The Diplomat

Chapter Eight

Duncan was being held in a speedboat behind a rusty shack deep inside the slums of Makoko. The shooter had described the location to Carrie in specific details — providing the name of the speedboat, its colors, and the graffiti scribbled on the side of the shack, as well as the names of his accomplices. Considering the location and the circumstances, the insertion of a rescue team would be detected far in advance and the kidnappers would have plenty of time to move Duncan elsewhere within the shantytown. If they had not done so already.

Justin was reluctant to seek the assistance of local police, and after Kayo’s death, he was left with only Carrie on his side. They were tough, but not crazy. Even a stealthy infiltration would most likely result in the two of them being kidnapped, wounded, or killed. The odds were simply against them.

They pored over the files Nailah had e-mailed them, looking for another angle. There was a large collection of minutes from many meetings, briefing notes, project descriptions, planned activities, and a lot of background materials about CanadaOil and NNPC joint projects. The minutes from Duncan’s meetings with the executive directors of the NNPC showed he was trying to smooth over the relations between the two oil giants and forge a deal. The continuous investment, reaching billions of dollars, reflected well on the work of the government in securing new and enhanced markets for Canadian companies, and it gave CanadaOil a firm footing in the other energy markets in Africa. The bureaucrats, the lobbyists and the industry would all be well pleased with the results of a long-term deal. On the other hand, the investment was important for Nigerian officials, filling the state coffers and some politicians’ deep pockets with cash beyond their wildest dreams. But there was a small problem: the rebels.

In principle, the Nigerian government had reached a fragile cease-fire with the rebels. But on the ground, there were daily threats of kidnappings or killings, small-scale bombing of the pipeline or the wells, and a constant stream of irritants that made it all but impossible to have a normal sense of life and work in the Delta.

Both parties tried to pay off the rebels. It was a cut from their profits but they considered it the cost of doing business. They offered large sums of money to locals, strongmen in these tribal areas—“fixers”—to find solutions to their problems. Of course, this was all done under the guise of providing funding for schools and hospitals in the form of donations, building new roads, hiring local staff in consulting and security positions, and a host of other legitimate-looking business expenses to hide what were pure and simple bribes.

The strategy had worked in the past, but not this time. It seemed the amount did not matter. Someone seemed truly determined to break up any deals between CanadaOil and the NNPC.

“So what’s your theory?” Carrie asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her back resting against the headboard. “Duncan dumped his lover and she’s getting her revenge?”

“Yes, I suspected that much ever since I found out about Duncan’s weekend trips to Paris. And we both know hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

Carrie nodded. “Agreed. But I wouldn’t have kidnapped the prick. Probably shot him in the head and dropped him in the Seine.”

Her tone left him in doubt about whether she was serious or simply pulling his leg. Carrie must have noticed his confused face; she gave him a big smile. “I’m joking, Justin. Such scumbags cheating on their spouses already have their punishment.”

Justin stood up to stretch his legs. “We have the name of this Nigerian woman, Duncan’s alleged lover. Abeson Emodi.”

“The shooter wasn’t very helpful, and I don’t think he was withholding intel. All he said was her name and that she gave orders, but he had no idea how she fit within the big picture.”

“Her name is nowhere in these files. I’m going to send Abeson’s name to Nailah and see if she can search the internal databases. Maybe she’s someone who works for the NNPC. Duncan could have met her anywhere in Nigeria or in the world, but I have a hunch their relationship started off as professional before it became personal.”

“Talking from experience?” Carrie asked with a wry smile.

“I’ve read about it and I’ve seen it many times. Men spend more time at work than at home, around pretty, intelligent women, with whom they have strong professional ties. Over sixty percent of married men cheat with women they meet at work or in work-related situations,” Justin said thoughtfully.

He returned to his laptop and began to draft a note to Nailah.

Carrie said, “I’m going to make some tea. You want more coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.”

When she returned a couple of minutes later, Justin was reviewing one of the printouts. “I think we missed this the first time around,” he said. “These two exec directors, they were quite young, much younger than Duncan, and they were recently appointed to their positions.” He moved over to his laptop. “I’m going to ask Nailah to expand her search to cover the time period before these two men became directors and to include any former employees. Maybe Abeson was Duncan’s contact, his business partner, before these directors.”

“Good idea. And while you’re there, ask her if Abeson was in Paris during those dates when Duncan was enjoying his special weekend retreats.”

“Will do.”

Justin typed his e-mail while Carrie sat next to him. She cradled her teacup in her hands and took deep breaths, enjoying the strong aroma of her cinnamon black tea.

“How’s the gunman?” Justin asked when he finished and pushed the laptop to the side.

“Snoring like a pig, but still alive. The sedatives should keep him asleep for the rest of the day.”

“I wish the surgeon would have transported him to the hospital when he left, but it does make more sense to do that at night.”

“Yes, and another visit means another five grand.” Carrie took a small sip of her tea. “When are we calling McClain?”

“After we hear from Nailah. I want to give him some positive news. Kayo is dead; we know Duncan’s location, but it’s almost impossible to extract him if it’s just us. And there’s no time for McClain to put together a larger team.”

“So, this woman Abeson is our only lead?”

“Yes. It all depends on Nailah and her intel.”

They spent the next hour re-examining the files, looking for any further clues. Justin searched on the Internet for Abeson Emodi, but no one on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn or other social media and professional networks matched her profile. And then his phone rang.

“It’s Nailah,” he said.

“Speakerphone,” Carrie said.

“Hello, Nailah. Good news?”

“Hi, Justin. Yes, excellent news. Abeson Emodi was an executive director here until about five months ago, when she resigned for personal reasons.”

“Was she in charge of negotiations with CanadaOil?” Justin asked.

“No, not directly. But she attended some of the meetings,” Nailah replied.

“That explains why her name was not in Duncan’s schedule. She was a second fiddle,” said Carrie.

“Hi, who is this?” Nailah asked in a worried tone.

“Oh, it’s okay. Carrie, my partner with the service.”

“Nice to meet you,” Carrie said.

“Likewise,” Nailah said. “I was saying Ms. Emodi was in some of the meetings taking place in Nigeria and in Vienna. And she was in Paris on those particular dates you gave me.”

“Bingo,” said Justin. “Where did she stay in Paris?”

“Hmmm, let me see.” The sound of shuffling papers and tapping keys came over the line, then Nailah said, “She always stayed at Villa Mazarin, just for Saturdays.”

Carrie reached for the laptop and searched the location of Villa Mazarin on the Internet. Then she looked up directions to Tour d’Argent. “It’s a romantic fifteen-minute walk across the Seine.”

“Do you have her picture on file?” Justin asked.

“I do. I’ll e-mail you a copy right now. And Justin, it’s your lucky day. I’ve got her address on file as well as the emergency contact info.”

“Send it all over,” Justin said.

“Just did it.”

Carrie handed him the laptop and Justin impatiently clicked the refresh button on his browser. Finally the e-mail arrived, and it took a few more seconds for the attachment to download and for the image to open up on the screen.

They looked at the smiling face of a woman in her mid-twenties. Large black eyes, light skin color, a small, narrow nose, and thick red lips.

“That’s her,” Justin said. “Abeson is the woman who came to pick up the ransom. We’ve got her name, her picture, and her addresses. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Justin. What are you going to do now?”

“It’s better if you don’t know that. You’ve been a tremendous help. I’ll call you when everything is over.”

Nailah sighed. “All right, be careful. Goodbye, Justin.”

“Bye, Nailah.”

He hung up and looked at Carrie. She was already on her feet and was opening one of the closets, the one containing their weapons cache.