The Lagos Directive

Makx howled three times, a crisp alert cutting through the darkness.

Her signal. Three tangos in breach formation.

Ogun snapped into action, killed all light sources, and slipped into a ‘high ready’ tactical position. Muscle memory took over. He covered both ears, closed his eyes, and stilled his breath.

BOOM!!! The flash-bang detonated, white-hot light flooding the room.

The first intruder charged through, rifle raised. Close-quarter reflexes. Ogun let him pass, then emerged swiftly from the blindside, two precise shots to the spine. The man fell instantly.

The second followed, blind-firing toward the last muzzle flash. Too slow. Ogun had already rolled out of position and came up firing. One round to the neck, another through his left ear as the gun recoiled vertically. He dropped hard.

The third moved differently, methodical, calm. His sweep was textbook precision, careful and dangerous.

Makx launched silently from the darkness, striking hard against the man’s right knee, sending him off balance. He pivoted quickly, weapon snapping toward the threat.

Ogun blurred into motion, elbow slamming viciously into the intruder’s throat, silencing the impending scream. Without hesitation, Ogun ended it with a single, decisive round to the skull.

He moved fast, searched them. Same unmarked loadouts. Agency build. Military-grade comms. Not locals. Not amateurs. Division 9, or worse, a contracted echo team.

Falaye is really trying to erase the past, he thought.

Quickly, he gathered weapons, stripped ammunition, and moved methodically to locate their transport. He found it concealed five hundred yards away, a battered, army-green Peugeot 504. Empty, no tracker, no clues.

Returning to the site, he meticulously erased his presence. Gear collected, intel secured, Ogun stood briefly over the lifeless bodies. “Time to hunt,” he muttered, determination etched into his words.

Sunrise found Ogun behind the wheel of the Peugeot, heading toward Kaduna, the origin of the mysterious box. The catalyst to his reactivation.

He reached the old outpost just before sunset. The charred remains pulsing with old memories and echoes of past missions. The air smelled of rust and old smoke.

Makx froze suddenly, growling low, fur bristling.

From the shadows emerged a lone figure, unarmed and composed, waiting.

Ogun advanced cautiously, heartbeat measured. The stranger didn’t waver.

“He said you would come.”

“Where’s Hadji?” Ogun’s voice was sharp, edged with urgency.

“They took him. Hadji said if you ever returned, I must tell you everything.

Ogun scrutinized him, recognition dawning. “I know you. Chad op. Eight years back, a covert extraction. No official records.”

A nod of grim acknowledgment. “Yes. Hadji secretly brought me back into the fold two years ago. He uncovered Falaye’s dark plans. He said we would need you eventually.”

Ogun’s eyes narrowed. “Then talk.”

The man hesitated, voice heavy. “Hadji wouldn’t flip. Falaye’s men dragged him out alive, but he can’t hold forever.”

He looked at Ogun. “There’s something else. I heard the voice of a dead man. I heard Ekun.”

Ogun stiffened, only for a millisecond. “Impossible. I ended that bastard myself.”

“I know what I heard,” the man insisted quietly, as he reached into his shirt pocket.

“Hadji saved this for you. ”

Ogun stepped closer, reaching for the thumb-drive. “What did Hadji find?”

The man took a steadying breath. “Your sister, Ogun.”

“Efe is alive!”