Samuel Cobby Grant
Due to the hardcore pieces of evidence in the documents retrieved from Herr Ziglah’s office, the two men who had been detained briefly by the Police for illegally tailing Otubea and Corporal Adu were picked up again. This time, in connection with the murder of Abena Dompey. Their flats, when searched, had pictures of her, her salon and a schematic plan of the neighbourhood in which she lived.
Their arrest had occurred in a very crowded area of the Shopping Hub popularly known as Makola. They were on their way to meet with their link man to the Veep when they found themselves compelled to change direction and go to the Police Headquarters, much against their will. They actually had no idea that they were being arrested. Neither did they know what got them to change directions. What really got them to change directions was the bug: a mechanical fly that settled on both of their heads to navigate and direct their minds to the Police. It was yet another masterpiece invention of the Ministry of Strategic Thinking.
It was only when the bugs were removed by the Police that they came to themselves and tried to escape but by that time, it was too late to do so. They were shocked and unable to face the reality of their arrests.
They were locked up only to meet the man they were going to meet already arrested. But it was highly impossible for them to have the planned meeting in the cells environment. They were processed for court on charge of murder, espionage and treason.
Kofi Frimpong was a man on a mission. He ordered twenty-four-hour surveillance to be placed on the man nicknamed ‘Akpanga’, whose name had popped up in the search for the missing Issah Musah, the Field Coordinator of the Germans. Though he might have diplomatic immunity, he nevertheless placed men and bugs on him and was even prepared to go to all lengths to ensure a satisfactory conclusion of the matter.
‘Akpanga’ was very mysterious and a cool customer. His briefings on his duties had been hammered into him even before he landed on the shores of the country so he had no reason to report to anyone or seek confirmation before completing the assignment. His exposure was due to Herr Ziglah’s meticulous nature of writing everything down.
Already, Operation ‘Hook the Fish’ had been carried out successfully. The next operation, which was the most important was to double-cross the nation Ghana and render it weak and powerless. He didn’t actually involve himself in any roughhouse operations. His was just to observe and make sure that every move worked to perfection. With his great ability to mould himself well in every environment, he found himself in, marked him as the Master spy. Known in some circles as ‘der Chamaleon’ (chameleon) but he had regretfully not counted on the abilities of the Kofi Frimpong, the most cunning counter-intelligence expert ever, whose analytical mind operates in a manner that baffles his peers. He finds out about most things even when they were not worthy of thought.
He, therefore, placed ‘Akpanga’ on high-level surveillance. He wanted to know when he visited the washroom when he made love to his woman and even the number of times he farted in a day.
Issah Musah was a dying man now. He knew it wasn’t going to be long before he died. The interrogation had really taken its toll on him and he now looked emaciated and disoriented. He wholeheartedly welcomed death with its sure-footed ability to mask all pains. But his captors had different ideas. They injected the truth serum into his veins and he told them of all the information they sought.
They got him to reveal all the names of all of Ghana’s agents and moles in Europe. The password codes of links to the database of Ghana’s intelligence outfit.
They also got from him the structural set-up of how the intelligence administration was run. They squeezed every detail out of him in his now weakened state.
Klaus Kinski smiled with satisfaction. He revelled in what he felt was a great victory. As earlier agreed with Pompidou and Blakeson, it was prudent for them to always meet on the Fischjager to discuss any information extracted from the Ghanaian, he summoned them.
“Let them come here and see what I have single-handedly achieved,” he said with a feeling of pomposity.
Already, the information gotten from Issah Musah was being worked on but he had found out that the Ghanaians were a step ahead in the game. All the names of Europe based Ghanaian agents were no longer in Europe. They had returned home to Ghana en masse. Even the moles were in Ghana cooling their feet. That was unbelievable as records showed that the people had actually been living in Europe but within a very short period they had all packed bags and baggage.
“No worries, what we really need is the information in their computers but not the men but it would have been nice to skin them alive,” he told them when they arrived. Though it was bad news for them, it was good news for Issah Musah as it delayed his planned killing. It had only been delayed at least until they had no further use of him.
Klaus Kinski, since the day he found out that the agents had slipped through his hands, had taken to spitting into Musah’s face every morning and with venom, especially on days he happened to be in a bad mood.
He really wanted to contact the ‘Chamaleon’ but he was afraid of blowing the cover of the man known to a few Ghanaians as Akpakye’
“I’m patient. He who laughs last laughs best.”
‘Akpakye’ kept to his usual routine. He went about his known duties with finesse and kept his eyes wide open. He always went about his missions with the premise that he could be under surveillance and left nothing to chance. He hardly had time for the woman in his life these days but in the murky life he lived, he knew she and others were expendable.
The men though highly impressed with the information gotten from Issah Musah were not happy that it came too late for the agents to be apprehended.
“I told you before to use the truth serum early,” the Frenchman said with contempt showing clearly on his face.
“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” Klaus said and glared at him.
“It’s OK. What are we going to do with the rest of the Intel?” Blakeson the Englishman asked trying to cool tempers.
“Well, I’d like both of you to review it and decide,” Klaus said, sounding magnanimous.
He gave them the transcripts of the wealth of information he had gotten from the Ghanaian and left with a contented grin on his face.
“Good. This is good,” Pompidou said with a glint in his eyes as he read the transcripts.
“I think the next step is to get into their computers and transfer the information therein into ours!” Blakeson said, eager to get done with the operation.
“Yes, we should do that! Klaus Kinski has done well,” Pompidou said effusively because he knew that wiping it out could irreversibly cripple Ghana’s economy and leap-frog theirs, though each of them had secret plans to outwit the others believing that it could enable them to have easy access to Ghana’s huge resources. There’s indeed no honour among thieves.
President Awuku had been very much occupied with making sure of getting logistics connected with the production of the Adwengo Vaccines and their worldwide distribution. It had passed through all the testing stages required by the stringent requirements of Ghana’s Food and Drugs Authority. As such, most Ghanaians had already been vaccinated to protect them from the Video Virus.
Plans were far advanced to help produce the vaccines in the US to enable the North and South Americans to get vaccinated.
What really occupied him was the ripple effects of info that seemed to suggest that Issah Musah might have succumbed to pressure and had begun to give out information. But he wasn’t all that bothered. It was actually expected with plans to mitigate its effectiveness, with a red herring that could make them wish they hadn’t stuck their fingers in Ghanaian fires.
“I hope they do exactly what they have set out to do,” he said with a smile that bode no good for them and went over the Squadron Leader’s plan once again.
“He’s a genius,” he mused, marvelling at the man’s capacity to come out with counter-moves of his own in every situation.
“We’ll use their greed and gullibility to destroy them,” he had told the President when they had last met.
The three unlikely friends were in a jubilant mood popping champagne to celebrate a war they hadn’t won yet with hugs and back-slapping.
They knew that the President of Ghana was going to lose face and resign, as a result, get his Vice President to take over as a figurehead. Though they professed to hate everything about Ghana, it was ironic that the champagne they popped was made in Ghana which they couldn’t do without if they wanted to enjoy life to the max.
Kofi Frimpong was at the M. O. S. T that very day. He knew that Ataa Adjoa was at the office away from David Muller and was going to be there throughout the day and night and that calmed him down immensely.
He was there in their computer room he knew with a certain degree of certainty that the Europeans were soon going to make their move. He was surrounded by very sophisticated computers that held a lot of sensitive data and anyone that tried to get into them would hit a firewall.
He, as well as the President, knew that it was showtime and they wanted to be on top of things in order not to be overtaken by events so he had been given rare access into the computer room by the President to coordinate matters.
He, as an experienced stakeout operative stared into empty space, neither looking at the time nor thinking about anything else apart from waiting for a sign from the computers. He was neither hurried nor bored nor tensed. He only felt that icy calmness as a result of being a veteran of such situations.
He waited it out with a large bowl of cupcakes and doughnuts by his side.
He hardly noticed when the clock chimed at 12:00. He just hummed a very distinctive melody as he popped pieces of cakes and doughnuts into his mouth. 6:00 pm went unnoticed. He only got up, stretched and picked a bottle of water from the fridge and sat back down behind the computers to continue with the waiting game. 12:00 midnight passed with no reaction from him. He just stretched out in the swivel chair with no sign of sleepiness in his eyes. He took a glance at the half a dozen empty water bottles and looked away.
It was at the unholy hour of 3:00 am when he saw the hue of the computer screen change to fiery red and some letters began to scroll at a fast rate down the screen.
It appeared as if someone was inputting passwords to gain access.
The computer was being hacked!. But what was being hacked was useless to the person or persons as the password to the real data was changed as soon as Issah Musah was abducted. The old password only now lead any user to a wrong file which was useless to anyone. In fact, it was malware that had the potential to disrupt and crash the recipient computers. He continued to stare at the screen with a wicked smile on his face.
When he saw that they were almost done, he typed a tracer; an advanced form of the relay technology that enabled him to pin down the location of the hackers. Three of which he already knew of. They were the computer strongrooms of Germany, France and England. A tracer of the 4th only revealed coordinates of its position. He stared hard, unbelievably and checked the location on the GPS monitor on the console and saw that it was in the Gulf of Guinea, a few nautical miles away. A close check revealed that it was in Ghana’s territorial waters.
“Could this be where Issah Musah is being kept?” he asked no one in particular, wonderingly.
He went to the Presidency and was ushered in immediately. He briefly updated the President.
“This means we have to implement the final phase of Operation Dragnet now?”
“I am afraid so,” he replied to the President and looked away.
The President waited for a second, intertwining his fingertips as if he was about to pray.
He picked up the handle of the black phone on the table.
“Get me Rear Admiral Amoah,” he said quietly and hung up.
Kofi Frimpong went to the home of Ataa Adjoa after his meeting with the President and rang the bell.
Ataa Adjoa who was in the kitchen called out to David Muller to see who was at the door.
David, glass in hand sauntered over to open the door and smiled.
Kofi Frimpong seeing that smirk on his face hit him with all the pent up fury he could muster and David, caught unawares, was flung back with such force that he crashed into Ataa Adjoa who had just emerged from the kitchen bearing a tray of fufu and aponkye nkrakra. They fell and landed on a glass-topped table getting it to break into tiny pieces.
Two quick steps got him to them and a hefty punch to the jaw of David, who was trying to get to his feet, hit his head to the tiled floor and passed out.
“Are you out of your mind? What have you done?” Ataa Adjoa screamed and tried to push him away from the inert David.
He parried away her hands and removed two handcuffs from his jeans pockets and secured David’s hands and feet with them.
This story is an AREWAH WRITING CONTEST 2022 entry. Remember to drop your comments and share the links widely.[insert-comment-form]
[stextbox id=”info” caption=”LIKE MY FACEBOOK PAGE“]
[stextbox id=”info” caption=”JOIN THE KLEVA CHATROOM“]
AREWAH WRITING CONTEST 2022