Silhouette

IV

The State Intelligence Agency is located deep in Lagos's undeveloped estates. 180 acres of green grass and small hills.

The area is bordered by a thirteen feet fence laced with a paralyzing and non lethal electric current. Every ten feet, there is a forbidden sign that warns observers that the area is an exclusive property of the Nigerian Government.

Charles drives into a single gate in the centre of the west perimeter. Over the gate, between the opposing guard house is a millimeter wave scanner. He stops between the two barriers as a green light runs across his Mercedes.

There is a ten second interval where the guards check the scan to see if he is carrying any suspicious object in his car or on his person. The security guard holding a rather menacing rifle checks his ID and waves him in.

Charles gets out of his car and hurries to a fifteen story building that is called the Yellow House by the SIA staffs.

He pushes open the door and breathes a sigh of relief as a wave of cool, air-conditioned breeze hits him.

The lobby looks like that of any average organization. Brown wood furniture, self help posters, a pretty receptionist.

He nods a greeting at the receptionist and turns left to the elevator.

A small retinal scanner slides out and he presses his face into it. At that instant, a small red bulb lights up and the elevator slides open. An alarm would have been sounded if the retinal scan came out negative. The elevator ascends ten stories.

He steps out of the elevator and into a hallway. He strides to a door at the end of the hallway and lets himself in.

The conference room is blindingly bright. There is a long table in the middle of the room. There are five people seated and they all fall silent as the door closes behind him.

"I'm sure you are wondering why we're here," he says. He draws a seat but doesn't sit down. "Last night we found the body of Tade Johnson on a private plane registered to Nicklas Savage, one of Fabian Dost's aliases."

"Why isn't this all over the news?" asks Tom, a man in tweed jacket and horn-rimmed glasses.

"We have informed the police but we will not be providing them with any additional information. This is a 'need to know' basis. We need all the time we can get before the Circus comes to town." He means the media.

The room is silent. Everyone is looking back at him.

"This case is a top priority." He lays his palms flat on the table. "You know what that means. Your overtime has been pre-approved."

They all nod their heads, but there is a grim quality to the action, like a convict accepting his fate.

"Good," says Charles. "Here is what we know so far." He folds his arms and strolls to the large screen mounted on the wall at the end of the room. It comes alive under his touch.

He scrolls through a series of photographs taken from the plane. They all show different angles of Tade Johnson. The trail of blood from his nose to his white shirt is a startling red.

He doesn't look dead. He looks like he could wake up at any moment. Charles swallows and frowns.
"He had flown to Cameroon that morning to attend a conference and he made the return flight that evening. The estimated time of death was 7pm which was sometime during the return flight. The autopsy will soon tell us the cause of death."

Yemi raises his hand.

"You don't have to raise your hand," says Charles. "You are not in school."