Q The drive from Ikoyi to Oshodi-Isolo was a blur of flashing blue and red lights.
The police convoy, a formidable line of black SUVs and vans, cut through the relentless Lagos traffic with sirens wailing, pushing aside cars and motorbikes as if they were nothing more than obstacles.
Anwana and Tade, squeezed into the backseat of the lead vehicle, watched the city rush by, a frantic mosaic of street vendors, crowded buses, and worried faces.
The 50-minute drive felt like an eternity. The hope that had flickered in Anwana's heart was a fragile, burning ember, clinging to the promise of the commissioner's words.
"We are close, sir," the commissioner's voice rumbled from the front seat.
"This is it."
The convoy turned off a main road and navigated a maze of narrow, winding streets, the sirens finally silenced to avoid alerting their target.
They came to a stop in a small, deserted alleyway, a forgotten corner of the bustling city.
The air was thick with the smell of refuse and stale water.
The building was a decrepit, two-story structure, its windows boarded up and its walls covered in grime. It looked abandoned, a perfect place to hide a child.
The police commissioner, a man of quiet authority, gave a series of rapid hand signals.
His men, a heavily armed and organized unit, fanned out, their movements silent and precise.
They surrounded the building, blocking off all possible escape routes.
"Tade, stay here," the commissioner commanded.
"This is my operation. We go in fast and we go in hard."
Tade, his hands clenched into fists, shook his head.
"No. He's my son. I'm going in."
Anwana, gripping his arm tightly, her eyes pleading, said,
"Please, Tade, no. Let them do their job. Don't risk it."
But Tade's mind was made up. He looked at her, his face a mask of grim determination.
"I can't just sit here, Anwana. I have to be the one to get him."
He stepped out of the car, his gaze fixed on the building. He pulled out his phone and quickly sent a text message to his mother.
"We're here. At the location. Police are preparing to go in. Wish us luck."
***
Inside the abandoned building, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Mr. Bankole sat in a grimy, rickety chair, staring at the small, frightened boy in the corner.
Victor, dressed in a faded shirt and shorts, was curled up on a dusty floor, his face tear-streaked and his body shaking.
He was just a little boy, no more than three, but his eyes, wide with fear, held a deep, painful understanding of his predicament.
"Don't worry, my little hero," a voice said, a chilling, distorted whisper from a man standing nearby.
"It'll all be over soon."
"Father," one of the thugs, a burly man with a scar on his face, said, his voice laced with a tremor of fear.
"Is this really what you want? He's just a child."
"Silence!" Mr. Bankole's voice was a low growl.
"He is not a child; he is a pawn. He is the first step in the ultimate destruction of Tade Adebanjo."
Suddenly, the silence was shattered by a deafening crash as the front door was breached.
The sound of running feet and muffled shouts echoed through the building.
Gunshots rang out, a violent and terrifying sound that made the thugs jump.
The commissioner's team was here.
"He's here!" one of the thugs screamed, his voice filled with panic. "We need to go!"
"No!" Mr. Bankole roared, his face a mask of rage. "Don't you dare touch that boy!"
He grabbed a gun, his hands shaking with a furious determination.
He was ready to kill Victor himself, to make Tade suffer the ultimate loss.
He was a man of his word, and he would not fail.
Another flurry of gunshots rang out, closer this time, and the thugs, their loyalty to money outweighing their loyalty to their boss, grabbed Victor, their hands rough on his small body.
The boy screamed, a small, high-pitched sound of terror that tore through Anwana's heart.
"What was that?!" Anwana screamed, her eyes wide with terror. The gunshots had been too close for comfort.
"It's just the police," Tade said, but his voice was tight with fear.
He couldn't shake the image of Victor, a terrified look in his eyes, calling for his mom.
He had to do something.
Tade pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over his mother's contact. He needed her now more than ever.
The line connected, and a moment later, Remi's voice, thick with worry, came through the speaker.
"Tade! What's happening? Did they find him?"
"Mum, we're at the location. They've found the hideout, but something's wrong. I heard gunshots," he said, his voice raw with fear.
"They're trying to move him."
Back in the abandoned building, a single shot rang out from within the building.
The thugs, desperate to escape, pushed past the commissioner's team and sprinted out the back door, carrying the boy with them. They were gone.
The building was empty.
Tade and Anwana, watching from the outside, saw their hopes crushed in an instant.
"No!" Anwana screamed, a desolate wail that tore through the night.
"No! My baby!" She ran toward the building, but Tade held her back, his body a trembling wall of fear and despair.
"Don't," he said, his voice a broken whisper.
"They're gone."
The commissioner's team emerged from the building, their faces grim. "They got away, sir.
We're on it," one of them said, but Tade didn't hear him.
He was a man of power, but in this mome
nt, he was nothing more than a broken father.
The war had just begun, and the other side was playing for keeps.