The Patriot

Samuel Cobby Grant

EPISODE 13

Ataa Adjoa was in the kitchen, preparing lunch. She cut the meat into large chunks for the groundnut soup she was making. The Omo Tuo was to come later. She found her mind constantly being occupied with thoughts of KF these days despite the fact that he was seeing David, who she was expecting for lunch. Even though he hadn’t said anything about where the affair was leading, she liked the fact that it took her mind off KF.

She hissed angrily as her mind drifted to him once again.

“Maybe it’s because I have been working in close proximity with him on this case,” she said to herself.

She cried as she nicked her finger with the sharp kitchen knife and blood oozed out of the wound.

“Damn you, Kofi. Damn you to hell,” she cried and rushed to the bathroom for a towel to wrap around the injured finger. After wrapping the white towel which soon got soaked with blood, she went into the living room holding up her hand to stem the flow of blood. It was the acrid smell of the burning pepper she had on the stove that reminded her that she had something on the gas stove.

Hastily, she got up and rushed into the kitchen only to be met with the burnt to blackness aluminium pan. She quickly put off the fire and decided not to go on with the cooking anymore. When she was returning the meat to the deep freezer, she accidentally stepped on the knife that has fallen on the floor and she fell desperately holding on to a shelf full of pans in an attempt to stand on her feet but she ended up dragging the shelves down with her, and had the pans cascading all over her, some hitting her all over her body. She saw when she managed to get back up that there was a listening device dangling close to the wall where the wooden shelf had been. She quickly dialled a shortcode on her phone that alerted Kofi Frimpong straight away that she was in distress.

He was there in five minutes having driven there furiously like a maniac. He went in holding a gun ready to viciously deal with any adversary.

She pointed out the device to him and he after examining it, went with her to the other rooms and discovered others there too.

“Let’s have our baths now,” he said and pulled her to the bathroom though she clearly wasn’t enthused. Nevertheless, he dragged her there, attended to the injured finger, opened all the taps and above the sounds of the running water, and spoke to her in a very low voice.

“The bugs are German-made using French technology. Let’s keep them in place to trick them.”

She said nothing but kept looking at him, shell shocked.

“We can even pass on some misinformations to them,” he said casually. He spoke to her in pidgin FantiGa known to only security operatives.

“You better clean up before David arrives,” he had said and kissed the neatly bandaged finger before leaving.

“How dare him,” she hissed, furious with him for the way he had been all casual around her.

“How can you talk about David with such nonchalance,” she miserably said, tears stinging her eyes.

When Kofi Frimpong stepped out into the fresh breeze, he was strung as tight as a violin. He knew without any shadow of a doubt that this was strongly connected to the massive campaign to weaken Ghana’s position as a powerful nation.

He then vowed to hasten the search for the Grand Papa, Issah Musah.

On getting home, he relayed through the complex communication line they had agreed to the President that it was time to implement the First Phase of “Operation Dragnet”.

The President received the message but hesitated. He wanted more time to give it enough thought before making the move as it involved some very powerful people in the world.

He sat in the office long after everyone had left.

He cast his mind on the Abena Dompey murder, the pressure to fire the Army Chief and his Chief Guard, the massive amounts of cash from dubious origins into the country and the biggest of them all, the abduction of Issah Musah.

“Are they all related?”

“Squadron Leader Kofi Frimpong certainly believes so.”

“But the timing could be wrong.”

“On the other hand, delaying could endanger the lives of a lot of Ghanaians.”

He was worried that Kofi Frimpong could have been influenced by personal vendetta other than by strong convictions.

He came to a decision to delay the implementation by six hours to find out where Kofi Frimpong had spent the last three hours.

“Maybe this could shed some light on my worries,” he mused.

He made the order in the morning.

He first went to the Situation Room, made a call to the colleague President at the other end and uttered just three words.

“Rope them in.”

He leaned back in his well-stuffed chair and placed his clasped hands behind his head. Even when he knew now that Kofi Frimpong had made the decision just after he had left the Secretary’s home where they had found a bug, he felt that he had to make the long-overdue move.

“This has gone on for far too long. It’s time to crack the whip,” he said to himself, his face hardening in the reflective lights of the Situation Room.

 THE NEXT DAY

Herr Tomas Ziglah, in his trademark black suit, lifted the champagne from the ice bucket and examined it casually. He chuckled softly. So softly that it sounded like the meow of a well-fed cat. He smiled again and popped the champagne. His four associates smiled too, with satisfaction and offered their flutes towards him to be served with the foamy drink.

They were celebrating the breakthrough of yet another successful business deal.

They, as well known business magnates had been trying for several years for a chance to mine the large deposits of uranium in Ghana but had been unsuccessful so far. Now they had just been informed of the successful takeover of a Nigerian firm that had a mining interest in Ghana. They were going to use the back door approach into Ghana. They had done this countless times in other countries and were confident of this succeeding too.

The only hitch though it wasn’t much of a hitch, was for them to go to Nigeria to sign the deal.

Even though they were going to Nigeria, their minds were on Ghana as the ultimate destination.

Herr Ziglah was still smiling long after his associates had left to prepare for the midnight trip. He was thinking about how he was going to squeeze them out of their shares. He raised his glass at his reflection at the bar in the empty room and said,

“Ghana, here I come,”

They met at the airport just after midnight. There was no sign of drowsiness on their faces. The chance to make more money was enough high for them.

The four businessmen joined Herr Ziglah in his private jet. Take off was smooth and they were expected to be in Nigeria by mid-morning.

They landed at the expected time of arrival and were ushered into a limousine by a Chauffeur and headed to Abuja but they never got to Abuja. Armed men waylaid them and locked them in a pressurized shipping container that had a ship waiting for it at the port to its destination in Ghana.

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