Master of PuppetsInside the encrypted security bunker at the military headquarters, the audio recording from the SUV's backup microphone played through the premium speakers."...I put the tracker there myself so we can locate the cars if anything goes wrong! But since your mind dey shake like woman, look am! The tracker don die!"The audio cut off with the sound of static and the spark of ripped wires.Chief Solomon sat back in his leather chair, a slow, terrifyingly proud smile spreading across his face. He picked up his glass of whiskey and took a slow sip. Sitting opposite him was his personal assistant, the cold-faced Captain, who looked completely stunned."The boy is growing up fast," Chief Solomon chuckled, his voice full of deep satisfaction. "Just a few weeks ago, he was crying in a police station because of a phone video. Look at him now. Facing a den of mainland wolves, lying to their faces without a single stammer. He has my blood after all.""Sir," the Captain said, adjusting his spectacles. "The street boys have successfully moved the three SUVs into an abandoned sawmill at the Ebute-Metta axis. They believe they are completely off the grid. What is the next phase?"Chief Solomon's smile vanished, replaced by the cold, calculating look of a ruthless politician. He tapped his fingers on a fresh media brief."The next phase belongs to the public," Solomon said. "The opposition party is already holding emergency press conferences, claiming that unknown state thugs attacked their rally. Excellent. We will change the narrative before morning."He slid a document across the table to the Captain. "Contact our paid journalists and media houses immediately. Tell them to broadcast a breaking news alert: 'Illegal Terrorist Cell Backed by Foreign Opposition Discovered in Lagos Mainland'. We will publish photos of the three SUVs—which are officially registered to companies linked to the opposition party leader—and claim they were used to transport weapons to the stadium."The Captain's eyes widened as the sheer genius of the corruption sank in. "And what about your son, sir? He is still with them at the sawmill.""Let him stay there and keep them happy," Chief Solomon ordered coldly. "Buy them fried rice, give them more local gin, keep them intoxicated with the illusion of luxury. The elections are next week. Once the final votes are cast and my promotion to the top seat is signed by the President... I will order the military sweep. We will raid that sawmill, parade Sledge and his boys on national television as dangerous rebels, and lock them away forever. Adekunle will walk out as the military hero who infiltrated the camp."Meanwhile, at the abandoned sawmill in Ebute-Metta, the air was heavy with the smell of sawdust and local weed.The three black SUVs were parked under large tarpaulins, hidden from the night sky. Sledge and his top boys were sitting around a wooden crate, loudly celebrating their victory, drinking straight from spirit bottles.Adekunle sat on a stack of timber nearby, a bottle of beer in his hand. He was laughing along with them, slapping Sledge on the back, and acting like the ultimate street commander. But inside his mind, he was looking at their happy faces and counting down the days.He looked at Sledge, who was currently wearing a heavy gold chain he had bought with the operation money, shouting, "Chief pikin na our blood! Nobody fit separate us!"Adekunle swallowed his drink, a cold, numb feeling settling in his chest. He was blending in with them perfectly, but every laugh he shared with them was a nail in their coffins. The street boys thought they had found a brother in the military chief's son, but they were just acting out the final, tragic scenes of Chief Solomon's grand script.
