On My Honour V
Sekondi Road
04:35 pm
“Did he find it?” Ato asked.
They were speeding along the Sekondi road, the turquoise blue waters of the sea in view. Minutes earlier, Ato had directed an officer of Vortex securities to the location of the drive. Viva adjusted her rearview mirror. “Yes, they’re en route to the hotel now. We’ll join them shortly.”
Ato nodded. He hadn’t been able to reach Kwabena Berko, but the editor-in-chief’s email to the office had been explicit: Heritage Newspaper was making headlines in the morning. Everyone was pulling an all-nighter. All that remained was the hard proof he had.
Ato allowed himself a respite from the rush of the day, looking forward to the chaos that would unfold. This was already the longest day of his life. Tomorrow was going to be even worse. But if it meant justice would get served, it’d all be worth it.
Viva glanced at the mirrors intermittently, her brow furrowing.
“What’s wrong?”
“We’re not being followed.”
Ato looked behind, counting five cars coming up. Nothing suspicious. Not that he could tell.
“Isn’t that good news?”
“It’s suspicious.”
She eased off the accelerator and the SUV slowed down. One after the other, the vehicles whizzed past them. Viva picked up speed again.
“Maybe you lost him.”
“I wasn’t trying to. They must be bad at this then.”
At Namase , apparently satisfied that they were in the clear, Viva took a turn around the enormous fish statue and headed back to Takoradi.
“You said you’ve known about this for months,” Ato said.
Viva tapped dainty fingers on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road.
‘Four years ago GPP executives paid my father a visit. They had a proposition: declare your support for our political campaign and reap a bountiful harvest when we win power. Weary of frolicking in the filth that is Ghanaian politics, my father declined. Unfortunately, he failed to comprehend the implied ramifications of turning down such a proposal. As you know, the GPP won the election, and within the space of two years, razed my father’s business to the ground.”
Ato didn’t need to be reminded. Mr. Asante had been arrested on charges of fraud that were sketchy at best. All offices of Sonic Express had been closed, buses grounded, and his assets frozen. Three months after his first court appearance, it was reported he had suffered a stroke in prison. A week later, the prolific businessman was dead. Alpha Group of Companies had promptly filled the vacuum created with ATS, a convoluted mess which had wrecked carnage on the roads since inception.
“Rahim came to see me in the beginning. He said he didn’t think my father was a criminal, and he wanted to hear his side of the story from me. At the time, it seemed a pointless pursuit, so I told him I wanted to stay out of it.”
She smiled. “He said, ‘everyone wants to stay out of it, and that’s how they get away with it.’ I decided he was right, so I got eyes and ears in ATS, focusing on the person at the center of it all.”
“Honourable Kenneth Acheampong.”
“He’s arrogant, reckless, and believes himself untouchable. It was only a matter of time before he let something slip.”
“The drive.”
Viva nodded. “It’s a record of discreet conversations, emails, memos. Only a few people have access. Like his son, manager. Harry. He’s always been opposed to the way his father run his business, but never did anything about it. He met up with Hussein at an old school reunion and let it slip about how his father orchestrated the take down. When Hussein enquired further, asked him to come forward, he denied it, insisting his father had nothing to hide. But all that changed last month.”
“What happened?”
“Remember the accident at Odumase? No survivors?”
“Yeah.”
“His wife was on the bus. He met up with Hussein and gave it to him. But Kenneth Acheampong found out what he had done. He told his father he’d met with Rahim, in order to protect his friend. Rash buffoon that he is, he sent henchmen after Rahim who ended up running him off the road. I think the board worried Rahim may have already shared the drive’s content with your office. They sent someone to threaten your boss. That’s probably the same person who followed you today.”
They pulled up to the entrance of Red Mango hotel and passed through security.
Ato’s phone rang. It was Kwabena Berko.
“Hello, sir.”
““Aikins, are you alright?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know. The police are here at Heritage, shutting down operations, ostensibly looking for you.”
“What?”
“You were right, and I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you before. Just do whatever is necessary to get that evidence out there. Do you understand?”
Ato rubbed a hand over his face. “Yes, sir.”
“Aikins.”
“Sir?”
“Be safe. I’ll see you soon.”
Ato followed Viva into the hotel. She’d been right about her suspicions. Kenneth Acheampong had changed strategy, going by official channels now. He’d probably cooked up a criminal charge, like he did with Mr. Asante. It didn’t matter. Whatever their plan was, they’d never find him in time.
***
In room 301 of Red Mango hotel, Dare sat on a stained rug, his back against the door. He contemplated his choices. He listened. To the silence. The low hum of the air conditioning. The insistent beating of his heart.
Footsteps in the hallway. Voices in the next room.
Dare opened his eyes. The journalist was here. He fit a black ski mask over his head, fixed a suppressor on his handgun, and set the timer on his watch. Then, he waited for the signal he’d been promised.
***
Viva unlocked a safe in the room and handed him the drive. Ato run a thumb over it’s keypad, recalling the code Hussein had given him, and what he had said about sharing the information on social media. With Heritage handicapped now, they couldn’t have the story out by morning.
He was going to have to do this another way.
“Thank you, Viva.”
She nodded. “Laptop’s over there. There are two men stationed downstairs. We have eyes on the CCTV for this floor. And we’ll have an officer in here with you. He’s on his way up right now.”
“Will you be here?”
“I’ll be monitoring what’s going on at your office. Your boss thinks the police might find us. If they do come here, I’ll hold them off for as long as I can. But yeah, I’ll be here.”
Ato nodded, recalling that only hours earlier, he’d written her off as a fearmongering saleswoman. “Thanks for saving my life, and, I’m sorry about your father. ”
Eva pursed her lips. “Just… make it count.”
The telephone rang and she answered.
“Hello…. That’s not possible… But we’re already inside… Maybe you should talk to your manager because we’re not switching rooms!”
Ato looked her way. He’d set up an email to major media houses with access to his cloud account. All that remained was getting the files in there.
“Fine.” Viva hang up. “I have to go downstairs as soon as…”
Someone knocked.
“He’s here.” Viva opened the door and a tall, wiry man in black walked in.
“Hey, boss.”
She folded her arms. “Where’s Prince?’
“Family emergency. His wife called at the last minute.”
Viva chewed on her lip. “Okay. You’ve been briefed?”
“Yes.”
“Great. This is Aikins. Aikins, Martin. They screwed up the reservation. I’ll be back in ten.”
“Sure.”
Ato turned as the man came up to him and proffered his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Martin.”
The man gripped his hand, shook once. “Call me Fala.”
***
“How’s it going?” Martin came up behind him.
“Great.”
“The Wi-fi is down.”
Ato pulled up the progress bar on his upload. Twenty-five percent. “That’s fine. I’m using my hotspot.”
“I see.” His large physique loomed over Ato. “I’ll just do a quick sweep of the perimeter.”
“Sure.” He played another video, zooming into an image of Kenneth Acheampong as Martin opened the door.
The lights went out.
Ato looked around as the humming of the air conditioning gave way to silence, expecting a backup generator to kick in.
Nothing.
He turned his phone’s torchlight on and propped against a ceramic vase. The door closed. Ato glanced at the progress bar again. Seventy percent more to go.
“Get up.”
He froze, reality dawning on on him in an instant.
Dare cocked the gun. “I won’t ask again.”
Ato put his hands up, doing as he’d been told.
“Turn around, slowly.”
Ato did, and found himself staring into the muzzle of a gun. He clenched his jaw. Where was Martin? Viva?
“Where is it?”
He swallowed. He was here to kill him. Or maybe he just wanted the drive. No, this guy hadn’t gone through all the trouble to just pick up the drive and go. Either way, he had to do something. Give Martin some time to get here from wherever he was.
The man was his height and size. He could do something, something that could go very wrong.
“Don’t make me ask again.”
Ato took a deep breath. He thought of Rahim and Mr. Asante. He thought of Viva, of people who lost to Kenneth Acheampongs every day.
“It’s here. I’ll give it to you.”
Through the blood and toil…
Ato Aikins turned to the table, grabbed the vase and hurled it with everything he had.
In the final moments of his life, Dare would think of how it all happened so fast.
As he reached on instinct for the object flying at him, the journalist slammed into him, sending them both to the ground. Hands clawed at his, at his gun. He fought to tighten his grip. The journalist clambered over him. Both men held on to it now, fingers searching for the trigger. The gun was between them now. Dare pushed, shoved at the muzzle aimed at his chest. His hands found a hold. Fingers slipped against each other.
One found the trigger.
***
Dark clouds hovered over the city, over the News crews gathered outside the high court. It was judgement day, and they awaited a defining verdict. It’d taken eighteen months, and everything in between, but they had been there every step of the way, through headlines that sent ripples of fury across the country, shocking arrests earlier encumbered by friends in high places, and a class action suit that had gutted ATS. All the court room theatrics and salacious revelations of the trial had brought them to this moment.
Kwabena Berko sat in his office, looking out the window, seeing nothing. His phone had been ringing all morning. He could have been out there today, joining the teeming young men and women gathered at the high court, T-shirts of matching. But he was tired. All the headlines and the court of appearances. Demonstrations across the country, journalists. Most of all, he was scared it would all be for nothing.
The door to his office opened.
“You’re late.”
He looked up at Viva Asante. She knew, of course. She’d been there today, everyday. He read her face, looking for a hint of what had happened. But he saw nothing besides the usual. That she relived the moment she run smack into Dare Johnson outside room 302, taking into custody the man whose testimony had been invaluable at the trial. He knew she wished she’d done things differently, known her team was compromised, maybe run faster when she heard the gunshots. In some ways, Kwabena Berko was grateful he wasn’t the one who found Ato in his last moments. But on the bad days, his imagination filled in the blanks and he blamed himself, as he should. That’s why he wouldn’t, couldn’t sit there in a court room, waiting to know if it was all for nothing.
He cleared his throat.
“Verdict?”
~
As soon as he walked in, the meeting room erupted into loud cheering. The staff at Heritage, joined in solidarity by their friends and colleagues, waved and pumped their fists. In each of their faces, Kwabena Berko got his answer. This was not just his victory, or that of Rahim and Ato’s families. This was theirs. They had fought the good fight. Yes, they’d paid a steep price, but they had won. And it was glorious.
Kwabena Berko took a stand behind the podium, placed a hand on his chest. The room grew quiet, and one after the other, they followed his lead. As he said those words that defined his very existence, his eyes clouding with tears, he saw his protégés, whole as they’d ever been, standing in the back, hands held high.
“I promise on my honour… ”
©2021 AMA POMAA
Photo by Oladimeji Odunsi on Unsplash
This has been tasking. Thanks again for sticking with me. Imma take a break from “Sons and Daughters” to focus on finishing my novel. Stay safe, guys.
