“All right,” Justin said. “See you in a bit.”
He ran his fingers through his hair then scratched his chin. He had been growing a beard over the last couple of months and now it was over an inch long. It was scraggly, and gray and reddish in some parts, and Justin had not taken any extra care of it other than washing it. The beard was going to be a part of his cover during this next operation, somewhere in the Middle East. Justin suspected it was going to be Syria, where recent unrest had escalated into an all-out war between the interim government and armed rebels backed by Islamic terrorists groups. He wondered about the impression his scruffy beard would have on Nailah.
Justin brewed another pot of coffee, then returned to his files on the secure server. Someone in the Ottawa headquarters had uploaded a file on Duncan’s schedule of the last month before his doomed trip to Nigeria. Justin began to scan the files for a Nigerian or an oil connection, starting with Duncan’s most recent meetings.
Duncan had been an extremely busy man; at least that was what his schedule told Justin. Three days before arriving in Lagos, Duncan had been in Zurich, Switzerland. He had met with Swiss politicians, bankers, and other businessmen. There were a few oil executives, whose companies had major holdings in Nigeria, but none of them were from CanadaOil. Then, Duncan had travelled to Dubai. More meetings with sheikhs dripping with petro-dollars, construction companies’ senior officials, and investment brokerages. Again, no meetings with CanadaOil officials.
Justin backtracked to a week before those meetings, and he found a promising connection. A meeting with two executive directors from the NNPC Exploration and Production Directorate in Vienna, then the next day a meeting, still in Vienna, with two managing directors of exploration and production activities of CanadaOil for Nigeria. Now we’re getting somewhere.
He printed the details of those meetings, noticing their length. The meeting with the Nigerian officials had lasted four hours, and that did not include the business lunch in between the two sessions. The next-day meeting with the Canadian executives had run pretty much all afternoon. It had to be something quite important, since it took so much of their time. Duncan’s previous meetings had lasted two hours maximum, with most meetings being either thirty or sixty minutes.
He wished he had the minutes of those meetings, or at least a general idea of the discussions. He thought about asking McClain to lean on DFAIT officials and CanadaOil executives for briefing notes and the purpose of that meeting. But he feared DFAIT would call on their lawyers from the Trade Law Bureau and put up defenses in the name of protecting the ministry’s and the country’s foreign policy, relations, or negotiations. CanadaOil, on the other hand, would hide behind the need to protect the confidentiality of the company’s business deals in Nigeria. Eventually, McClain would twist their arm and obtain the needed information, but that could take a while and Justin was meeting with Nailah in a few hours.
He continued studying Duncan’s files and found out that two other meetings had taken place over the course of the last three weeks before Duncan’s arrival in Nigeria. The first meeting had taken place in Ottawa; the second in Vienna. The names of officials from the NNPC and CanadaOil were the same as those who attended the third meeting, but the previous meetings had been shorter, less than an hour. Something that could not be easily resolved prompted the third and last meeting.
Justin made a note to check if the four officials had been in Lagos or scheduled to fly to Nigeria at the time of Duncan’s disappearance. Even if they were not directly involved in the kidnapping, they may have lured Duncan to come to Lagos for the conference. Once I’ve talked to Nailah, I may have a better idea of the big picture.
Someone turned the key in the apartment’s door, and Justin heard the deadbolt thud. He reached for his pistol and jumped to his feet. He tiptoed toward the kitchen door and placed his back against the wall.
“Hey, Justin, it’s me,” Kayo said as he opened the door.
Justin sighed. “Kayo, always announce yourself before you get in,” he said in a slightly irritated voice, and he lowered his pistol. They had had this conversation two other times, and had also agreed on a door-knocking code. Kayo either was not understanding Justin’s protocol or simply was choosing to ignore it.
“Were you expecting someone else?” Kayo replied in a similar tone.
Justin ignored the question. No point in wasting his time re-explaining the protocol.
“Anything new? Witnesses?” he asked.
Kayo shook his head. “No, nothing. The police towed the Rover for further forensic analysis at their lab. They’ll let us know if they find anything.”
Justin pointed at the files spread across the table. “I’ve been reviewing the intel we have on the rebels, their associates, and their activities. The tactic they used today is unusual, different from their usual methods of operation.”
He did not like lying to his partner, but he deemed it necessary under the circumstances. Revealing that information to Kayo could prove fatal if Kayo mishandled it or in some other way failed to take the necessary precautions to keep it safe. He had a track record of ignoring even the most basic rules and regulations which helped ensure their survival. Maybe it was because this was his homeland and he did not feel the need for such smoke and mirrors. But Justin thought differently, and he expected Kayo to respect the established set of rules of their mission.
Justin clicked on the laptop’s keyboard and ended the connection with the CIS server. He took a sip of his coffee, then looked up at Kayo, who was still standing by the kitchen window. “Any suggestions on how to move forward?”
Kayo turned around. “I know a couple of people, local men, who could have some intel on the armed gangs. I’ll arrange a meeting for tonight, but…”
“What?”
“It might be better if I go alone.”
Justin arched an eyebrow. “Without any backup at all?”
Kayo hesitated for a moment. “These men are old childhood friends. We grew up together here in Lagos. Then our lives took different turns. They’ll be more likely to give us a hand if they see just me, alone, in a good gesture of trust.”
Justin bit his lip. He felt Kayo was perhaps trusting his friends a bit too much. But he did not know Kayo’s friends, and this was his country. And Kayo was not really asking for Justin’s advice.
“All right,” Justin said. “But I want to know where you are at all times, in case things go wrong. We’ll put a tracker on your phone and another one on your Mazda.”
Justin had ulterior motives for wanting to know Kayo’s location: to see if he was being truthful to him or if there was any foul play in the works. Being upfront about the trackers would save Justin the efforts of trying to sneak them in and a potential heated argument later on if Kayo happened to discover the trackers.
Kayo thought about it for a moment, scratched his egg-shaped head, then nodded. “Fine, but don’t follow me. These people are extremely suspicious of strangers. If they notice you, both our lives will be in danger.”
“If you want it that way. I can follow the GPS tracker from anywhere in the city. I’ll know something is wrong if there is a change in the route or the location, unless you call me in advance to inform me of such a change. Will that work?”
“Yes, that’s fine.”
“Okay. We’ll get it all set up. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as you’re done installing the trackers. We’re running out of time. And you know how to get to the police station for your fingerprinting, right?”