Back in Epe, Ogun returned to the stillness of his beach-side refuge. The salty breeze carried the illusion of peace, but the folder in his duffle-bag was a storm waiting to break. It had been 36 hours since the airstrip in Ilorin. Sanusi had slid that dossier across to him and then walked away. Ogun entered the house. He closed the door softly. He dropped the SD9 dossier on the worn center table like it would burn through the wood.
Makx stirred from her mat, watching him. Efe looked up from her laptop, sensing a shift.
“Is that from your meeting?” Her voice was careful, controlled.
Ogun nodded silently.
He brewed coffee, poured two mugs. One for himself, the other for her. He sat down, staring at the folder.
“You promised no more missions,” Efe said, barely above a whisper. “I still see Ipao in my dreams.”
“I know,” he replied heavily. “But this one’s for Hadji.”
She didn’t respond. Just watched as he opened the folder.
Inside: satellite images show convoys rerouted through militia-controlled zones. Surveillance logs are marked with timestamps at key locations. Wire transfers funnelling millions into shell NGOs registered in The Gambia. Partially redacted Ministry files. Every document hinted at collusion too wide to be coincidence. In the centre, a profile document marked CONFIDENTIAL: THE OBSIDIAN CIRCLE.
As Ogun flipped through the documents, Efe caught a name and went still.
“Wait,” she said, reaching urgently for the document. “Go back. Dr. Jatau Etim—I know that name.”
He turned to the page. Etim’s picture stared back: older now, eyes calculating.
“I worked on an agricultural project years ago in Abuja,” Efe said. “Etim was an advisor. But things never added up. Our project budgets kept shrinking while fake production contracts kept popping up. I asked questions, and the next day a warning showed up in my inbox.”
Ogun looked at her. “Can you map the connections?”
She nodded firmly. “I can try. If Etim’s involved, it means he’s not just skimming; he’s the main coordinator.
Hours passed. Ogun paced calmly while Efe mapped each tangled connection, tracing power through corruption’s web. Gradually, the Circle took shape:
- Chief Obiora Okagbue – A powerful oil and business tycoon. Manipulating energy crises and infrastructure sabotage to profit from inflated government contracts. His wealth buys political influence, shielding him from scrutiny.
- Dr. Jatau Etim – A respected policy expert. His consultancy role allows subtle but significant diversion of public and NGO funds into the Circle’s hands. He is trusted by officials at the highest levels.
- General Isa Dantata Isa (Ret.) – Former military strategist now commanding private militias disguised as peacekeepers. He orchestrates conflicts and security threats, embedding himself deeply into regional politics.
- Unnamed Diplomatic Liaison (Codename: GLASS) – An influential diplomat who controls international narratives. Offering diplomatic immunity and strategic silence. This shields the Circle’s diasporic operations from external interference.
- The Broker – An elusive financial mastermind. They manage vast laundering networks through fin-tech operations across Africa. This ensures billions in illicit capital flow undetected across borders.
Their scheme wasn’t mere corruption; it was calculated chaos:
Trigger crises, leverage desperation, sell temporary solutions, then rebuild under inflated budgets funded by global donors.
The Circle wasn’t just profiting from suffering, they were manufacturing it.
“This isn’t just a cartel, Ogun,” Efe said, tension coiled in every syllable. “It’s a machine that uses crisis as its business model.”
She worked with grim intensity. Every keystroke was another thread in the tapestry of deceit. The reason Falaye had abducted her was starkly clear.
Now, with her inside knowledge, she could expose the full design.
Ogun stared out the window, ocean mist turning the horizon to ghostly gray. “How do we dismantle an empire built of shadows?” Efe murmured, exhaustion mingled with anger.
“You don’t topple it,” Ogun replied firmly. “You hollow it out, from within.”
He turned to face her, eyes burning with determination. “Exposure alone won’t work. They’ll vanish or retaliate. But internal distrust, that we can weaponize. Turn their own paranoia inward.”
Efe met his gaze, understanding igniting her expression. “Make loyalty their greatest weakness.”
Ogun nodded. “Exactly. Force fractures. Undermine their confidence. Plant suspicion. When they’re busy watching each other, they’ll stop watching out for the likes of us.”
Efe moved to the wall, pinning the last red thread between Etim’s photo and the financial trails. “Every move we make will cause ripples,” she warned. “Friends become targets, innocents become collateral.”
“And if we succeed?” Ogun pressed, voice low but fierce.
“The rot becomes undeniable,” she breathed. “They can’t hide when trust dissipates.”
Ogun stepped close, voice hardened. “This isn’t revenge, Efe. It’s a precise surgical rupture. When it tears open, even they won’t know how to close it.”
Silence settled between them, charged with purpose and danger. The Obsidian Circle wasn’t just an enemy, they were a system, designed to survive all threats.
But Ogun had faced impossible odds before.
His gaze lingered on the wall for a moment and then he tapped the dossier with finality. “We’re not just going after a cabal, we’re destabilizing a system forged in blood, deception, and control. I want to burn every piece of it.”
Without another word, he turned to the door. “We go through Etim.”
The Lagos Directive 
Leave a comment