Chapter 6
Adanna moved slowly. She switched from her daytime attire into something dull and unremarkable: a faded jacket, dark trousers, and old sneakers. She switched off her phone and put the cassette tape into the inside pocket of her jacket. She took the rusted key Chidi had hidden and folded the small paper with Kene's name into her palm again, as if it could support her.
Garki smelled the way it always did at night: diesel, wet earth, the faint smoke of grilled meat. Street lamps create tiny rings of light on puddles. Men lounged by the roadside, watching the late taxis. Shops were closing.
It was simple to locate the workshop: it was a low building with a sagging zinc roof and the words "Ike's Mechanics" painted in peeling white paint.
She paused for a breath, then pushed the gate. A young man leaning on a wheelbarrow looked up and spat. "You wan go where?" he asked.
"Just passing through," she said. Her voice sounded too loud in the small yard. "I'm looking for someone staying at bed four."
The man blinked. "You dey the wrong time, madam. Bed four na where the boys sleep when they work at night."
"Do you know who sleeps in bed four now?" she asked. She kept her eyes steady on his.
He shrugged. "Maybe. If you get small money."
Adanna counted her cash. She handed him a note. He took it, then pointed to a side door and muttered, "Small gate behind. Quietest."
Inside, the workshop was a maze. Engines towered like metal beasts. The floor was covered in oil. A radio played a low-pitched tune somewhere at the back. Behind a pile of tyres was a sleeping mat, with three other mats pushed together in a corner. Bed four had a thin blanket tossed over it. The blanket smelled faintly of cigarette smoke and car oil.
She knelt and looked closer. There was a small blue thread woven into the corner of the blanket, the same shade as the blue envelope Chidi had told her about. She felt a small surge of hope and dread at once.
Pushing the blanket aside, she found a green metal box tucked beneath the mat. The box was old and dented. Chidi's key fit with a reluctant click. Inside, wrapped in oil-stained cloth, was a CD in a clear sleeve, a small worn photograph, and a folded scrap of paper.
She pulled the scrap out first. On it were neat letters:
"K. O. 17"
Below that someone had scratched a small symbol: a circle with three short vertical bars inside it. Despite the fact that it appeared to be a workshop stamp, she instinctively thought it was a sign rather than a maker's mark.
The photograph was the one from the email earlier, Kene standing with the senator beside the black SUV. The CD's label was handwritten: VOID_17.
Her throat closed. Project Void. 17. The symbol. The blue thread. Small things, but each one matched something on Chidi's tape. The pattern was tightening like a noose.
She slid the CD into the sleeve and wrapped the photograph back in cloth. She tucked everything into her bag, then froze. Soft, cautious footsteps came from the workshop's end. Someone was moving toward the corner where she knelt.
She should have left. She should have slipped out the way she came. Instead, a stupid part of her wanted answers now. She stayed.
A tall man stepped into the light. He wore a dark jacket and had oil on his hands. He narrowed his eyes at her face. "You lost?" he asked.
Adanna forced a casual smile. "I'm looking for a friend. A man named Kenechukwu Okafor. Bed four."
The man's face changed for a moment. The easy look disappeared. He moved in closer. "You no suppose dey here, madam."
The radio in the corner paused. Somewhere outside, a motorbike idled. The room felt small to Adanna. Then the man said, "You better go."
She stood up. Her legs felt awkward. "Is he here?"
He shook his head. "No." His voice was quiet and polite and hard. "If you keep pushing, you go get problem."
Adanna swallowed. The man moved his hand to the back pocket of his trousers like he was reaching for something. Her pulse jumped. Instinctively, she grabbed her bag.
"Hands where I can see them, lady." Another voice came from the door. A second man had come in. He was broad and older, with a scar across his cheek. He watched her with small dark eyes.
Adanna's mouth went dry. "I'm leaving."
"Not so fast." The older man smiled, but it was not friendly. "You journalists always stick your nose where it shouldn't go."
She took a step toward the gate. The young man from outside stood by the door now, blocking the way.
Her heart pounded. For a moment she thought of running. Instead, she remembered Chidi's warning and the tape's words: "Trust no one from the ministry". These men were ordinary mechanics, maybe hired watchers. However, she was aware that when the true power desired distance, they utilized regular males.
One of the men reached into his jacket. Adanna flinched.
Then a sound soft but precise and a shadow moved across the doorway. A figure dropped from above like a cat. He landed quickly and silently between her and the men. For a second she only saw the shape: tall, drenched, the hood of his jacket thrown back. And then he spoke.
"Leave her," he said. His voice was low, and something in it made the older man hesitate.
The new man stepped forward, and Adanna saw his face.
It was Kene.
He looked older, thinner, with a line of white at his temple. But the eyes she knew them like a stone she'd carried for years. They were the same eyes. Quick, tired, sharp.
"Kene," she whispered.
He didn't smile. He moved like someone who had already measured risk. "Ada," he said. He kept his voice low. "Go. Now."
The older man's hand moved faster. Kene's next move was faster. He grabbed the man's wrist and twisted. The man cursed and stumbled. The young man lunged at Kene.
Kene punched him hard enough to make him drop. It was quick and brutal and so clean it left Adanna shaking.
"Run!" Kene hissed. He pushed her toward the gate. His hand brushed hers, and for a second Adanna felt the old pull the warmth, the memory.
Outside, the rain had started again. Kene looked at her like he might say something else, something that would explain everything. Instead, he said, "Don't come here again. Not alone."
Her mouth opened. "Why are you here? Why the CD? Why the Void?" Her questions scrambled out of her.
Kene's jaw tightened. He looked back at the men two were on the ground, coughing. He wiped oil and blood from his knuckles. "It's bigger than you think," he said. "They called it Void. They hide behind names. They buy silence. If they wanted me dead, they would have finished it. I'm still fighting. But you..." He stepped closer, his voice dropping so low she had to lean in. "You being here is dangerous."
Adanna's throat burned. "You left me to die."
Kene's eyes flashed. For a second she saw regret, a crack in the mask. "I kept you alive by staying away," he said. "You must believe me."
She wanted to hate him. She wanted a hundred words that would hurt. Instead she found the small seed of a question: If he had the power to stay alive and fight, why did he not come back?
One of the men was beginning to stand behind Kene. After giving Adanna a quick glance, he grabbed her hand again and pulled. "We go now. And Ada when this is over, don't ask me for mercy."
They ran into the rain. The city blurred into lights and dark. For the first time since she found Chidi's tape, Adanna felt like she was moving toward something or running into something that looks like an answer.