. Baba sensed his complaints: the last-minute notice, the inability to vet every aspect of the trip to the bank. Why couldn’t the banker come to the house, why must we go see him? But the cars made their way through light weekend-morning traffic and reached the bank’s underground parking structure in exactly forty-seven minutes. The trip back home would surely take longer.

  Femi left one car up top by the front of the bank. They were to keep watch and scan the area for idling cars and anyone who didn’t seem to belong. He would follow Baba and Sade and another two men inside the bank. He’d wait outside the conference room, as this was personal business and it didn’t involve him.

  After the first hour, tea and water were brought in. Femi took this as a sign that the meeting could last hours. When he was just getting hungry for lunch, at last the conference room doors swung open. The meeting had lasted just about three hours. Baba shook hands with Mr. Aturu and made small talk before saying goodbye. Sade lingered at the door with Aturu before joining Baba and the rest of the team in the hall. Femi, Baba, and Sade started to make their way toward the elevator when Baba said he had to use the washroom.

  Femi wanted to go in first to check for danger when Baba waved him off.

  “I can do this alone. We are in a multimillion-dollar, multinational bank in the heart of the city,” Baba said. “Give me five minutes.” And he pushed through the doors leading into the washroom.

  Sade stood beside Femi, looking exhausted.

  “We might as well finish our talk about Lanre’s girlfriend and the club. I want to walk you through an idea I had.”

  As she was talking, a loud banging came from beyond the washroom door.

  Panicked, they rushed in and found Baba on the floor clutching his chest. “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe!” he kept saying.

  Femi shouted through the closed door toward the security men. “Get help, GET HELP!” One of the men came through the door and saw Baba on the ground with Sade administering CPR. Her face told the story: Baba might not make it. Femi’s security man looked frozen, unable to process what was happening. He shouted so loud it echoed inside the tiny room.

  Femi said, “Stop watching and move! Get some help, now!”

  Sade looked up at Femi and her look told him all he needed to know. Baba was dying before their eyes and the chest compressions were not making the situation better. After about ten minutes of trying to save him, Baba was gone. The ambulance never arrived—it was most likely stuck in traffic—or maybe no one even called. Sade didn’t even think about asking if the bank had a defibrillator, and no one had offered to locate one. There was nothing anyone could do at this point. They sat there staring at each other as they leaned against the washroom wall. Baba had never complained of any issues leading up to this day; he wasn’t even on medication. He had his breakfast with tea that morning. He didn’t linger upstairs. He was in good spirits. They had stayed up late the night before, and he was happy about the transition of power. This was just too convenient. They both knew foul play had to be involved. Sade knew that people would suspect the same and worse, especially since Baba just signed over everything to her, and now he was dead.

  The hour that followed brought utter chaos to the bank. There were police everywhere in front of the building. Sade estimated that there were at least twenty uniformed officers on the floor and another five or six inside the washroom. Baba’s body was eventually covered with a sheet as they waited for the coroner to make his way through the building and up to the fortieth floor. There was no sense taking him to hospital, as it would have been a waste of time, and they would have no way of controlling the environment there. Baba would be taken straight to the morgue.

  The inspector-general of police, one Idris Adama, was also there. The IG had known Baba personally as they hailed from the same hometown, attended the same primary school, and graduated from King’s College Secondary School before going their separate ways for university. Yet they kept in touch as much as they could, although their worlds were deeply dissimilar. Baba was part of the Nigerian underworld, while Idris climbed the ranks of the police force. Yet their mutual respect remained. Once Adama had heard of Baba’s death, he mobilized his men right away. Everyone knew Baba Peters. He had many friends, but also many enemies. Government officials and politicians all knew him—he was a source of advice and campaign contributions.

  The IG summoned Sade to a side conference room. Femi came along, as he was not going to leave her side no matter what. Not after what happened to Baba. It would be a waste of time for anyone to protest. Adama asked for a recap of the events that led to this moment. What was Baba doing here? Who was he meeting with? Did he have any issues with anyone while he was here? Who would have wanted to do him harm? All well-meaning questions that Sade would not answer. She knew that it was customary for the police to start gathering facts, but she trusted no one and she didn’t want to give out any information, even to Baba’s childhood friend.

  “He came to visit an old friend, and we were leaving for home when he wanted to use the washroom. Femi and I found him lying on the floor. All I want to do is get my father’s body and begin to prepare him for the funeral he deserves. When can we take him?”

  “Madam, I’m not sure. We have to do some investigation, and the coroner has not finished yet.”

  Sade wasn’t happy with the response but knew that there was nothing she could do at this point. She was kicking herself for not moving him out sooner, before the police arrived. How had they arrived so fast? It normally took hours to get the police to show up. This time something was different. The only way they could arrive on such short notice is if they were already nearby, just waiting for the call to come. Femi’s subtle body language showed that his unease with the situation mirrored hers.

  Adama’s questions were unusual, too. Normally, when you know someone, you offer condolences. You show some empathy and you try to comfort the family of the deceased. Not this time. The IG seemed to have an agenda.

  “Please don’t leave the city or the country, as I will have more questions
for you,” he said.

  What was his game? What was he trying to achieve with Baba’s death? Who called him? Why was he here? All these questions ran through Sade’s mind. She had to remain calm and in control. This was not the time to fall apart—that wasn’t her style, and she couldn’t show weakness.

  The body was finally allowed to be transported to the morgue. Sade and Femi followed closely behind. Femi had sent an advance team to meet them at the morgue. He didn’t want to take any chances. One was to be stationed inside while the other waited outside keeping a close watch on who came and went. The coroner’s van arrived and made its way to the receiving area. Sade went inside as Femi stayed with the van. As was customary practice for Muslims, there would be no autopsy. The burial had to take place within two days of his death.

  Sade stepped outside to make a call—she needed to call Baba’s second wife, Farida. The women had always gotten along well; Farida Adeyemi hailed from one of the largest agricultural families in Ondo State, an unassuming woman who loved everyone. Baba had married her five years after Sade’s mom left, and she had three children with him. Twin girls, Taiwo and Kehinde. The boy, Abiola, was the youngest. They all lived with their mother, and Sade saw them often. The children came around all the time when they weren’t in school.

  Together, she and Farida would handle the process of getting Baba’s body ready for burial.

  After the arrangements were made with Farida, Sade made another call. She had to let her brother in the States know what happened and warn him that things might get worse. It would be very early in the morning in Minnesota, but she had to make contact with Idowu.

  Her brother finally picked up after her third try. No doubt he had been sleeping.