Chapter 4

 

The Meeting

     

     The dim glow of the fluorescent light flickered overhead as the clock on the wall edged toward 4 a.m. The quiet of the prison was broken only by the distant sounds of guards chatting and the shuffling of their feet. Deji, slumped on the cold concrete floor of his cell, was just waking from a deep sleep on Tuesday morning, the second day of his arrest, when the door creaked open.

     “Deji,” a hushed voice whispered, cutting through the haze of sleep. “Get up.”

     Deji’s heart raced as he jolted awake, adrenaline surging through his veins. “What’s happening? Are they moving me?” His voice trembled, laced with both fear and curiosity.

     “Not yet,” Femi replied, stepping inside and quietly shutting the door behind him. “I need you to come with me. No time to explain.”

     Deji hesitated, a million questions swirling in his mind. But the fear in Femi’s eyes told him this wasn’t a typical arrangement. Instead, he nodded, pushing himself off the floor, his legs shaky beneath him. Femi stepped aside, motioning for Deji to follow.

     As they walked through the corridor, Femi's demeanor shifted from that of a friendly officer to a man on a mission. He was tense, his body rigid as he led Deji towards his office. The sound of their footsteps echoed in the silence, heightening Deji’s anxiety. They reached the door, and Femi glanced down the hallway once more before ushering Deji inside.

     “Close the door,” Femi ordered, Deji felt shiver running down his spine. The weight of the moment pressed down on him. He could sense the urgency in Femi's every move, the knowledge that they were operating under a precarious veil of secrecy.

     “Sit down,” Femi instructed, his voice low as he settled into his chair, the lines of worry etched deeply into his forehead. “I don’t have much time.”

     Deji did as he was told, his heart pounding in his chest. “What’s going on? Why did you bring me here?”

     Femi took a deep breath, leaning forward, his hands clasped together. “There’s been a commotion at the station. They’re saying you were framed, and that there’s a recording proving it. But Bala has a lot of power. He’ll do whatever it takes to bury this.”

     Deji’s heart leaped. “A recording? You mean there’s evidence of my innocence?”

     “Yes,” Femi said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words had barely left his mouth when Deji fell to his knees, his hands clasped tightly in prayer. “Thank God,” Deji murmured, his voice trembling with relief.

     Femi watched for a moment, then stepped closer. “God is truly with you,” he said quietly, a note of awe in his voice. “and I wish to fight on God’s side too.” He paused, his gaze intense as he looked down at Deji. “But I need you to tell me everything that happened so I know how to help. We don’t have much time—the guards will check the holding cells at 5:30 a.m.”

     Deji felt a swell of gratitude towards Femi, a man he barely knew but who seemed willing to risk everything to help him. He took a deep breath, recalling the whirlwind of events that had brought him to this point. 

     “I was at a tech event in Texas,” Deji began, his voice steadying. “Some international donors approached me. They wanted to do philanthropic projects in rural Nigeria—build clinics and provide state-of-the-art equipment. It was my chance to give back to my motherland.” His eyes lit up with the memory of hope. “But I knew I needed someone on the ground to navigate government bureaucracy.”

     “Bala,” Femi interjected, the name hanging heavily in the air.

     “Yes, Bala was in Texas at the same time. A friend arranged for me to meet him, and we signed agreements. I was the face of the project, and he was supposed to facilitate everything.” Deji’s voice faltered as he recalled the sense of betrayal that had followed.

     “But as time went on, I started hearing from my contacts that nothing was happening. I called Bala, and he assured me everything was progressing smoothly. It felt… off,” Deji admitted, the frustration creeping into his voice. “I discovered huge wire transfers—suspicious amounts that seemed to vanish with no results.”

     Femi’s expression darkened. “That’s how you got the documents?”

     Deji nodded, his gut twisting. “An insider tipped me off, a disgruntled employee who worked closely with Bala. But after I began asking questions, he mysteriously died. I knew something fishy was happening, so I came back to Nigeria to expose Bala. That’s why I’m here, in this predicament.” 

     Femi leaned back, his expression grave. “And the documents? Do you have them?”

     A smile flickered across Deji’s face, a glimmer of hope in the chaos. “They’re safe with my friend Tunde. He’s a journalist with OON News Network.”

     Femi’s eyes widened. “You mean Tunde Olabode? The journalist?”

     “Yes,” Deji replied, confusion creeping in. “Why? What’s wrong?”

     Femi cursed under his breath. “Tunde is on Bala’s payroll. He’s Bala’s publicist, the one who cleans up his image in the press.”

     Deji’s heart sank. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Everything began to click into place—the timing of his arrest, how the police had known he was at the hotel. “The documents… they’re gone, aren’t they?”

     Femi nodded slowly, an air of hopelessness settling over him. He stood up and began pacing around the small office, running a hand through his hair. If only he knew where the recording was—if they had something concrete, that would be a start.

      Deji, sensing Femi’s doubt, interjected, “All hope is not lost. If you can reach my fiancée, Ada, you can get the documents. She has the password to my cloud account. You need to find her—she’s the key to everything.”

     Deji's last words snapped Femi to attention, a flicker of renewed hope crossing his face. “I’ll help you,” Femi said, his tone more determined now. “But we have to be smart about this. Right now, it’s hard to trust anyone.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “What can I say to Ada to convince her that I’m on your side?”

     “Tell her to guard the password with her life,” Deji instructed, his voice firm. “That’s the last thing I told her before the police came for me.”

     Femi nodded, determination in his eyes. “Stay calm. I’ll track Ada and help expose Bala. But you need to act normal. Don’t raise any suspicion.”

     Femi glanced at his wristwatch—it was already 5:00 a.m. Panic flashed across his face as he quickly moved to action. “We’re out of time,” he muttered. Without another word, he ushered Deji out of the office, moving swiftly and cautiously through the dimly lit corridors. They reached the holding cells just in time, and Femi quietly slipped Deji back into his cell, locking the door behind him. Deji watched him go, a swirl of hope and despair battling in his heart. Could they really pull this off?

     With a heavy heart but a clear sense of purpose, Femi left the station that morning, his mind set on one mission—find Ada and protect Deji. Armed with her phone number and home address, he got into his car and drove out of the station, his eyes scanning the early morning streets of Lagos. The city was just waking up, but Femi’s mind was already racing with possibilities, calculating the best way to track her down before anyone else did.

     That morning, a group of street boys lounged around the corner near Ada’s house, their eyes darting suspiciously around the neighborhood. A few of them ventured into the compound, knocking on doors and asking about Ada.

     “Excuse me, have you seen Ada?” one of the boys asked a neighbor, his voice feigning innocence.

     The woman frowned and shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen her since yesterday.”

     The boys exchanged knowing glances as they walked out of the compound. Once they were far enough, one of them dialed their boss, reporting back. "She’s not here.”

     The Razor's voice crackled through the phone. “Keep watching the place. One way or another, something will come up. Stay sharp.”

     An hour later Femi pulled up to the same compound, stepping out of his car and walking towards the nearest neighbor. He had Ada’s address, but the silence around her house was unnerving.

     “Good morning,” Femi said, his voice casual but focused. “I’m looking for Ada. Have you seen her today?”

     The neighbor sighed, her eyes narrowing with concern. “You’re the second person asking about her today. I haven’t seen her since yesterday. And this morning, some of her relatives came by, but they didn’t know where she was.”

     A sense of urgency washed over Femi. He could feel it—others were on her trail too. He needed to act fast, or someone else might find her first.

      Adebayo, in his office at the police station, sat deep in thought, contemplating the best way to flush Ada out. His mind raced, calculating the risks and rewards.

     Suddenly, an idea flashed. He picked up the phone and dialed Bala’s number. 

     “Bala, I have a plan,” Adebayo said, excitement lacing his voice. “We need to parade Deji before the press. We’ll declare him a dangerous drug lord and say Ada is armed and wanted. We’ll display her photo and offer a reward for anyone who can get her.”

     There was a pause on the line, and then Bala’s voice came through, low and contemplative. “Do it. But we need to move quickly.”

     With that, the plan was set in motion. By 11 a.m., the stage was being set for the press conference. Adebayo stood flanked by officers, the room packed with journalists eager for a story. 

     “We’ve managed to bust one of the biggest drug rings in recent history,” Adebayo announced, his voice booming. “We have arrested the master mind, but one remains at large. We need the public’s help to find this dangerous criminal.”

     Deji stood at the center of the room, fear coursing through him as he listened to the narrative being spun around him. They were framing him as a criminal, a scapegoat in Bala’s grand scheme.

     “The suspect, Deji Adeniyi, is the ringleader of the drug operation, and we declare Ada Obiora, his associate, as wanted. She is considered armed and dangerous,” Adebayo continued, his voice carrying a sharp authority as the press hung onto his every word. A photo of Ada flashed on the screen behind him, her image now plastered across every major news outlet.

     Deji felt the weight of the moment crushing him. The walls were closing in, not just in the physical sense of the room but also the invisible walls of lies being built around him. He was being painted as a dangerous criminal, a drug lord, while the true puppeteers—Bala and his cronies—remained hidden in the shadows, untouchable.

     Some members of the press eagerly moved forward, hoping to get a chance to interview Deji and extract more information. A murmur spread through the crowd as questions were thrown in the direction of the officers.

     "Can we speak to Deji directly?" one reporter asked. "What’s his side of the story?"

     But the police, led by Adebayo, immediately shut it down, citing an ongoing investigation. "At this time, Deji will not be speaking to the press," Adebayo said with finality. "This case is still under investigation, and we can’t allow any interference."

     The press grumbled but relented. Deji was officially labeled a drug lord, while Ada was now branded as his dangerous accomplice on the run. The narrative was being spun tightly, framing Deji as a villain to the public, while Ada's face was now that of a fugitive.

     Deji sat there, feeling helpless, knowing how dangerous this was for Ada. The world had turned against them, and time was running out.

     In a bar across town, Femi sat nursing a cold beer, trying to steady his nerves. He had been calling her number all day but it was switched off. The weight of his responsibility pressed down on him like a heavy shroud. He took a sip, his mind racing with thoughts of Ada. He had to find her before it was too late.

     He glanced at his phone, and the screen lit up with notifications. His heart sank as he scrolled through the headlines—blogs were already carrying the news of Deji’s framing. The words “wanted” and “dangerous drug lord” echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of the chaos surrounding them.

     Femi felt a pit in his stomach. He couldn’t let this continue. He had to find Ada and warn her, to protect her from the fallout of this conspiracy. But with her number switched off, how could he reach her? A thought suddenly came to him—he could send her a message. Without wasting any time, he quickly typed it out and hit the send button, hoping it would reach her when she turned her phone back on.

      Back at Aunty Ify’s house, Ada sat at the kitchen table, her laptop open in front of her. The soft glow of the screen illuminated her pale face. She had spent the entire night downloading files from the cloud storage, her mind racing with thoughts of Deji and the danger he was in. 

   “Are you alright, dear?” Aunty Ify asked, her voice filled with concern. “You’ve been here since yesterday, Monday, but you haven’t told me what’s happening. Are you alright?”

     Ada barely responded, her eyes glazed over. The weight of their situation bore down on her. She had thought she could protect Deji, but now it felt like they were both trapped in a web of deceit.

     As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Ada’s phone buzzed to life the moment she turned it on. She glanced at it, dread tightening her chest. A message from an unknown number flashed across the screen, but its contents made her blood run cold.

     “Ada, the police are looking for you. They’ve declared you wanted. You need to hide.”

     Panic surged through her as the message was immediately followed by a flood of notifications—news alerts, messages, and social media posts all declaring her a fugitive, wanted by the police alongside Deji. Her heart pounded as she stared at the screen, unable to process the gravity of her situation.

     Her hands trembled as she scrolled through the news articles, her heart sinking with each line she read. “Dangerous drug lord,” “Wanted: Ada,” “Reward for information.” 

     “What’s happening?” Aunty Ify’s voice broke through her thoughts. Ada’s aunt stepped closer, peering at the screen. 

     “Nothing… it’s just a misunderstanding,” Ada stammered, but the lie felt heavy on her tongue.

     Her aunt’s expression morphed from concern to shock as she read the headlines. “Ada, this is serious. You need to tell me what’s going on!”

     Ada couldn’t bear to look her aunt in the eye. “I don’t know… I just…” Her voice faltered as tears pooled in her eyes. She felt the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on her. 

     “Hand me your phone,” Aunty Ify demanded, her tone sharp.

     Ada reluctantly handed it over, her heart racing as her aunt scanned the messages and news articles. The look of disbelief and anger on her face sent a chill down Ada’s spine.

     “You’re branded as a criminal, Ada! We have to go to the police—”

     “No!” Ada shouted, cutting her off. “You don’t understand! They’ll arrest me. I didn’t do anything wrong!” 

     Aunty Ify’s eyes softened as she took a step back, realizing the gravity of the situation. “Then what do we do?”

     “We hide,” Ada replied, her voice barely a whisper. “Until I can figure this out.”

     The weight of the moment hung heavy between them, an unspoken understanding passing through the air. Aunty Ify nodded, and the two of them began to brainstorm how to keep Ada safe. 

     As the evening shadows stretched across the room, Deji sat in his cell, anxiety gnawing at him. He was worried about Ada, the thought of her being dragged into this chaos weighing heavily on his conscience. 

     “Focus, Deji,” he whispered to himself, trying to quell the rising tide of despair. “You have to trust Femi.” 

     But doubt lingered in the back of his mind. Would Femi find her? Would he be able to protect her from the impending storm? 

     As the clock ticked on, time seemed to crawl, each second stretching into eternity. 

     In that moment, the prison walls felt like a cage closing in around him. He leaned back against the cold wall, a surge of determination igniting within him. “I have to get out of here. For Ada.”

     Meanwhile, Femi, sitting at the bar, weighed his options. He knew he had to act quickly. He couldn’t afford to wait any longer. The city buzzed around him, but all he could think about was Ada.

     With a final swig of beer, he pushed away from the bar, determination setting his jaw. He would find her and do whatever it took to protect her from the storm brewing on the horizon. 

     The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the city as darkness settled in. The stage was set, the players were in motion, and the clock was ticking.

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