Hard Man

44b

"Who needs enemies when you have a boss like Babalola?"
    — MG Damola.

"You don't have to experience struggle before you're loved correctly. You deserve someone who will love you without fighting or putting you through hell. You don't have to go through love like ours to get love like ours."
— Mariam.

Twenty minutes later, the convoy reached Sekoni's position and parked behind his car. Mohammed peeked outside the window, scanning the area. They were truly in the middle of nowhere. Tall, wild bushes stretched out in every direction, some taller than the vehicles.

The road was more of a dirt trail, barely wide enough for a car to pass. The area was quiet, deserted, and felt like a place where no one should live. If Sekoni hadn't called earlier to confirm he had thermal imagery of the house, Mohammed would have been convinced they got the location wrong.

His instincts were on high alert, every muscle tensed. The place felt too quiet. Too isolated. Perfect for a hidden camp. Anything could happen.

"Call Sekoni," the MG demanded, and Mohammed jumped, looking away from the ominous scenery outside and reaching for the phone. But it rang before he could dial, and it was Sekoni calling. Mohammed took the call.

"I see you, sir," Sekoni said, his voice clear over the line. "You're behind me."

"Tell your driver to turn the car around and take you home," the MG said. "Your work here is done."

"Thank you, sir," Sekoni said. "But first, I've detected four people outside the house, in the compound. The blobs are constantly moving, so I think they're patrolling. I still can't figure out how many people are in the house except the three on the top floor."

"Okay." The MG nodded, his gaze hardening as he turned to Mohammed, who immediately hung up the call.

"Who's in charge of the other vehicles?" The MG asked as Sekoni's car turned and zoomed off.

"Ahmad and Emmy."

"Conference call. Now," the MG demanded.

Mohammed nodded and swiftly dialed Ahmad's number, waiting for the connection before adding Emmy.

Beside them, the General's leg bounced, his eyes hard with anger. He hadn't said anything since his slight argument with the MG, and Mohammed pitied the first person he would unleash his fury on.

Once Ahmad and Emmy were on the line, Mohammed handed the phone to the MG.

"Ahmad, Emmy, can you both hear me?"

"Yes, sir," came their responses in unison.

"Put the phone on speaker so the others can hear," the MG instructed, a sharpness in his voice that made Mohammed straighten in his seat.

"Done, sir."

"We're ten minutes from the target," the MG said. "Four people are patrolling the compound, but the house is still unknown territory. Upstairs, we know there are three people. When we go in, if there's a woman amongst them, don't touch her. Nobody goes upstairs except me, Baba, and Mohammed. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," came the chorus of replies.

"As soon as we get there, I won't use words anymore. Watch my actions and stay alert."

"Yes, sir."

The call ended, and the General turned to the MG. "Damola, can't we walk? We—"

"Don't talk to me," the MG snapped at him, then turned to Mohammed again. "He's probably right, though. Text Ahmad and Emmy. We'll walk from here."