8. 21 P.M
A large rodent pokes its head through the metal bars of her cell before finally hopping in. Amara looks at the black rat with indignation. She pulled off her heels and shoos the rodent away.
She examines the plaster on the inside of her cell. It is so thick, made with concrete and there is no single crack on it.
Across from her, a haggard looking first lady is scraping off the mortar around the hinges of the metal bar. Distantly, she hears screaming as some of the inmates were being tortured.
“Damn Adams,” she cursed under her breath.
She is supposed to be on a rescue mission and here she was sitting in a dark and uncomfortable cell, doing nothing and awaiting a fate she wasn’t sure of yet.
She jerks up as she sees a soldier pass by. She moved to the cell’s metal bar and signaled him. This was her only chance.
“A cup of water, please!” she implored.
He shot her an angry look and walks away. Few minutes later, he arrives with an old rusty steel cup. He tries to fit it through the metal bars but he couldn’t. He curses and searches for the cell’s key in a huge bunch on his belt. He unlocks it and gives her the cup. A shocked expression appears on his face as she throws the water on his face and smashes the cup on his face. Before he could recover, she picks up her stiletto heeled shoe and bangs the heel on his head repeatedly. He slumps to the floor unconscious. She ransacks him and takes his pistol which had a silencer.
A co-warder had heard the commotion and is walking stealthily to the open cell, gun in hand. He peeps inside the cell; Amara who has been crouching at a corner smashes his face with the butt of a gun. He received another bang on his head and immediately lost consciousness. Amara drags his body to where his colleague’s body was, in a corner at the far end of the cell.
She changed over to his fatigues and took the heavy bunch of keys from the floor where it had fallen.
She stepped out of the cell; she walks a few inches before arriving at an adjoining cell. She sees the man who had stood in for the Pope, bent over his knees.
She checks his cell number: 21
As she began searching for it through the bunch of keys, glancing behind to ensure that she was alone, the noise of the rattling keys woke the Italian prisoner up. He stands up and walks to the metal barred door of the cell.
Amara threw the door open and the man just couldn’t help hugging her.
They sure made a big mistake by not handcuffing her; probably they thought she was harmless. That’s where they got it totally wrong.
She was surprised how they discovered that it was all a ruse; someone, an insider must have given them away.
Who would have ever thought that in her life, Amara would ever have a direct encounter with the Malibu? Not even in her wildest nightmares.
The activities of the Malibu had been nefarious in recent years, from carrying out assassinations, high profile kidnaps, plane hijacks, and drug dealings to bombing public places and at one time or the other, aiding ambitious politicians to achieve their malicious ambitions without asking any questions.
No one knew their location, or their leader for that matter. They had been a thorn in the flesh of various security agencies, and they seemed to have graduated to an international terrorist organization. If they pulled off this show with the Vatican, the Malibu would be the most feared mafia in Africa for taking down a whole country.
She always had a lucky star, and hopefully, it would shine today. She might get out of this in one piece after all.
“It’s alright Signoré, I don’t know how they found out but we need to make an escape. Can you handle this?” she asked shoving a gun at him.
“Of course yes! I was once a Swiss Guard before I was incarcerated,” he replied. Amara was surprised at his near-perfect English.
“Don’t make me regret this,”
I won’t ma’am. See, I got my own tattoo at the airport. Even if I wanted to, I can’t go far with this,” he lifts his sleeves to show a tattoo tracker similar to hers.
“So here is the plan. You change over to that uniform in the other cell. Once we are out of this underground, you go over to the west side of the compound’s cage fence. I found out there’s little security there. You can tackle the guards from a hideout. The gun’s got a silencer.”
“I can see that but his gun is not loaded,” a female voice said from behind. Amara and Porteliuz looked back instantly. She recognized her, it was the woman from the cell opposite hers.
“Becky Akinjide, nice to meet you,” she said, proffering her hand for a handshake through the metal bars.
Amara studied her; her untidy hair was roughly packed and tied up with a rubber band. Her face was filled with scars and she appeared dirty, but she spoke and walked so gracefully that Amara couldn’t help admiring her. She wondered if she could trust her.
“Amarachi Bradley, wait a minute. You are Akinjide as in the first lady?”
She nods smiling, “I’ve been here for a very long time, and have seen most of the place. I can help out, if you’ll let me out.”
“Yeah of course,” she opens her cell and they shake hands, “Now let’s get out of this hell hole.”