About the Book.
A blind thirteen-year-old girl has a series of visions that changes her life and her entire family. Raised by atheist parents, Sharon struggles with the pains of blindness and a troubled family until she finds redemption.

On the other side of town, a crime boss is about to be sentenced to life imprisonment without parole for his crimes. He unleashes his most effective assassin to eliminate critical witnesses in his case.

Shortly after Sharon’s sight is miraculously restored, she crosses paths with the ruthless assassin who is determined to kill her in a pulsating twist of events.

A Story of Crime, Corruption, Healing and Redemption.

CHAPTER ONE

Since he made a pact with the devil, as he liked to think of the deal, Aaron McCarthy had been unable to sleep for more than a few hours each night. Last night was no different. His tiny bed didn’t make it any easier.
He looked around his small enclosure nervously and for the first time in a long time, he was scared. The thought of what he was about to do troubled him a lot.
He reflected on the events of the past few weeks and his neck stiffened, sending a wave of tingling sensation down his body.
He had minded his business and kept his mouth shut until the whole talk about the deal started. There was no doubt in his heart that he was threading a dangerous path by agreeing to the deal.
Suddenly, Aaron was pulled out of his deep thoughts by a strong feeling that he was being watched.
He looked in the direction of the toilet and his eyes met with Tom’s. For a moment, they stared at each other. Tom gave him a conspiratorial smile.
“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty. It’s a spectacular day full of life.”
“Yeah, but not in here,” Aaron grumbled in response.
“Look on the brighter side, Aaron. Be positive for once. Makes it a lot easier when the time comes.”
“Time for what?” Aaron asked, perplexed.
“I saw you die in my dream last night and my dreams always come true.”
Aaron was horrified but tried unsuccessfully not to show it.
“Listen! There is no bright side here. I’m sharing a prison cell with some bozo who doesn’t like to keep his nose out of my business. How’s that for the brighter side?”
Tom ignored his pessimistic rants, preferring to hum an unfamiliar tune with a baritone voice as he went about his business in the loo.
Aaron laid in bed for a while thinking about the offer from the Department of State Security. The DSS had cut him a deal that looked like a five-star meal straight out of the devil’s kitchen. Accepting it was the last thing he wanted to do.
“But how the hell were they able to convince me to testify against Bruno Obeten in the first place?” he asked himself. On the surface, it looked good but something wasn’t right about the deal and he knew it in his guts.
They offered to exonerate him of all his crimes in exchange for his testimony in the prosecution of Bruno Obeten.
“You don’t have to be put in the witness box,” Pierce, his lawyer, had told him. “All you have to do is sit in front of a camera and tell your story.”
They also offered to help him disappear into the sunset with his dying wife through the witness protection program. Pierce had promised him that everything was going to be fine but his assurances fuelled Aaron’s scepticism rather than made him feel good.
He thought about his last moments with his wife before his incarceration three years ago and promised himself that he would do whatever it took to be with her during her final days. If it meant ratting out Bruno, then he was ready to do just that.
He missed his wife very much. They had not spoken in a long time because he found it hard to hear the pain of cancer in her voice. Listening to her frail voice on the phone was a type of cancer, killing him a million times over. He wanted desperately to be by her side, helping her fight on to the last moment.
The sound of stiff boots on a hard surface tore Aaron away from his deep thoughts. He glanced around suspiciously and found that Tom was back in the upper bunk.
Clack, clack, clack. The sound got louder until it stopped somewhere close to him. Then came a loud banging on the iron bars that almost caused him to jump out of his bed.
“Get up, McCarthy,” echoed the hoarse voice of officer Brown.
“Good morning to you too, officer. Hope you slept well,” retorted Aaron.
“Your lawyer’s here to see you.”
“I don’t have an appointment with my lawyer today. Tell whoever it is to get lost.”
“He doesn’t need an appointment to see you. Now move your ass.”
Aaron sat up reluctantly. He tried to get on his feet but fell back on the bed. Suddenly, he felt dizzy. Everything spun around at an alarming speed. He closed his eyes briefly to clear his head.
There was a horrible pain in the back of his head, almost like the migraine from a terrible hangover.
He braced himself and got up very slowly this time, a little surprised he could stand on his feet considering how weak he felt. He took a few steps to the door, standing face to face with the correctional officer on the other side of the bars of iron. He made a mental note to request a visit to the infirmary later in the day.
Officer Brown observed him suspiciously like one would a lab sample analysed through the lens of a microscope.
“What the hell is wrong with you, McCarthy?”
“I’m fine officer,” came the insincere reply.
“Open on seven,” officer Brown spoke loudly on his walkie.
The whizzy sound of the motor came alive as the iron bars rolled open. Aaron stepped into the passage with officer Brown following closely behind.
He walked laboriously, each step intensifying the pain in the back of his head. Again, he was hit by a shockwave of dizziness, this time more severe, accompanied by weakness of the joints. He took a few uneasy steps with a discordant gait and fell to the ground.
Officer Brown sprinted to his side as he spoke hurriedly on his walkie.
“Inmate down! I repeat, inmate down! I need a medic in cell block B.”
Aaron felt weirdly weak. His breathing was out of sync and laborious. He started to doze off. But right when he was about to close his eyes, he felt the officer’s hands pressing down on his huge chest in a desperate bid to keep his heart beating. He tried to look at officer Brown’s eyes but everything was blurry. He tried to speak but his lips felt so heavy they wouldn’t move.
Aaron McCarthy knew instinctively that he was a dead man. The realisation hit him hard. He had been beaten at his own game. He wondered how Bruno was able to get to him so fast before he got the chance to snitch on him.
With that realisation, his heart stopped beating. He blacked out, slipping into a deep sleep from which he will never wake.

Good job,keep it up!

Bennatalks:
Good job,keep it up!

Thanks.

CHAPTER TWO

The death of Aaron McCarthy reverberated within and outside the walls of the maximum-security wing of the Kuje Prison. There was a general feeling of sombreness in the air. The inmates were all in a melancholic mood. Most wondered when their day will come and how it was all going to end.
46.2 kilometres away, at the Three Arms Zone headquarters of the Department of State Security, it was a beehive of activities. The usually serene office at number 1 Maitama Avenue had today been rattled by the sudden demise of a key witness in the case against Bruno Obeten, an egregious crime boss who sat on the throne of a dark criminal empire.
Grant Monachi, the Director-General of the DSS, sat behind his large desk picking at his heavy moustache with his forefinger, something he usually did when he was worried. He had a 9 o’clock appointment with Chief Inspector Bassey Larrymore and his partner. Larrymore was supposed to brief him on the Obeten case.
He checked his watch for the millionth time and found to his displeasure that the meeting was still twenty minutes away. He thought to himself, “Time is running painfully slow today of all days.” Monachi shifted uneasily on his chair and continued the wait for the two detectives.
After what seemed like forever, the shrill buzz of the intercom startled Grant, bringing him back to the reality of his predicament. He hurriedly picked up the receiver.
“Yes!”
“Bassey Larrymore and Amami Bryce here to see you, sir,” said a delightful female voice on the other end of the line.
“Send them in.”
A few seconds later, a gentle knock on the door preceded the appearance of the two detectives.
“Good morning, sir,” echoed Bassey and Amami in unison.
“Good morning gentlemen.”
Monachi shook hands with the two men and asked them to take their seats facing him. There was no time for unnecessary banter. He went straight to the business of the day.
“Where are we on the Bruno Obeten case?”
“We just lost one of three key witnesses in the case this morning, Aaron McCarthy.”
Bassey spoke with a calm demeanour for a man given the unenviable task of putting away the most devious criminal in the country.
“What happened?”
“The details are still a bit sketchy but from what we’ve gathered so far, he collapsed outside his cell and died before a medic could get to him. One of the correctional officers was walking him to the visitor’s room when it happened.”
“Is it a coincidence that he died a day after Bruno is released on bail?” Monachi knew the answer to his question but asked anyway.
“I don’t think so. Bryce and I both agree it’s too much of a coincidence. We think Bruno got to him.”
“How’s that even possible? I thought the circle of people who knew about the deal was small,” Monachi said angrily.
“Yes indeed. But from what we know so far, there appears to be a leak from our end.”
“A leak!” Monachi found that hard to swallow.
“That’s the only explanation that makes sense,” Bassey added coyly.
“You mean there’s a mole within the DSS working for Bruno?”
“That’s what it looks like. Aaron McCarthy has served three years of his sentence without incident. In fact, the Warden of Kuje Prison described him as a model inmate. Then, a few weeks after we offer him a deal to testify against his old pal, he winds up dead.”
There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as the three men brooded on Bassey’s allegation.
Bassey continued. “There’s something else you should know. Bruno wasn’t supposed to make bail but the judge granted him bail on some flimsy health grounds. I think the judge may have been compromised.”
“Yes. I think so too,” said Monachi. “The Attorney-General’s office is looking into that as we speak.” His words were reassuring to both Bassey and Amami.
Amami spoke next.
“If there’s a mole in the Department, then we’ve got a serious problem on our hands and I suggest we move fast.”
Grant nodded for him to go on.
“We can still build a rock-solid case on the testimony of the remaining two witnesses but we need to move them to two of our safe houses rather than leave them where they are exposed. If Bruno could get to Aaron McCarthy in the most high-tech maximum-security prison in the country, the rest of the witnesses will be sitting ducks. If he knew about Aaron McCarthy, it is safe to assume he also knows about the other two witnesses.”
Grant seemed pleased with the idea. He nodded in approval.
“What do you two have in mind?”
“Suleman Ade is being held at Afokang Prison in Calabar. We plan on moving him to a safe house within Calabar where he will be more protected. Nathan Osas, the second witness, is being held at the National Intelligence Agency detention facility not far from here. He will be better off in one of our safe houses too. Their deals have both been signed by the president waiting to be delivered. With the pardon in place, they are both free to go but we’ll rather move them to the safe houses.”
Bassey spoke like a man in complete control and he enjoyed the opportunity to dazzle his boss. He wanted to say something else but was interrupted by Grant.
“But if we are talking about a mole in our ranks, would it not be better to let the NIA keep Nathan Osas?”
“I thought of that too but to be honest, after what happened this morning, I don’t trust the NIA agents any more than I trust our people. Moreover, this is our case and we need to place him under a twenty-four-hour watch by our people who can be trusted. I’ll personally vet all the agents that will be on guard duty at the safe houses.”
“How soon can we move them?”
“As soon as this meeting is over, I’ll set the ball rolling,” Bassey answered.
“In that case, I should let you two get back to your jobs. But before you go, I would like to let you know that I was at the Aso Rock Villa earlier this week and the president wants this case wrapped up as soon as possible. The president agreed to pardon three convicted criminals because I convinced him that to get the big fish, we need to cut those three fries loose. Now it’s down to two. He wants to keep his promise to the Nigerian people to end violent crimes, insurgency and banditry. He wants to make an example out of Bruno Obeten. My job is on the line here. Give me results.”
Amami wanted to say something but thought better.
Grant continued. “You’ll be reporting to me directly. Do whatever you have to and get this mess cleaned up.”
The meeting was over. Both detectives shook hands with Grant Monachi and left his office hurriedly.

The drive back to the Apo District office of the DSS was unnerving for the two agents. They drove in silence for most of the journey except for the few times officers in the field radioed in situation reports as they patrolled the city.
Bassey seemed a little perturbed. He needed to get back to the office fast to start the process of moving the two witnesses into the safe houses. He already had a plan in place.
Amami, on the other hand, didn’t seem particularly interested in getting to the office quick considering how slowly he drove. He meandered leisurely through city traffic, making sure to stop each time a traffic light turned red.
Bassey was getting more impatient. Each time a light turned red, his face turned redder. He was tempted to turn on the siren but thought otherwise and relaxed a little. Monachi’s last words had unhinged him and made him cagey.
The fact that whether Monachi continued as Director-General of the DSS or not depended on his case made him uncomfortable. Even worse, the Bruno case being a litmus test of the president’s capacity to keep his promise to Nigerians on security weighed heavily on him.
Bassey knew that if anything went wrong, many people were going to be impacted negatively. So much was at stake and he had to make sure that there were no more slip-ups like the one that got Aaron McCarthy killed.
As they drove through Area 11, past the traffic light at FCDA, Bassey turned on the radio. He changed the dial to Raypower FM and listened as Tuface Idibia’s African Queen played in the background, sending splinters of delightful tunes through the car speakers.
He thought about his wife and experienced a kind of momentary amnesia that got his mind away from the troubles of the day. He enjoyed a melodiously tranquil state for a while.
Then the music stopped abruptly, forcing Bassey to float out of his ephemeral slumber.
“We are sorry to interrupt this music with breaking news,” announced a luscious female voice on the radio.
The muscles in Amami’s arms twitched. He grabbed the steering wheel a little tighter and braced himself for whatever was coming next. Cop instincts, sharpened by years of criminal investigation work, gave him the uncanny ability to smell bad news from miles away. He looked at his partner and saw a hint of apprehension on his face.
The voice on the radio continued. “We just received the news of a twin bomb blast at a Maiduguri market in which twelve people have been confirmed dead. Our correspondent reports that men of the bomb disposal unit of the Nigerian Police Force and other emergency first responders are onsite to control the situation. It is not yet clear if the Islamic militant group, Boko Haram, is behind this attack as the jihadist group is yet to take responsibility for this latest bombing. More details to follow as events unfold.”
Bassey was all too familiar with such reports emanating from the northern parts of the country. He had served for a combined period of seven years in the DSS regional offices of the two northeastern states of Yobe and Borno. He had seen, firsthand, the devastation caused by this violent jihadist group. As he tried to make the connection between this news and his case, thoughts of Aisha flooded his mind.
A sharp pain tugged at his heart as distant memories filled his mind and with them came a wave of dark and unpleasant emotions. He could never come to terms with the way Aisha was cut off in her prime.
Aisha was a boisterous twelve-year-old girl with a pure heart and big dreams. She was a budding young girl who wanted to become a doctor someday to save lives. She was the smartest kid in his old neighbourhood in Maiduguri.
Aisha’s father was an illiterate farmer who loved his daughter deeply and did all within his means to give his daughter the best education he could afford.
When Bassey moved into an apartment at Idriss Aloma Street, Old GRA, as a young DSS officer, everyone was suspicious of the stranger in their midst. He, in turn, was content to stay out of their lives. No one knew what he did for a living. They only saw him go in and out of his apartment, sometimes at odd hours.
Because the neighbourhood was a purely conservative Muslim one, women warned their children, especially young girls to stay away from the very handsome southerner. They somehow managed to convince their children that he only meant trouble.
Bassey understood the nature of the society in which he dwelled and blended in perfectly. He was unmarried at the time but stayed away from the ladies. He did not feel the need to empty his gonads as often as he did during his school days at the Enugu State University of Science and Technology. Unlike his ESUT days, he lived a quiet and celibate life in Maiduguri. Quite uncharacteristic of him, he also stayed away from the young men who were too suspicious of him to get to know him.
Bassey was a very friendly fellow without friends in the alluring yet strangely reticent city of Maiduguri. He was a man trapped within the walls of his extroverted nature. With no one to indulge his effusive propensity, he lived his desolate days in Maiduguri perfunctorily.

When he met Aisha, it was a relief from his lonely life.
He had used up the last of his beverages in the morning and forgot to replace them on his way back from work. The next day, which was a public holiday, he wanted to prepare breakfast but there was nothing in his refrigerator. He decided to go to a small provision shop nearby to get what he needed and there he met Aisha.
She perched precariously on a small table by the cash counter when he walked in. Tall for her age with large, piercing, dark eyes and a complexion that made her look like a mermaid, she reminded Bassey of his little sister, Ima.
“Good morning, Mr?” She made a face as if they had met somewhere but she somehow couldn’t remember his name.
“Bassey,” he came to her rescue. “Good morning to you too.”
“What do you need, Mr Bassey?” She asked with confidence unusual for girls her age in the northern city of Maiduguri.
“Oh! Just a tin of milk, some cans of sardines and a crate of eggs.” He was intrigued by her politeness and the fluent way she spoke English. Most girls her age or younger only spoke their native Hausa Language but this girl was different. She spoke English with a mastery that evoked his admiration.
While Aisha attended to him, her mother walked in. Bassey introduced himself and got to find out that she taught English in one of the government secondary schools in their neighbourhood.
It all made perfect sense to Bassey now. He became one of their loyal customers from that day.
As time went on, he got to meet Aisha’s father and became very close to the family. For a conservative Muslim family, they were very receptive to him and he reciprocated their love with more love.
Soon enough, he became very popular with all the kids in the neighbourhood and not long afterwards, parents invited him into their homes and with each visit, he gained access into their hearts.
This marked the point at which the southerner, convicted by his neighbours of an unnamed crime he was yet to commit, became the darling of the entire neighbourhood.
Each evening, after the rigours of the day, the farmers around him welcomed Bassey from work with baskets full of fresh fruit and vegetables, making sure he had more food in his kitchen than he was able to eat in months. He sometimes had to beg them to stop bringing him food. For the first time in his life, Bassey felt loved and accepted.
The kind of love he received in Maiduguri gave him the hope of a better world. It caused him to believe in a world without limits in which everyone was accepted and loved unconditionally. He dreamed of a world where kids were protected from all hazards and young ones were encouraged to follow their dreams.
But that was not to be. That world only existed in his insipient utopian dreams.
In the real world, there were lots of evil people devouring and tearing apart the fabrics of morality. Monsters ruled with their fists of iron, stuffing out the tiniest embers of hope for a better future. He got to find out soon enough that too many bad things happened to good people in the real world.
One day, he came home to the most devastating news of his life. Aisha had been killed in a school shooting by the dreaded Boko Haram insurgents. She was shot in the head and died on the spot. That day, a part of him died with her.
After a protracted period of mourning and deep sorrow, Bassey picked up the pieces of his life. He chose to always do all within his power to root out evil from society. That was the point he chose to become a field agent. Because he wanted to make a difference by being the change he wanted to see in the world.
Otherwise, he would have been content with his desk job that entailed routing intelligence reports back and forth between the NIA, the DSS and the office of the National Security Adviser.
Bassey never fully recovered from the pain of Aisha’s death. His emotional state impacted his job negatively. After a series of high-profile blunders due to loss of concentration, his boss decided that Bassey needed a fresh start and transferred him to Abuja.
Now, after enjoying perfect peace with his beautiful wife, Amara, someone has resurrected the dry bones of the past. Shadowy demons are rearing up their ugly heads to torment his soul again.
The news of the Maiduguri bombing triggered a surge of emotions that Bassey thought were dead and buried. He hated the system for not protecting the weak and vulnerable of society. He loathed the political class for all the years they’d fed fat on the collective wealth of the people and for how they’d cheated and neglected the people they were meant to serve.
He needed to do something. He became even more determined to put people like Bruno away for life. People like him didn’t deserve to share the same society with the families of the countless innocents they had killed.

Amami pulled into a vacant parking lot, put the car in park and turned off the engine. Both men came out of the car and took the elevator to their offices on the fourth floor.
Bassey entered his office, shut himself in and started making the calls that will authorise the selected DSS agents to move the two high-profile witnesses to the selected safe houses.
It was now settled in his heart. He would put Bruno Obeten in a dark hole or die trying. Nothing will stop him. He owes that much to the memory of Aisha and other victims of violent crimes perpetrated by men like Bruno.