National Security Breach

PROLOGUE

The geographical land mass politically called Nigeria is much older than most Nigerians believe it to be. Hundreds of millions both within and outside the country think Nigeria is in her late forties; this is not true. The truth is that Nigeria would be a hundred years old, come February 14, 2014. That would mark the one hundredth year the Northern and Southern protectorates of the British empires’ raw materials haven were amalgamated and called Nigeria, a word derived from the phrase ‘area around the River Niger.’

These two protectorates that bordered the great Niger and Benue Rivers were not amalgamated for the love of the people. It was done to save cost in line with Britain’s world famous frugal administrative system. In fact the difference in the people of the ‘Great African Nation’ was so severe that barely six years into political emancipation which many refer to as ‘Independence’, there was a devastating civil war that was to claim the lives of millions; but that was in the future.

The amalgamation of both protectorates in terms of its gross miscalculation and mistake value is only comparable to the Berlin Conference for the partition of Africa. That conference was a gathering of men with greed, many of whom had never been to Africa or where they had been, only to major kingdoms—sitting down in a room with pencils and rulers, haggling over people’s lives by meters and centimeters.

This undoubtedly was the second largest injustice done to Africa; second only to the Trans-Atlantic slave trade. The Northern and Southern protectorates of this British West African colony; of which the Cameroons were once part—was a creation of this insanity. By extension, the amalgamation of both protectorates was testimony of the senseless, insensitive and totally I don’t care attitude of the British. Why? In case you had asked that question, let me put it to you in the American way—Because it is a shot gun marriage! That’s why! The country has simply spent half a century fighting. Ethnocentrism, religious bigotry and animosity, nepotism, self first instead of selfless national interest and so on. So much energy is expended in fighting these vices, that today, the country’s GDP stands as one of the World’s Lowest (despite billions of barrels in oil reserves) almost beating Zimbabwe in the process.

First it was the politicians; with flowing gowns they call ‘Babaringa’ and flashy Mercedes, that looted the treasury. Next came along the irrepressible, ever agile military. Hailed as heroes at first, the first coup d’état in Nigeria led by a young brash major from the then mid-west region, Major Kaduna Nzeogwu, was later seen as an ethnic cleansing. The military government of Gen. Aguiyi Ironsi from the East therefore did not stand a chance. He became the second Nigerian leader to be assassinated while in power, after Alhaji Tafawa Belewa. The purging of easterners by Northerners in retaliation for the killing of Jan 15, 1966 was the first marginal genocide in Nigerian history. The inevitable civil war that arose as a result of the announcement of secession from the republic by the East lasted for about three and half years.

In the end, Major Odimegwu Ojukwu, the young Biafran leader was too fearful for his life to remain in the country. In his absence, Major-General Phillip Effiong was on hand to present Biafra’s instrument of surrender to the federal forces, represented by a man of destiny-The Brigadier Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo at Amichi near Nnewi. This General (Obasanjo) proved on many occasion to be one who reaped bountifully from fate and the misfortunes of both others and himself.

In 1975, after yet another coup-bloodless though—Gen. Murtala Ramat Mohammed came to power. This General set out to clear the Augean stables. That is a language only very few speak in Nigerian Government circles. Tackle corruption? How? Not funny, because he had set out to do the impossible. A simple chat with Nigerian’s old enough to have been around then would quickly reveal one thing; misty eyes and deep introspection, then the statement ‘Now there’s one fellow that could have done much.’

Gen. Murtala was as rugged as he was dogged. Once he set his eyes on something, he sort of never let go; he reminded one of a young Alexander the Great. In 1975 when he set his sight on dismantling this cabal, his assassination was just a matter of when, not why.

On the morning of February 13, 1976, the Jackals’ bullet struck. The Jackal took the human form of one Lt. William Seri under the command of Lt. Col. Buka Suka Dimka of the Nigerian Army. Gen Murtala, loved by millions of Nigerians, stood no chance. He was buried according to Muslim rites amidst national tears. Then Gen. Olusegun Obasanjo took over.

Unfortunately I have to go through this long and torturous road down Nigeria’s history in trying to tell you this story. The fact remains that since the assassination of General Murtala Ramat Mohammed in 1976, some thirty something odd years ago, no other Nigerian head of state has been assassinated. Did anyone stop to think why? Of course not! Maybe the police were working so hard, or maybe it’s the State Secret Service (SSS), or the Military, No way!

After the death of Gen. Murtala, a special elite guard detail was created just to protect the President. Now most Presidents are not even aware of the existence of this special service. However, now that you are aware of this fact, I’m afraid for you. The reason is simple; if you are not on a ‘need-to-know’ basis and you know, well I don’t know. To be safe, you better start thinking of getting a visa, even if it means going to a hell hole like Zimbabwe. This story is now, and it is about a plot to kill another Nigerian President.

Are you still here? Hmm… I fear for you. My name is Robben Aggrey, a citizen of Nigeria. This is a true story… a story of my life.

WUSE ZONE 2,

FCT, ABUJA.

0700HRS GMT+1.

The morning rush was on. There were millions of people trying hard to beat all odds and make good time on equally millions of appointment. The Federal Capital Territory Abuja was one of Africa’s most beautiful cities. It commanded digital road networks, skyscrapers, enchanting landscapes, orderly delivery of public services that miraculously seemed to work well, and lots more.

However if you were on your way to your office at 7am and you did not have your own car, let’s say it was damaged in a recent auto crash, and you are waiting for a regular bus that just is not regular on this particular morning, the beauty of the city might be the last thing on your mind. If added to that, you had previously had to answer two queries in the last one month from your boss for coming to work late; you really might wish you were somewhere else right now.

That was exactly the position Robben found himself in on this beautiful Monday morning. You see, Robben Aggrey worked for a Multi-National Freight Handling Agency, and had been having it rough with his boss for some time now. The man just did not like to see his face. Maybe it was because he was way too smart—but wait, a minute, was he not employed because he was smart? Then again, he had gotten the job over a nephew of his boss so maybe, just maybe this was a vendetta.

It took Robben sixty seven minutes later to get to the office. That was a record. He was forty three minutes, seventeen seconds late when he clocked in. His colleagues were all hushed up as he got into the large space on the eight floor, which held over sixty cubicles. He greeted his pals but they waved back at him. He shrugged it off and went straight to his cubicle. There was a piece of paper attached to his glass door. It read ‘see me immediately you get in’—CY.

CY, Cyril Nwachukwu, was his sectional head. Fat, bald headed and sporting, a beer gut. CY was the direct opposite of Robben. Twice divorced, they were as different as black and white. Always sloppily dressed and an even sloppier and compulsive eater, CY was only good at only one thing in Robben’s estimation, and that was making his life hell.

As Robben pushed open the door and went into Cy’s Office, he could not stop his brain from registering what it always did when he came into CY’s office, ‘This guy is going to re-incarnate into a pig in his next life.’ The office, with all the trappings of a modern office somehow managed to retain the composure of a pig sty.

‘Good morning Cy’ Robben greeted. At close range, the man was even more ugly and after these years, the extent of his unpalatable features, still managed to shock Robben.

‘What’s so good about the morning?’ he asked in a wheezing voice. ‘You are late again Mr. Aggrey, for the fourth time in the last one month, and after two queries.’

‘It’s not my fault CY. I was at the bus stop early but the bus never showed up.’

‘How does that help me and the revenue of this company?’

‘I’m sorry CY, I… I…’

‘Of course you are sorry, but not as sorry as you would be in the next few minutes.’

He made a show of flipping through his desk drawers searching for something. Then finally he saw what he was looking for. It was a brown envelope. He threw it at Robben.

‘You are hereby suspended for one month without pay!’ He had to hold himself from smiling because the truth was that he was seriously enjoying this scene.

‘But you can’t do this CY’ Robben protested holding the letter and pointing it angrily at C.Y. ‘The General Manager has to sign on this for it to be valid.’

‘It seems like you don’t pay attention to fine details Mr. Smart Ass. The General Manager just proceeded on his annual leave today. I don’t need his signature. All I need is mine. Clear your table and be out of here within this hour’ he said with obvious relish. Robben turned to leave. He was dazed.

‘Close the door behind you’ CY said enjoying himself.

An hour later, Robben cleared his desk and picked up his briefcase. As he walked out of the office, he noticed the sympathetic looks from his colleagues. He kept his head high, and walked out, not acknowledging any of them. As he stepped into the lift to take him down, he saw Harold the lift Operator.

‘Good morning once again Mr. Robben. Are you going out so soon?’ he asked Robben.

‘No Harold, I’m on suspension. Guess I need a break.’

‘Shit happens sir.’

‘Shit happens’ Robben agreed. As he stepped out of the building into the street of Garki Area One, the sunlight hit his face.

NATIONAL HOSPITAL

GWAGWALADA

FCT

0800 GMT+1

Vanessa Coker was having a great day at work. Unlike Robben who she had never met, she had come to work in her own car. Her car was a 2006 Toyota Camry, and was a successful dentist with the National Hospital. Her mornings were routine. First patient by 8am, second at 9 and a short break by 10. This morning was no different. When she came by, her secretary told her that the first patient was already waiting in the checking room. She quickly picked up her lab coat and went in.

The patient was an elderly Alhaja who had more gold in her dentition that an average gold freak would put on. She also had rows of gold chains, bangles, bracelets, anklets, earrings and so on all over her body. She was filthy rich. Her Eldest son was a senator for one of the Northern states; Vanessa didn’t know which. The problem was that she was trying to persuade Vanessa to replace one of her last remaining molars with gold nuggets. Her professional advice was that she leaves the tooth in place, but this lady had kept coming back so that she had no option than to fix the operation for today.

By 9:42am the operation was completed. The anaesthetized part of the Alhaja’s gum was beginning to come back to life. As Vanessa started taking off her surgical gloves, her phone rang. She looked at the number, it was her colleague Geoffrey. He had gone to the United States two months ago for a course on the new advancements in dental surgery. Geoffrey was a nice enough gentle man and as such Vanessa had no compunction in taking his call even now.

‘Hello, Good morning Geoff.’

‘So sorry to bother you this early in the morning Van.’ Geoffrey apologized.

‘Oh that’s not a problem. It’s not so early, it’s almost nine here.’ she told him.

‘O shit! I’m sorry, guess I’m so tired I forgot the time difference. It’s about 03:00 am here in Manhattan.’

‘Yeah! So what’s up? I don’t think you woke up to talk to me of time zones.’

‘Yes Van, I’m so sorry to have to disturb you but I should have asked you for the assistance yesterday. It’s just that it skipped my mind.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well, my father is on admission at the hospital over there. He’s got Alzheimer. There’s this wonder drug that was just approved by the FDA here in the US. Baxtrose they call it. It is made by Pfizer and is supposed to do wonders. I sent some down by courier. It should have arrived about yesterday. I don’t know if you can help me pick it up.’

‘Now?’ she asked him.

‘Please, I’d be grateful if you can get the man off his misery as soon as possible.’

‘It’s ok. What’s the name of the Courier Service and why are they not bringing it over here?’ she asked him reaching for a pen and pad.

‘They told me that for drugs like that; you have to come over to the office for some paper work. I’m sorry for the inconveniences and all.’

‘It’s no big deal.’

‘Thanks Van, you are a real life saver.’

‘Don’t mention.’

‘Have you got a pen and a pad?’

‘Yes, shoot.’

‘It’s REALEX.’

‘Real Express Courier? The closest to this place is at Garki.’

‘So sorry dear.’

‘I sent it in your name.’ Vanessa could not believe the guy. You sent it in my name and couldn’t even ask first? ‘The control number is AI72463365941HQ.’ he repeated it again then asked,

‘Did you get it?’

‘Yes I did.’

‘Alright then, thanks Van. You’re a real life saver.’

‘You are welcome.’

‘Good Day then.’

‘Good Night.’

Vanessa left the operating room to her office, took off her lab coat and picked up her car keys. As she made to go out, her secretary looked at her with surprise written all over her face.

‘Don’t worry Vicky; I’ll be back under the hour.’ She told her.

‘What about your next appointment Ma’am?’ Vicky queried.

‘Reschedule it for 10:15. I’ll be back then. I just want to hop over to REALEX at Garki to pick up a parcel for Geoffrey.’

‘Ok ma’am.’ Vicky replied.

She walked down the long corridor that led to the staff car park, gulping the crisp morning air into her lungs. The beautiful flowers planted all around the hospital gave off different scents. It was such a beautiful day. Nothing could go wrong she thought to herself. She got to the car park, climbed into her black Camry, started the engine and reversed. She got out of the hospital premises and hit the highway.

NSA BUILDING

THREE ARMS ZONE

ASOKORO DISTRICT

FCT

0909HRS GMT+1

The Three Arms Zone in the FCT is an area situated in the Asokoro District of Abuja. Surrounded by the magnificent Aso Rock, it is the home of Nigeria’s Federal Government. Just like Capitol Hill and the white house, or No. 10 Downing Street and Westminster. The only difference is that in Nigeria the Three Arms of Government are not so far from one another; the Parliament, the Presidential Villa popularly called Aso Rock and the Supreme Court. The Parliament with its characteristic icon of a massive hand holding an equally massive mace was on higher ground. From there you had to go downhill to the home of Nigeria’s President which is Nigeria’s version of the Kremlin. Nestled somewhere in the background is the Supreme Court; it would take a careful observer sometime to observe it. Well what is not exactly clear is if power flows in that order or the reverse in Nigeria; however it is a well known fact that the organ in the middle is pretty much powerful.

The National Security Agency Building (NSA) did not particular have any sign that says ‘NATIONAL SECURITY AGENCY.’

If the purpose of the designers of the building was to create a non-descript—almost nonexistent building, then their professors must have been very proud of their efforts. The building blended into the surrounding Aso Rock environment beautifully. There was no other possible way to describe the building that would not be seen as using too many words. One word that would describe the entirety of the building is ‘bland’. So you do not get the wrong idea, I have been talking about the exterior of the building. The interior of the NSA building however, is the direct opposite. Even the nerds who had worked there their entire lives are still amazed at the stark differences in the exterior and the interior of one and the same building. The security apparatus of the NSA is simply the best in the Country. Pupil Scanners, Voice Recognition, hand prints recognition and computerized ID cards are all used to gain entry into various department within the building. The more sensitive the department you sought to enter the more security checks you needed.

Now you don’t gain entry into the NSA building except you needed to be in there. The heavily armed security guards and suited dark shaded operatives made sure of that. There were many people who thought their family members were in Abuja, and had never heard from them. Some were rotting in the underground jails in this facility.

On this particular Monday, one of the nerds inside the building was very nervous. He had never considered this job to be a hazardous one. All they did was sit down behind banks of computers and analyze data, or write programs when needed. You had to be good to be here, and they were all pretty much good at what they did. The pay was good; conditions of service were even better.

His nose was running from the cold he had contracted the night before. The central cooling system did not help matters. His glasses were misty. He took out an impeccably starched and ironed handkerchief that competed with his white Marks & Spencer long sleeves. The black tie was stifling him, so he loosened it up a bit.

The caller of the previous night had told him that the parcel would be at his desk at 0900hrs. It was now eleven minutes past the hour and he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He was being used use as a mule to move classified documents. This was actually above him. Like the caller had insinuated, they were calling in their favor. Thinking it through over the night, they could have asked for much worse for what had been done for him. To take this document out was not so difficult. The problem was that the prospect of going against some agency regulations had gotten him tensed up. Just then, there was a knock on his door.

‘Come in.’ he said in his Oxford trained voice.

‘What took you so long?’ he asked the non-descript man who came into his office.

‘I’m so sorry sir. You know how it is to get up here to research and analysis. I’m really sorry.’ He apologized to his young boss.

‘That’s Ok.’ The nerd told him. ‘Where are the packages?’

‘Here.’ the non-descript agent handed him two parcels. The first was in a big envelope, and the other a smaller one.

‘Any idea what’s inside?’ the nerd asked the non-descript agent.

‘None,’ he said, ‘but I was asked to hand this to you.’ He fished in his pocket and came out with a small MP3 player. He gave the player to the nerd who on receiving it quickly put the ear phone to his ears and hit the play button. The voice of the previous night’s caller assailed his ears loudly

‘Good morning Agent Ray. I trust you might think this is a very trivial assignment. Please I beg you in God’s name, take your mind off that prospect. There has been a National Security Breach. It is very important that you get this parcel to the hands of the agent I told you about last night. He knows what to do. This is a matter of life and death. It is a matter of utmost national security. This is not a return of the favor you owe. It is a call to National duty and an order from a superior. Guard it with your life. Good luck agent Ray and Godspeed.’ The recording ended as abruptly as it had started.

The nerd aka agent Ray looked at Mr. Non-descript. There was fear in his heart, it showed on his face but he quickly hid it.

‘I guess I better be on my way.’ he told Mr. Non-descript, who nodded his assent.

‘Good luck and thanks.’ The Nerd actually felt the office was closing in on him. He quickly stuffed the parcels into his suitcase even as the non-descript agent closed the door behind him. On a second thought, Agent Ray brought out the small envelop from his suitcase and put it in the inner right pocket of his suit. He put on his suit, carried his suitcase and proceeded to go through the lengthy procedures of exiting the NSA building.

His Kia Picanto was exactly where he had parked it. He got in and drove out of the non-descript premises. He sped down Asokoro District, got to Gwagwalada and headed for Garki 1. His head ached as he drove the car. He tried to hold up, but at the rate his head pounded, he knew he would soon get an asthmatic attack. He checked his glove compartment of the car for his inhaler. It was there and full as usual. He kept it close, but the headache was unbearable.

He was going to Maitama District. There was no way he would make it with this ache. He decided he would stop at any good pharmacy in Garki I and get some analgesics. To get to Garki was more difficult that he thought. The hold-up en route Garki was horrendous. The headache was killing him, yet the hold-up crawled. He knew there was a pharmacy not more than four blocks away. A brilliant idea crept into his dizzy brain. Why not park the car down and buy the drug, then come back and continue on his journey? Great! He hopped down and rushed up to the pharmacy right beside the REALEX Building. He made sure he carried the parcel with him.

What Agent Ray was not aware of was that a particular chemical had been put in the Air-condition unit of his car to induce the fierce headache that would make him loose concentration and not notice his tail. He did not. After buying a sachet of Panadol actifast and gulping down a pint, he made to cross the road back to his car. He never made it. The Fender of the Toyota Hilux pickup truck that hit him at 120km/h threw him a good sixty five yards. He twisted in the air and hit his head on the curb, inches away from Robbens’ Feet.

As soon as the sunlight hit Robben’s face, the next thing to strike him was Agent Rays brief case. The force of the strike caused an instant bump. Vanessa on the other hand was just coming out of the parking lot, a few meters from Robben; her late scream of caution for Agent Ray was stifled. She regained herself and tried to collect the license number of the hit and run vehicle. But it had already sped off, making a sharp turn at the adjoining street.

Within seconds, Robben was beside Agent Ray, trying to administer first aid. Agent Ray, with all the power left in him, brought out the small envelope in his breast pocket and handed it over to Robben.

‘Pleassseee… .’ he mumbled even as blood spilt from his mouth. Robben hastily shoved the envelope in his back pocket, just as he noticed Vanessa for the first time. Though the circumstance was grave he couldn’t help but notice the exceptionally beautiful young lady. Her straight long legs shapely curves, nice bends and beautiful face. Then he noticed that she was talking to him.

‘Beg your pardon.’ he said.

‘I said would you please step aside I’m a qualified medical practitioner.’

‘Oh! That’s great.’ He gave her full control ‘Glad to be of assistance.’ he added, but Vanessa did not answer. She knew that most of the vitals in the victim were damaged from the hit, and that blood pouring down his mouth meant almost certain death; yet she tried her best.

Within a few minutes of the accident, an ambulance was at the scene.

‘We’d take it from here on madam.’ one of the five lab coated men told Vanessa. She was surprised at such quick response, but she just did not think much of it. Robben moved over to pick up the suitcase.

‘We’ll have that sir.’ Another intern told him. He gave it to him. Within the space of four minutes, all that spoke of an accident there, was the blood from agent Ray’s broken skull on the pavement.

Vanessa spotted the MP3 player a few meters away and picked it up. I’ll try to send it to the police later she told herself.

‘Excuse me miss.’ it was Robben. She turned to look at him.

‘Oh! Sorry if I sounded rude to you…’ She tried to apologize.

‘Your service, that was very great. Think he’ll make it?’ he asked her.

‘I don’t think so, but then who knows?’

Robben shook his head.

‘Well I’m Robben.’ Robben told her stretching his hand for a shake.

‘Robben Aggrey and I work in the building.’ He offered.

‘Nice to meet you Robben. I’m Vanessa Coker.’

‘MD?’ Robben asked.

‘Ah yes, MD’ she concurred. ‘Here’s my card.’ She fished one out from her purse and handed it over to Robben. Robben was about to whoop inside when he noticed the shining engagement ring on her middle finger.

‘Thank you.’ He said not too enthusiastically.

‘You are welcome’ she replied noting his crest fallen demeanor. She entered the REALEX building and was gone.

Robben stopped a taxi and gave directions to his house.

JONES CREEK,

MAKARABA TOWN, GBARAMATU KINGDOM, WARRI SOUTH-WEST LGA, DELTA STATE

(A FEW WEEKS EARLIER).

The Niger Delta Region of Nigeria is the most Volatile region in the entire country. Home to not only Africa’s largest oil reserves, but also to its largest swamp ecology and oil industry. Oil was first struck in commercial quantity in Oloibiri in 1956, yet despite the fact that presently a barrel of crude oil sold at the international market for well over Seventy US Dollars, the Niger Delta essentially retained its grand place in the general scheme of things; ‘Africa’s Largest Swamp.’

Between the Multi-National Oil Companies that dot the land like a star lit night and the government; the citizens don’t know which is worse. They are simply put, impoverished. Average daily expenses here are about forty cents a day, that’s about Seventy Five Naira a day. The United Nations Operations don’t cover this region. The environment is just not human friendly; that is except when it comes to oil drilling and exploration even from deep in the Atlantic Ocean.

As far back as 1969, a revolutionary, Major Adaka Boro was already championing the cause for a change in policy towards the oil bearing communities. In November 1995, the International Community was outraged by the state execution of Kenule Beeson Saro-Wiwa, and five others, for the role they played in trying to raise international awareness to the plundering and degradation of their beloved Ogoni Land. An already ostracized Sani Abacha had no grouse in having them hanged from the gallows for trumped up charges like murder and treasonable felony.

Today, there are a great number of resistance movements, or better still freedom fighters as they love to call themselves. From the Niger Delta peoples volunteer forces (NDPVF) led by Mujahedeen Alhaji Asari Dokubo, to the Movement for the Emancipation of the Niger Delta (MEND), whose reclusive but prolific spokesman, Gbomo Jomo, has never been seen by Nigerians save when he granted a rare interview to CNN’s Jeff Koinange in the creeks (he wore a Balaclava mask), there were over one hundred and fifteen groups in between, whose manifesto’s were rarely known.

The government of Chief Ogunsaya Onibanjo had done nothing significant in the eight years of his two four year terms of a fourth republic, to reduce the suffering. Rather the situation had been further exacerbated. When he left office on May 29th 2007, there were over two hundred and seventy foreign hostages in the creeks. The Nations four refineries were non-functional; the price of patrol was increased the previous day. To cap it all, like a good spread of icing on a cake, the price of value added tax (VAT) was increased by ten percent. The overall result was that the man had succeeded in sending the nation back almost twenty years.

There was only one, positive aspect of his exit. He had handed over to a man from the Niger Delta, in the person of Mr. Gordon Orighoye (SAN). It was the first time the nation was to have a Southern President and also the first time, a university graduate would lead the nation in almost half a century of independence.

It was just six days into the government of Gordon Orighoye’s presidency. The mist from the Atlantic Ocean swirled and settled on the surrounding creeks like a thick blanket. The Rig, Rig 16, operated by the Agip/Chevron/Shell joint venture was busy. Expatriates from various nations barked instruction at the locals who did nothing but obey. This stage of exploration activities was very dangerous. One slip and the precious liquid would gush into the Ocean. All were in deep concentration. The task had to be pulled off on schedule and safe too. The rig was presently undergoing ISO Certification and any mistake would be catastrophic to the company shares.

Suddenly, there was a still that became quite unnerving. There were four Naval boats strategically located, providing protection for the rig. The Ijaw’s of the Niger Delta were known to be great water dwellers. The foreigners might delude themselves that they were safe, but not the locals. It took the expatriates about four minutes later to realize what the locals had. An attack was imminent.

The stillness of that foggy morning jarred the nerves of everyone. The tension was palpable. They waited; nothing. One minute seemed like an hour. Then all hell broke loose. From nowhere, six huge speed boats with double engines seemed to shatter the still. Sporadic gunshots sent everyone scampering for cover, but then, there isn’t so much cover when you are in a rig in the middle of the Atlantic, except you intend to take a dive. Nobody considered that option.

The operation was surgical. One masked gun man shouted the commands, every other person obeyed.

‘All blacks to the left, foreigners to the right. All foreigners into the boats; NO struggle No problem.’ he shouted at them. Who intended to struggle? They asked themselves, as they filed into the boats. In all, eighteen hostages from seven nations were kidnapped. The highest number abducted from one country being the Philippines with seven nationals.

As the Freedom Fighters cum mercenaries left the rig in a blaze of glory, they left behind various parts of the engines of the naval boat. So much for security, the locals thought.

FEDERAL EXECUTIVE CHAMBER (FEC)

ASO VILLA,

FCT

1000HRS

The Chamber where the Federal Executive Council met every Wednesday was circular in shape. Kind of like a King Arthur and his Round Table. The only difference was that instead of knights with chain mails, there were ministers in flowing gowns, and instead of Camelot, this was Nigeria.

Located in the west wing of the villa, the chamber was designed with a strong Nigerian theme. From the green wall marbles and the green leather executive chairs to the white POP ceiling and green rugs designed in with Nigerian emblem and stars all round, the chambers spoke of nothing but power. Talking about chairs, all men may be born equal, but certainly not all chairs. The President’s chair was a good one foot above the others. Shaded electric lamps, gave out a surreal glow that accentuated the beauty of the Nigeria masterpieces in the room. The pieces in the chamber included such names as Bruce Onobrakpeya, Ben Ewonwu and even sculptures from Ladi Kwali herself.

All members of the council settled down before the President came in with his vice from a side door.

‘You may sit.’ President Orighoye told the Council members, who all obeyed promptly.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen,’ the President began without formalities. ‘Our first order of business for today is the issue of demand from the hostage takers in the Niger Delta. As you all are aware, the militants in the Niger Delta who are currently holding well over three hundred hostages from various nations have signified their interest to have a truce with our administration. However, they have made certain demands. Mr. Secretary, can we hear those demands once again?’ The President addressed the Secretary of the Federation, Prof. Babatunde Osheneye.

The old professor, whose hair had all gone iron grey, stood up and read out the list.

‘The demands are as follows:’ he read

1. Immediate Pullout of all military personnel of the JTF from the Creeks of the Niger Delta

2. Immediate Pullout of all foreign expatriates from the oil rigs in the area.

3. Immediate repair of all the nation’s refineries so as to avoid the present 100% importation of Petroleum Products currently in practice.

4. A new and more all inclusive memorandum of understanding (MOU) between the government and the host communities on one hand, and the oil companies on the other.

5. An increase in local content both in the upstream and downstream oil and gas sector. This being achievable if oil blocks are awarded to indigenous firms from the area. (Give us a chance to manage our wealth.)

6. A concrete and comprehensive developmental blue print for the human, capital, environmental and infrastructural development of the region.’ Without these met, there is the promise of more attack on oil installations. That is it your Excellency.’

‘Thank you Professor Tunde.’ The President said.

‘Six demands. May I remind you that this same list of demands has been circulated around the major news houses of the World? What do we do ladies and gentlemen?’

The question sent the meeting into frenzy. Everyone spoke at random. The President did not have to raise his voice to be heard above the din.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m aware of how this must feel to you all, but this is a FEC meeting. We will maintain order in this hallowed chamber. Please.’ he added sweetly for emphasis. Properly chided, they all kept silent.

‘Yes Mrs. Achums’ the President said to the minister for environment. ‘May we hear your submission?’

‘Thank you your Excellency.’ Mrs. Pauline Achums said.

‘It is my candid opinion that the issue not be treated at face value. We have had this problem with us for some time now. It is fast degenerating into a festering sore that is about to get cancerous. I suggest we be bold in taking a firm and fair decision. Your Excellency, for once, let what is rightfully the property of these people be given to them. I’ve been following the coverage of this whole incidence in the world press, and the sentiment of the world now is that these people are being annihilated to satisfy the greed of an oligarch. They think the demands of the hostage takers are fair enough, No question for ransom, just a chance to live a better life, which by right is theirs; embedded in the very same constitution that gives us legitimacy. Your Excellency, I think it’s high time we re-wrote history for posterity.’ There was a hushed silence in the room. No one wanted to speak after the eloquence of the world renowned poet and Nobel laureate.

‘Yes Ismail, may we hear your submission?’ Alhaji Ismail Jamilu was the National Security Adviser.

‘Your Excellency, honorable ministers, I beg to disagree with our colleague the honorable minister for environment. Demands are demands, whether in the form of ransom or e-demands, they are the same thing. No element can or should be perceived to be able to coerce the government into doing its will. It might look quite innocuous under this case, but I assure you, once you give in to coercion once, you are bound to do it again. The consequences when you refuse another group might be more devastating than the present.’ There was a general nodding of the head in agreement.

‘Gen. Akpan, what’s the general assessment of the joint chief of staff,’ the President addressed the retired General now Minister for Defense.

‘Mr. President, the men are prepared to go in on assault on certain target like Okerenkoko, in Gbaramatu, Oproza and Yembra.’

‘What’s the intelligence report on them?’ the President asked him.

‘We know those towns have been used to hold hostages in time past. From the spatial images which the Americans have graciously given us access to, we see an increase in human activities in most of these towns. Intelligence from the ground though are still quite sketchy, Sir.’

‘That’s alright, I want you to get ground intelligence, and make sure I get updates on that every six hours.’

‘Ok Sir.’

‘Well now that…’ an aide interrupted the President in mid speech and whispered something in his ear. He nodded severally, then raised his head and said ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have the spokes person for the group online. He’ll be hooked on in a minute so I can have a chat with him.’

A few seconds later, the connection was made ‘Hello there, this is President Gordon Orighoye on the line, may I know who I am speaking with.’

‘Your Excellency, I am comrade Johnbosco Tambowei. Spokesperson for the Movement for the Emancipation of Niger Delta, MEND.’ The voice was clear and certainly very educated.

‘Thank you Johnbosco.’ President Orighoye told him.

‘May I safely assume under the present circumstances that you are operating under an alias?’ The President asked him.

‘Oh no Your Excellency; my name is indeed Johnbosco Tambowei. I am a structural engineer by training.’

‘Alright, now that’s settled, I really want to thank you for speaking with me, Johnbosco.’

‘The pleasure is mine Your Excellency.’