Less than two hours after the incident, the social media is abuzz with the news of the emir’s debacle, exaggerated beyond imagination. Worse, a video clip of the emir on the floor, the screaming Lebanese boy and the whole rescue operation by the palace guards and the soldiers goes viral on the social media. Reporters from the regular media immediately descend on the palace but the soldiers chase them away. Perhaps irked by the stout rebuff of the soldiers, the print media goes to town on the story with lurid headlines such as: “EMIR CAUGHT PANTS DOWN WITH LEBANESE BOY!”, “LEBANESE APPLE KNOCKS EMIR INTO COMA”, “EMIR SLUMPS AFTER TEN ROUNDS OF SEX!”, “ANGEL OF DEATH CALLS ON SEX-CRAZED EMIR!” The last headline is from the most investigative and credible newspaper in Nigeria, read by a cross section of Nigerians from the upper class and the middle class, It is only that paper that reports the fact that the emir received a call card depicting Azrael, the Angel of Death the morning before the incident, and that another such call card was left on his chest after he slumped. The paper also hints that the Lebanese boy could be the agent of a powerful cartel sent to deal with the powerful emir over a botched business deal. Not one newspaper links the incident to the Boko Haram or the kidnap of the Chibok girls in April of 2014. But someone made the connection, and that someone told another someone. With mounting apprehension, both decided to watch the unfolding drama keenly.

One of those who made the connection is a retired head of service from the middle-belt region of Nigeria, while the other is a business magnate from the North West. Two days after their conversation, the business magnate is in the Abuja headquarters of his vast business empire located in Maitama, Abuja, when a despatch rider comes to drop a parcel addressed to him personally. His secretary quickly brings it to him.

“What’s that?” he demands as his secretary enters his personal office.

“A parcel from the London office, Sir. It’s addressed to you personally, Sir.”

“Must be from James. Let me have it.”

The secretary gives him the parcel and goes out. The businessman has been negotiating a deal with a London oil concern that would fetch him millions of dollars. Just last week, his London manager had told him that he was expecting a breakthrough soon. And so with eager fingers, the business mogul tears open the parcel. Inside, he finds a curious thing, a large piece of pure white cotton wool, folded in two. When he unfolds the cotton wool, he finds nothing but a call card, the call card of the Angel of Death! Involuntarily, he screams at the top of his voice. His secretary rushes in.

“What’s wrong, Sir?”

“Tell my driver to bring out the car and meet me downstairs now. Hurry!”

The secretary runs out, while the business mogul takes his international passport from his drawer as well as his dollar-denominated master card. He puts both in his pocket and hurries out of the office, dropping the Azrael call card in his haste.

“Your car is waiting for you downstairs, Sir.”

“Okay. Now call Jack at the airport. Tell him to get the plane ready for a trip to London now. Tell him I’m already on my way to the airport!”

“Alright, Sir,” says the secretary reaching for the phone.

His boss rushes to the lift and once downstairs, he also rushes into the waiting limousine.

“Airport, Musa. Quick!” The powerful car takes off like a rocket and because of the light traffic on the roads they are soon out of the city and approaching the airport. Suddenly, the driver turns into a side-road and heads up a thickly wooded area about two kilometres from the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport.

“Menene, Musa?” shouts the business man in alarm. The driver ignores him and drives off the road into a nearby thicket. He stops abruptly. Unprepared, the business man is thrown forward and he hits his head on the back of the passenger seat. As usual, he has not used his seat belt.

“Are you crazy, Musa?” he shouts as he sits up.

“Going somewhere in a hurry, Alhaji?” asks the driver turning round and removing his cap. The business mogul opens his mouth in surprise. Confronting him is a black-faced stranger that he has never seen before.

“Where is Musa and who...who are you?”

“Azrael!”

Swiftly, the man who calls himself the Angel of Death grabs Alhaji by the throat and his practised finger quickly locates the vital artery and presses hard. Alhaji slumps at once. Azrael then brings out his syringe and needle and administers the same chemical he injected into the emir into the body of his latest victim. The latter slumps further on the back seat. After arranging the business mogul in a nice sleeping position on the back seat, the Angel of Death drives sedately into the ever-busy car pack of the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport, Abuja, and packs at a corner of the lot. He gets down, stretches and then casually goes for a walk to the taxi park. There he takes a cab back to Abuja city.

When Jack waits for one hour and does not see his boss, he calls him on his cell phone. The phone rings continuously but no one picks it up. After ten minutes of calling and getting the same result, he raises the alarm that his boss may have been abducted. The secretary calls the police and a man-hunt is mounted to rescue the businessman from his presumed abductors. But two hours later, he is found unconscious in his car at the airport. He is rushed to the hospital, but like the emir, he has become paralysed from the neck downwards and can no longer speak. As in the case of the emir, the Azrael call card is found pinned to his chest.

Again, the news somehow gets to the social media within thirty minutes of the disappearance and discovery of the unconscious businessman in his car at the airport car lot. This time, the call card of the Angel of Death receives copious mention in the media, fuelling the speculation that this is a contract/revenge incident. But the retired civil servant knows better. As soon as he hears the news, he makes a single phone call to a serving governor of a northern state and then disappears from the radar.

The governor is the tallest governor in the nation, standing six feet nine inches in his socks. Curiously, his feet are the direct opposite of his height. Contrary to normal expectations, he wears size six shoes as if he is a midget or a dwarf. That is why he cannot stand for long on his feet; he fears that an unusually strong gust of wind will topple him over. While in secondary school and the university, his colleagues made fun of him because of his “uncanny” physiology. But he makes up for his unusual body by his razor-sharp intelligence and sharper mouth. Rumour has it that he once abused a dead man so much that the corpse got up, gave him a dirty slap and then went back to being dead!

After he received the telephone call from his long-time friend, the governor’s only regret is that he is not in his State House which he knows to be impregnable. Nevertheless, a phone call to the Inspector General of Police ensures the immediate doubling of his security detail from thirty to sixty policemen, forty of them outside the gates of the guest house of his State liaison office in Abuja, ten at the gates and inside the gatehouse, ten patrolling the grounds within. They all carry AK-47 assault rifles. Around 11 pm, a loud explosion goes off some distance from the guest house. The policemen immediately swing into action and rush over to the flashpoint, ready to fire at the command of their superior officer. But shortly before they get there, another explosion goes off some distance away from the first one, and another goes off some distance from the spot where the second exploded. Utter pandemonium engulfs the vicinity, with the security detail within and outside the guest house running every which way in pursuit of the phantom attackers. In the midst of the confusion, a deputy commissioner of police in full uniform appears out of the blue. The policemen at the gates and within the grounds salute hurriedly. He says the Commissioner of Police in charge of the Federal Capital Territory, Abuja has sent him to find out what is happening and deliver a personal message to the governor. A telephone call to the main house admits him and he spends only a few minutes with the governor. He soon leaves before the confusion is finally over. An hour later, the governor’s personal aide raises the alarm that the governor has been shot dead. Utter commotion takes over the guest house as personal aides and security details struggle to get the comatose governor to the hospital. There it is confirmed that he is in coma and is put on life support. He regains consciousness the following day, and like the emir and the business mogul, he is paralysed from the neck downwards and cannot talk. The Azrael call card is also found pinned to his chest.