Carrie had been Justin’s right arm in almost all operations over the last five years. She had come to the CIS from Joint Task Force Two, the elite counter-terrorism unit of the Special Operation Forces, after two tours of duty in Afghanistan. She could pilot anything with wings or rotors and was an explosives expert. She had no patience for words, instead preferring action. The motto of her former unit was Facta non verba. Deeds, not words.
“Carrie would be a great help on the ground now that we’re following so many leads, sir.” Justin provided a reason along with his request for assistance. He could accomplish the mission entirely on his own, of course, but Carrie’s presence would allow for faster, better results. After all, Justin could not be in two places at the same time.
“Carrie’s deployed in the Central African Republic for an intel-gathering mission,” McClain said. “But I’ll have her fly out ASAP. She should be in Lagos around midnight or early tomorrow morning, depending on aircraft availability.”
“Thanks, sir. I truly appreciate it,” Justin said.
“No worries. Let’s just bring our man home alive.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Anything else, Justin?”
“Not at the moment.”
“Keep a tight lid on this.” McClain’s voice took a firm tone, yet it kept its warm, caring ring. “Local authorities can be very uncooperative and may even feed us misinformation. Many police officers are in the pockets of senior officials who run this country.”
“Will do,” Justin replied. He had already experienced some of the police unwillingness to accommodate even his most basic requests. Nigeria was a rough place to run field operations, but then Justin was familiar with maneuvering in hostile terrain.
Chapter Three
Justin logged on to the CIS encrypted server and accessed some of the intelligence they had already gathered on Duncan’s last visit to Nigeria, when he was kidnapped. Duncan had scheduled a series of meetings on the sidelines of the conference with senior officials of the Nigerian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Duncan’s counterparts. There were a couple of meetings with American and European colleagues and one meeting with CanadaOil executives and two representatives from the Nigerian Ministry of Petroleum Resources.
CanadaOil was the third largest oil company operating in Nigeria. Its activities focused mostly on petroleum extraction and production, with over five hundred active wells all over the country. CanadaOil had built a wide network of pipelines, natural gas plants, and oil refineries. The majority of their activities took place in the Niger Delta, where CanadaOil had formed a joint venture with the NNPC, the Nigerian National Petroleum Corporation, holding a 49 percent stake in the company.
Over the last six months before Duncan’s kidnapping, CanadaOil’s operations in the Niger Delta had been marred by a series of explosions in one of its refineries, which had killed ten people and wounded another fifty. The company had blamed sabotage by local armed gangs, while local populations had pointed the finger at the company’s greed for profits at the expense of safety and security for its staff. The federal government had stepped in to reconcile both parties. It had offered amnesty to the militants, which they had refused. Then it had sent its army into the Niger Delta. After a series of clashes with militants, the situation seemed to have calmed down, at least on the surface. Work had resumed on some of the wells and most of the pipeline was restored to its normal working capacity. But the area remained quite volatile, with threats of violence from rebels pouring in almost every day.
Justin stood up to stretch his legs and thought about the information he had gathered so far. Why was Duncan meeting with these oil executives and government representatives? Was he trying to get a better understanding of the situation? Or was he helping with reconciliation efforts?
Justin returned to his laptop and scrolled through the list of his contacts in Nigeria. During the rescue operation of two Canadian aid workers, he had worked with a team of local CIS operatives. Two of them were still with the CIS station in Abuja, but were running a reconnaissance operation in the northern state of Borno, around Maiduguri, a hotbed of Nigerian jihadist group members with strong ties to al-Qaeda. One of the operatives had introduced Justin to some senior Nigerian police and government officials. Justin scanned the names, searched the CIS databases, and locked on to one of the government officials: Nailah Atoki. The woman had been quite instrumental at that time in coordinating efforts for the release of the aid workers. Justin hoped she would still be willing to offer her assistance with Duncan’s case, especially since she now worked as a director in the Commerce and Investment Directorate of the NNPC.
He thought about the best way to approach Nailah. He had not seen her in over three years, although they had exchanged the occasional phone call or e-mail. She was very rich even by Western standards, so offering her money in exchange for information would be considered an insult. As far as Justin knew, she had kept herself clean from corruption and bribery, so without any dirt on her, blackmail was out of the question. Justin had no illusions that Nailah was a saint, but he had no time or resources to launch a wide investigation campaign on her past.
So Justin decided to take the straight and upward path of being frank with Nailah and asking for a favor. He hoped to convince her to assist him by giving her as much information as he felt comfortable providing, but not endangering Duncan’s life, the exchange, or any rescue operation. Justin was going to walk a thin line, but he was accustomed to engaging in such sensitive talks.
He dialed Nailah’s number and muttered a short prayer. His prayer was answered as Nailah picked up her phone. She sounded truly pleased that Justin had called, and she was very excited to make some time for supper. Nailah suggested Le Petit Café, a French restaurant on Banana Island, the most exclusive residential area in Nigeria. Justin accepted eagerly and they agreed to meet at seven thirty that evening.
Justin hoped Nailah would provide him with some useful intelligence about Duncan’s case. It was a long shot, but at this point he was willing to try everything.
His cellphone vibrated, then it rang with a sharp beep. Justin picked it up without checking the caller ID. “Yes.”
“Hello, this is Kayo. We’ve found the Rover.” Kayo was out of breath, as if he had been running up a few flights of stairs.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes, just running after a potential witness.”
“And?”
“I lost him. He turned into a back alley and then poof, disappeared.”
Justin shook his head. Another dead end.
“Where are you?”
“The police found our Rover about five miles north of our exchange location, at the edge of town. It seems the kidnappers ditched it before leaving Lagos. So they’re holding Duncan somewhere outside the city.”
Oh, that’s a big jump, Justin thought. Maybe it’s a trick to throw us off and they just turned around. Or maybe the woman has never met the kidnappers. She’s just the messenger and the collector.
He sighed. “Any fingerprints?”
“Yes, a few. The police are collecting them and will run them through databases. Hopefully, we’ll get a hit and a lead.”
Justin doubted it, but perhaps luck was going to be on their side. Everyone made mistakes, which sometimes could prove to be fatal.
“The police want our fingerprints for exclusion purposes,” Kayo said. “I’ve already given them mine. I’ll come and pick you up, so we can go to the police station.”