Chapter 5

The Pressure Builds

     Bala stared at the clock on his office wall, his fingers tapping an erratic rhythm on his desk. It was only 8 a.m. on Wednesday, but the morning felt suffocating. He had hoped the pressure would ease after Adebayo’s press conference yesterday, where Deji was framed as a drug lord and Ada declared wanted. The media had lapped it up, spinning the story in all directions. It was almost perfect.

     Yet, something gnawed at him—the recording. Ada had vanished, and with her, the damning footage of Deji’s arrest. The longer the video remained hidden, the more Bala’s unease grew. If that recording surfaced, everything they had carefully orchestrated would come crashing down.

     He grabbed his phone dialing Razor. The street boss had eyes and ears everywhere, If anyone could find Ada, it was him. Razor answered on the first ring.

     “Razor,” Bala greeted, making sure to assert dominance in his tone. Razor was useful, but beneath him. He had to remember that. “Any updates?”

     Razor’s voice was smooth and assured, laced with the roughness of someone who lived and breathed the streets. “My boys are on it, boss. Ada’s got only one relative in Lagos, and she lives in Ajegunle. I’ve sent her picture to some gangs there that owe me favors. They’re keeping an eye out.”

     Bala’s lips tightened. “Good track her—I want nothing left to chance.”

     Razor hesitated for a moment before speaking again. “You didn’t involve the police in this, did you?”

     Bala spat out his response with derision. “The police? They’re the ones who put us in this mess in the first place. The only thing they’ve done right is that press conference and declaring her wanted. I don’t want them bumbling around and ruining things. We’ll handle it.”

     “Fair enough,” Razor chuckled darkly. “But, boss, we’ve got another situation. My boys spotted someone asking questions about Ada’s whereabouts. They trailed him all day yesterday. They Followed him around Lagos. The man knows something—he’s looking for her too.”

     Bala’s grip tightened around the phone. “Who is he?”

     “No name, but we’ve got a face. My boys followed him to a bar and then back to his house. This morning, when they picked up his trail, it led straight to Surulere Police Station.”

     Bala’s breath caught. A cop? His pulse raced. “I don’t want anyone sticking their nose into this. Send me the pictures, now.”

     Razor agreed and before hanging up, he assured Bala that his Ajegunle contacts would follow up on the lead he gave them. Bala, still staring at the phone, muttered under his breath, “This is getting messy.”

     After hanging up the phone, Bala leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. The tension of keeping this operation under control was wearing on him, and he hated feeling like things were slipping out of his grasp. He glanced at the clock again—8:15 a.m. He had barely made it through the morning, and already, the weight of the day was crushing him.

     Meanwhile, Deji’s mother, thousands of miles away in the United States, was pacing the floor of her living room. She hadn’t heard from her son in days. The last time they spoke, he had just landed in Nigeria on Sunday. Now, it was about three days of silence, and worry gnawed at her.

     That morning, she had received a call from one of Deji’s business associates in America. He too was concerned. No one had been able to reach Deji, and the fact that Ada’s number was switched off only deepened the mystery.

     Deji’s mother had never fully approved of Ada. She was Igbo, and that had complicated things. But now, with Deji missing and Ada unreachable, she felt a cold dread settle in her chest.

---

     

     Across town, at Surulere Police Station, Femi sat at his desk, the weight of the entire situation pressing down on him. His thoughts drifted to the brief but cautious exchange he had with Ada the previous night. She had responded to his message with a simple, wary question: Who are you?

     Femi had replied with a cryptic line: Guard this password with your life.

     Ada had been confused, of course. After everything, she didn’t know who to trust. But Femi introduced himself, carefully assuring her that Deji was safe, though deeply worried about her. He advised her to stay hidden, to lay low and avoid making any moves until it was safer. As he typed, his fingers hesitated over the keyboard. He had wanted to ask her about the documents—the crucial evidence that could bring down Senator Bala—but something held him back. It was too soon. Ada was still skittish, unsure of his intentions, and trust had to be earned in situations like this. He decided it was best not to push her just yet.

     But his mind wasn’t only on Ada. His thoughts also returned to the conversation he’d had with his father on phone just after texting Ada that morning. It was the first time in years that Femi had admitted his father was right about the deep corruption within the system. The years of dismissing his father's warnings had built up, and now, faced with the rot he could no longer deny, Femi apologized for being so stubborn all this time.

     His father, stunned by the unexpected admission, had asked if something was wrong. Femi had dodged the question, brushing it off as he grabbed his keys and prepared to leave. “We’ll talk later, Dad. I’m about to head to work,” he had said as he hurriedly ended the call, leaving the conversation hanging.

     Now, sitting at his desk, Femi wondered what his father would say if he knew the full scope of what was happening. How would he react to the danger surrounding Deji, Ada, and the looming corruption Femi had become entangled in?

     Now, as Femi sat reflecting, his office phone rang sharply, jolting him back to reality. Chief Superintendent Adebayo’s voice cut through the line, commanding Femi to report to his office immediately.

     When Femi arrived, Adebayo’s tone was immediately accusatory. He pulled out his phone and shoved it in Femi’s face, showing him a photo on the screen—Femi, standing outside Ada’s compound..

     “What were you doing there?” Adebayo demanded.

     Femi’s mind raced. He couldn’t afford to slip. “I was trying to track her down,” he blurted out, thinking fast. “She’s wanted, after all.”

     Adebayo’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you to track her?”

    Femi’s heart pounded in his chest. He knew he had to tread carefully. One wrong move and he’d be dead before the week ended. Adebayo leaned in closer, his voice low and threatening. “If you care about your life, and the lives of those you love, you’ll stay out of this.”

    Femi nodded, feeling the icy grip of fear around his throat. As he left Adebayo’s office, he realized the walls were closing in. He was being watched. The stakes had never been higher. After Femi stepped out, Adebayo quickly sent a text to Bala: I just confronted Femi. He’s just an overzealous officer meddling in what doesn’t concern him. A moment later, Bala replied, You need to warn him to back out immediately.

     Barely 15 minutes later, the sharp ringing of his office phone jarred him from his thoughts. He answered it briskly, not expecting much, but the voice on the other end made him sit up straight.

     It was the Inspector General of Police.

     “Adebayo,” the IGP’s voice was cool, but there was a subtle pressure in his tone. “I’m calling about that case. The drug lord was arrested a few days ago—Deji, I believe. What’s the status?”

     Adebayo’s heart raced. Why was the IGP personally asking about this? Keeping his voice steady, Adebayo responded, “Investigations are ongoing, sir. We’re closing in on his accomplice, Ada. We should have her in custody soon.”

     The IGP paused for a moment before continuing, “Good. The Minister of Foreign Affairs contacted me this morning. The American embassy has been in touch, and they wish to provide consular services for Deji. Apparently, he’s an American citizen. Their lawyers will be arriving at your station to meet with him.”

     Adebayo’s blood ran cold. He knew Deji was an American citizen, but he hadn’t expected things to escalate this quickly. The fact that the embassy had already involved the minister caught him off guard. If the situation spiraled any further, this entire charade could unravel faster than he could contain it.

     Under his breath, he muttered, “Which kind wahala be this?”

     The IGP, not hearing the comment, added, “Make sure everything is in order when the embassy arrives. We don’t need international attention on this. You understand?”

     “Yes, sir,” Adebayo replied, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He hung up and stared blankly at the wall, the implications hitting him like a freight train. This was no longer just a local problem. International eyes were about to be on Deji’s case. If they scrutinized too closely, it wouldn’t take long for the entire web of lies to come undone.

     He checked the time—8:45 a.m. He had less than a few hours before the embassy lawyers would be at his doorstep.

---

     In Ajegunle, Ada sat huddled next to Aunty Ify, the weight of her reality pressing down on her. Since the news of her being declared wanted had broken, she had been in a state of constant confusion. The text exchange with the police officer, Femi, only added to her unease. Could she trust him? Was he truly on her side?

     She had switched her phone off again after the last conversation with him, but now, out of curiosity, she turned it on briefly. Immediately, it was flooded with notifications—messages from Deji’s mom asking about her son, demanding answers. Ada’s heart sank. The one time Deji’s mother had reached out to her, it was to find her son. And Ada had no good news to give.

     Tears welled in her eyes. “I told him to let this go,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “But he refused.”

     Aunty Ify, who had been watching Ada closely, finally spoke. “What did you ask Deji to let go?”

     Ada hesitated, then spilled everything. The whole story of the fraudulent project, the arrest, and the recording. She even showed Aunty Ify the video of the raid.

     Aunty Ify sat in stunned silence, processing everything. After a moment, she leaned back, her eyes narrowing as she called Ada to sit closer.

     “When I was younger,” she began, “I used to join the boys in the village to hunt rabbits and grasscutters. We’d burn leaves and add pepper to the fire, forcing the animals out of their holes. They’d think they were running to safety, but we’d be waiting at the exit.”

     Ada’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What are you saying?”

     “They’ve declared you wanted to flush you out,” Aunty Ify explained. “They know you’d run to me, your only family in Lagos. If you were them, where would you search first?”

     Ada’s heart raced as realization dawned on her.

---

     Back at the station, Adebayo paced his office, panic tightening in his chest. The embassy’s involvement had already set off alarm bells, and with the IG’s call about the impending visit from the embassy officials, things were spiraling out of control faster than he could manage.

     Desperate, he quickly dialed Senator Bala’s number, his fingers trembling slightly. When Bala answered, Adebayo’s voice immediately betrayed his anxiety.

     “Sir, we’ve got a problem,” Adebayo stammered. “The embassy is sending lawyers at noon, and the AIG called me this morning about it. If we don’t have this situation handled by then—”

     “Calm down,” Bala interrupted, his voice cold and commanding. “You need to stall them. Find a way to delay, make up any excuse. We cannot afford to have them meddling before we have a solid plan.”

     Adebayo rubbed the back of his neck, trying to steady his voice. “But what if they press too hard? I’m not sure how long I can keep them at bay.”

     “You will do whatever it takes,” Bala snapped. “We need time to get our story straight, and I don’t care how you do it. Just stall them until I say otherwise.”

     Adebayo swallowed, his mouth dry. “Yes, sir. I’ll handle it.”

     He hung up, his mind racing. The walls were closing in fast, and if he couldn’t find a way to delay the embassy officials, everything would come crashing down..

---

     By 11:30 a.m., the American embassy’s lawyers had arrived at Surulere Police Station. Adebayo wasn’t there to greet them. Instead, he had instructed a junior officer to tell them he was “out on an urgent matter,” though he was actually holed up in his office, sweating as he tried to figure out his next move.

     The lawyers, not easily deterred, introduced themselves to the officer, their firm handshakes and neutral smiles concealing the pressure they brought with them.

     “We’re here to meet with our client, Deji,” one of them said sharply, making it clear they wouldn’t wait long.

     The junior officer, uneasy, relayed the message to Adebayo, knocking timidly on his office door. Adebayo’s temper flared. He threw a glare at the officer as he swung the door open.

     “I told you to stall them, didn’t I?” Adebayo hissed, barely keeping his voice down. “Do whatever it takes, just don’t let them near Deji yet. And don’t come back here unless those lawyers are gone! Understand?”

     The officer, flustered, nodded and quickly left, trying to appease the lawyers outside. Meanwhile, Adebayo, with frustration bubbling inside him, sat back at his desk and dialed Bala’s number.

     “They’re here,” he muttered into the phone, his voice low and tense. “The embassy lawyers. We’re running out of time.”

     Bala’s voice came back, sharp and unyielding. “Then handle it. I don’t care what you have to do—stall them. If they get wind of what’s going on, we’re finished.”

     Adebayo slammed the phone down, his hands shaking as the walls closed in around him. Time was slipping away, and the next few hours would be crucial to his survival.

---

     By 1 pm, as the afternoon heat pressed down on Ajegunle, tension filled the small home. Aunty Ify, known widely and respectfully as Area Mama, was no stranger to these streets. Her restaurant had been a fixture here for decades, a place where anyone—gang leaders, police officers, street vendors, and locals—could find a hot meal and a sympathetic ear. She had earned her title not just for her resilience but for the unspoken authority she held; when she spoke, people listened. She was a streetwise guardian, with connections that ran deep through the veins of the neighborhood. She knew the gangs, understood their codes, and respected their struggles. Many leaders had come to her over the years for advice, and even the police knew not to mess with her. But now, with eyes on her and Ada, she was on high alert. They had to act, and fast.

     The sun had begun to dip low when a group of boys, connected to the gangs, showed up at the gate. Suspicious eyes scanned the house. Aunty Ify, sensing trouble, stepped out, greeting them with a cool smile. “What do you want?”

     The boys exchanged glances. “We’re looking for Ada,” one of them said. “We heard she’s your relative.”

     Aunty Ify’s smile didn’t falter. “Ada? I haven’t seen her in days.”

     The boys weren’t convinced. “Mind if we take a look inside?”

     Aunty Ify’s heart pounded, but she remained calm. “There’s nothing to see here.”

     Meanwhile, inside the house, Ada crouched behind a window, holding her breath. One of the boys wandered closer, peering through the glass. Just as his gaze fell on Ada, Aunty Ify spoke up again, distracting him.

     “Go on now,” she said, her voice steady. “I’ve told you, she’s not here.”

     After a tense moment, the boys relented, but as they walked away, Aunty Ify knew they’d be back. Time was running out.

Chapter 6