Check out THE BLACK BOOK's trailer now on Youtube. On sale in Amazon but not yet listed.
The link is

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mx1Utp_zGV4
What do y'all think?

@favouredjb&Osgee,Thanks.The next update coming up next week Monday.I wish this could make one of your favorites  and compete with many.Is it?

Good story. Have always said we have good nigerian authors but many are too traditional and blind themselves to many good stories relating to our now reality (a story like yours). Well done and good luck.

Agent Rowland and his colleagues ducked and took to cover; that was an attack to stop them from getting to the meanings of the content. It was dawned on them that the whole nation was in danger; probably the terrorist or whoever they were, were planning attack on the nation.

They fired back to safety. Akuegbe in his last gasp of death realized this too and mustered up all the energy left in him to inform ‘‘I duplicated the project from a friend I didn’t do the research…’’His voice receded. Agent Rowland drew him to a corner while he was firing with the other hand, he needed more information from him so he held him up asking “What is his name…name, name!”Akuegbe was dead he couldn’t say a word any longer.


         Putting all his prowess and aptness into display Agent Rowland and his colleagues were able to escape. Throughout the fire engagement at the apartment they did not catch a glimpse of who the attackers were but they knew the enemies were trained snipers.

Agent Rowland knew he had to get back to the Professor for more information to help him unravel the mystery decoded in a language someone was preventing him from getting to its meanings.

The professor was in his room listening to news on TTV station.


It was Mr. President’s health on the news again, fourteen months after he mounted the Presidential seat; the news was as hot as it was today. The news then was…

‘‘Mr. President is dead!’’
And as if to confirm its reality, for almost a week, nothing was heard from Mr. President. The little that was said was through Mrs. Joke the President’s Spokes woman…

‘‘Mr. President is in good shape, he is in Geneva on medical routine check’’ that was the response she mustered up courage to tell the public.

All rumours and fears were allayed when Mr. President came up on air and addressed the nation, he said ‘‘I’m a human being as everyone of you who eats, drinks, falls sick and sleeps. And once I fall sick I take medicine to get me bounce back on my feet. And whoever has this to say that my being sick makes me unworthy for the seat should come up and take the seat only and if only he never falls sick in his life. So to all opposition parties; let’s put our personal grievances aside and join hands together irrespective of our ideas and policies in piloting the affairs of the country towards achieving her goal. The country is greater than a person, party or any other interest that is against the national interest.

The national interest shall be the interest of us all. Challenge this tenure in a constructive manner with a view to spurring us to deliver, not to sabotage the effort of Federal Government. You do not harm the same people whom you are soliciting for their votes in order to protect them in your own tenure. It is political immaturity that will always drag the country back. We are out to deliver be in good health or in bad health, what matters is the country being in good health’’

Since then the news of his health that had been tensing the atmosphere had subdued because the public had been divided in their opinions. Some believed it was the opposition party that was making a mountain out of a molehill about the President’s health while some believed that the President was truly unfit in his state of health to pilot the affairs of the nascent democracy. But today the news was on again as never before.


         ‘‘Mr. President would tender his resignation letter to the nation on air with an assertion that he is no longer healthy to rule the country’’ That was the news humming around the street but on the TTV station Mrs. Joke the spokes Woman to the President appeared disavowing the news.


The Prof. was listening to the news with keen interest when some guys entered into his apartment. He was startled, seeing them with long rifles. He knew they came for his life. He wanted to shout but one of the guys shushed him, pointing a gun to his head. He hit him hard on the head with the butt of the gun and roared at the Professor.
“Sit down!” and he quietly obeyed, shivering. He was thinking about a research he was conducting which he had not finished, if he died now that would be a great loss. So he begged.


“Please come back for my life another time. Let me finish my research first…in two to three months, I should be able to round off.”He wiped off the blood tricking down from his head with his palm.
“Shut up!”The guy yelled at him but he was obstinate, needed to convince them the importance of the research.
“You see, language is said to be found in human community alone, and that man is endowed with Language Acquisition Devise according to Chomsky but here is a breakthrough in my research to extend Language from human community to the animals. With my research animal could speak like you and I do…In my Laboratory I transplanted a portion of the left hemisphere where Language is localized using…”


“I said shut up!”The guy cocked the weapon and was moving his finger closer to the trigger.
A guy who appeared to be their superior seemed to see reasoning to what benefit they could turn the professor’s research to if they allowed him to finish his work. He picked up a phone and informed his boss who had sent them the message. He was speaking a strange language.


The Professor was somehow shocked again, that was the same Language Agent Rowland was asking him about, that was the same language that got missing in the school archives. Could they have been the one that stole it and learnt it as a language to be used for their nefarious activities?

The guy flip-closed the phone having finished, he asked the other guys to put away the gun from the Prof. He then walked towards him and spoke. “Tell me more about your research”

Gud work man,more knownledge to u and i must commend u for the twist is wonderful,keep it up

I think you have a lot of talent and determination to be able to right a novel. It depicts you character in good light but I have some things to say about your writing that others have ignored and I'm sure you want to get better.
I think you're in too much of a hurry with you story. The excerpt I pasted has a lot of things wrong with it. In one sweeping paragraph down the line while I was reading, Williams had some surveillance of his apartment, suddenly his door was kicked down and too mehe received them rather well- how instinctive of him and how more work conscious could one be to be talking about being late to work after your door was kicked in? The conversations were funny.
Using 'he said in a galling tone'. Galling? Does that really fit in. You must always connect with the common man when writing. Try to keep it simple, choose your words carefully. Another example is the use of 'weltering' towards the end.
All in all, good attempt but remember, the initial writings are not always the best. Re-write, edit over and over again, and develop you plot gradually and carefully. Ingrain mystery in your work, be patient, you will find that your rhythm, your signature.
All the best, cheers, we all wrote worse

thiscounts:

       ‘‘Sir, could you help us with the name of the student, his school registration number, passport photograph and address if there is any?’’He courtly demanded.


        ‘‘sure…You got a pen?’’The Prof. focused on the paper on his desk ready to read out.
       Agent Rowland replied affirmatively and the Prof. dictated ‘‘Williams Akuegbe, with registration number 21789998  admitted in 1992 as a student of History and International relations. He lives in no 38 Ekundayo street shotunde Sogal. You will get the passport in fifteen minutes time.  Could that help in your investigation?, and if there is any more enquiry you are always welcome.’’ He gave a smug expression.


       ‘‘Sir…the name of the clan and the village or the contact of Mr.Igbinewaka’’ sounding Oliver Twist.
       ‘‘Oh! No. To be candid the contact of the man was not included in the written introduction, it must be in the tape.’ ’The Prof. shook his head pragmatically.


        ‘‘I’m grateful Prof. I will get in contact with you as soon as there is any other development. Thanks’’ Agent Rowland ended the conversation.


From the conversation he had with the Professor, many questions started sprouting in his head, he began to process intelligence from the raw information and arrived at a whole gamut of what the language could be used for within intelligence purview. To get to the root of the mystery he called on the DG of National Identity Management Commission to get the current address and identity of Williams Akuegbe who from all indications was no longer living in the address that was given by the Professor. From the database of the Commission, his new identity and address were traced.


       On that fateful evening after a long surveillance mounted on Akuegbe, Agent Rowland finally decided to bash down the door to his apartment; Akuegbe was about to go to work he was working with the Ministry of Defense. He was frightened at seeing the rude way in which Agent Richard and his colleagues got in, he wanted to scream them out but Agent Richard immediately flashed his I.D and ordered him to seat.


     ‘‘I’m on my way to work…I believe you guys won’t take much of my time’’ He asked in a galling tone.
     ‘‘Sure…last year as a student of History at SOGAL State University you conducted a documentary on  Etuku language.’’ Agent Rowland engaged him with ‘ We know it All Technique’ and it worked like magic.


     ‘‘You are right. And what does SSS have to do with it?’’He was convinced they knew him all.
    ‘‘Have you in any way posted it on the net or gave it out to anyone’’ Agent Rowland applied File and Dossier Technique; he showed him a web printed page of the language.


Agent Rowland knew he would be of help if he could tell them the truth, he was eager to get the information from him on time because if more time were wasted, he might not get to the root of the mystery. He handed over the web printed page to Akuegbe to decipher the content ‘‘Can you read this?’’

   
       Akuegbe collected it looking at the printed page with confusion, he was about to read the words out before a bullet from a sniper through the window hit him at the forehead…he fell down weltering in blood and pains.

@dumodust,Please go through your post before other readers would do because I believe they might not consider you as a good critic.Some might say, "Teacher no teach me nonsense!" Your single post serves as a boomerange.

Please highlight those areas of my work that make you jump to conclusion that 'you all write worse '.

I wouldnt justify my mistakes if there is any, First draft you know.

I didn't say I was a good critic, I'm not even one. You wanted opinions, what people think right? Well, I just picked out a few places as examples of what I meant and sorry I choose this excerpt-you've posted a lot and I couldn't go through all.I'm not good with quoting line numbers and all that but it is your work and you should know it like the back of your hand, I was just pointing out what u should watch out for.
I found out that I couldn't see my mistakes in my own work and That i got better when I considered other people's suggestions without bias from my mind. No one knows it all, take it or leave it.
Scenarios matter, the reader wants it real life, he wants to believe that if u for example kick a guys door down with your gun in your hand, he'll at least run and get caught. At the moment william's house was being invaded, he was most bothered about going late to work.
Since it's your first draft, I feel you should read it again and make corrections before posting it up and plunging ahead like it doesn't matter. You want us to judge you at you best and mistakes are bound to exist in a first draft
I said I wrote worse than you, so don't quote me out of context, and I'm not teaching anything, I'm not sure i'm even better than you. Peace bro, relax and reconsider what I wrote.

@dumodust,I've learnt alot about people on this Forum,and as a student of Language I know when some  are being satirical or better still being a fault finder.I would have appreciated your post better if you were able to point out those mistakes.If u had truely and throughly gone through my work you would appreciate my work better.I believe u just went through a post and decided to pass comment not minding how u used your words.

The post you commented on about Williams Akuegbe,I didnt say he installed a surveillance gadget in his house rather a surveillance was mounted on him.The door to his house was bashed down, you have problem with his reaction, to u he should have run away.
The question is the characterisation u never know who the character is and how he reacts to challenges, dont let me delve much ito Literature.
Didnt I say that he was startled?
You want him to be on his heels, when the SSS Operatives had immediately showed him their ID?

He shouldnt have told them he was on his way to work?You have problem with the galling tone which I used pragmatically to add meaninings to what he said for you to know that what he said was more than just semantic meaning of his speech.

Every writer has his style of writing if you have done Literary criticism of my work well you should have known the type of writer Iam that I do not take pleasure in wasting words,I do not give u vivid description of any event or setting if it does not bear any relevance with where Iam heading.

I used adverb or single word that conveys much about what I have to say than wasting the whole page explaining things,galling tone, weltering in blood are few of those words.That you havent come across those words doesnt mean that others havent.Afterall Literature is an art,it entails a loft of crafting,moulding,words that are more pregnant than day to day use of language.
I know popular literature and I listen to street language,I could have written about Themes that could draw traffic to this thread,I could have been using my words in different ways but I chose not because Iam dealing with art,it involes alot of thinking,alot of maturity to handle words not to spill from my hands.I'm not just writing I'm crafting,structuring, dealing with a serious subject at hand.I think you should appreciate me for that,if you know what a commited writer does with his writings.
Thanks.

STORY CONTINUES,

“As at present in my project I could pass instruction to a dog to carry out, and she could parrot whatever she heard me speak, not only that she could speak but repeat the exact words back within one hour. The next stage I’m working on is to give her a man-like brain that could make her generate language of her own within the structure of the language being taught to her. I made use of the hormone in the dog that made her back constantly, and changed the underlying structure to the words I spoke to her and within that hour if she was to bark she would be bark-speaking the words. Can’t you see how fantastic that is?”


“Yeah, fantastic! This surely has given you more years to live but first you’ve got to take us to your laboratory.”He signaled others and they covered the Prof. with hood and bundled him out into the car and drove away.

They were just stepping out of the room when The Professor’s phone began to ring, it was Agent Rowland calling to get more information about the Language from him. But unfortunately for the Prof. the phone was on the table, not with him. One of the guys went back, he picked the phone and pressed the answering button. He was not intending to answer the call but to pass message across in a different manner, so he squeezed the trigger of the gun in his hand and shot at the phone. The sound echoed hard at the other end of the call, Agent Rowland staggered. He knew The Prof. was in problem and might have been shot.

When The Prof. was being driven away, he overheard their discussion, the leader of the gang was telling them why he had to bring the Prof. to their custody. He informed them of what great benefit his research could be to their terrorist activities.
“Imagine the world when we would not have to suicide bomb again. Dogs will be used to carry out the deadly mission. We will instruct them what to do with bombs…can’t you see that Prof. is better alive to us than being dead?”


They all roared in joy, whooping with laughter. And that puked The Prof. He never wanted to be part of their activities, he never wished anyone to turn his long time researched project which he had conceived positively for the benefit of humanity to what would destroy them. If his work would bring pains to the world rather than ease, then he concluded that he would better die along with his work. So he mustered courage to end his life. And just before then he struggled to pull down the gag in his mouth and spoke determined.


“Why are you after my life?”
“Your being alive might hinder our operation. So we were to kill you before but now it seems you would be better off being alive than dead to our mission.” One of the guys gawkily answered him and covered his mouth back with the gag after giving him couple of hot slaps on his cheeks.

The Prof. groaned in pains and suddenly he head butted the driver hard on his head and struggled the steering with him. The car somersaulted and landed in a ditch, the car was badly mangled. A minute later, fire sparked out and engulfed the car but Prof. was able to traipse out of the car injured, but with some little strength to move away from the accident scene.


He was crawling groggily up to the road from the ditch, he slipped and slithered back, then he would struggle back till he was able to climb up to the road. He staggered along the road wearily, waving down every car that passed at every some long distant minutes, but none would stop for him. The sound of the fast moving vehicles would whoosh across his ears with the heavy wind from the vehicles blowing him down, he would struggle back to his feet trying to seek for help. And when he had exhausted all the strength in him he fell with his face to the ground and that was exactly the time Agent Rowland vehicle appeared from distance.


He was racing down to look for him in his Laboratory, having come to his house and saw the sign of him being kidnapped. He calculated that they might still want to search his laboratory for whatever reason that was not crystal clear to his detective intuition. He was right but late; he saw The Prof. on the ground and pulled over. He leapt forward to his rescue, he squatted beside him. He turned him over and lifted his head to rest on his arms. He was slightly shaking him so that The Prof. could regain consciousness but all efforts informed him that he was dead. He placed him back gently to the ground and wept painfully for the loss. He went round the burnt vehicle and saw his targets being burnt beyond recognition. He knew the degree of the burnt had destroyed what he could have used to trace others, he was in limbo.

And that was the last time Agent Rowland heard about the strange language. The last clue that could be of help was Mr. Igbinnekawa, though, he was able to locate his house in order to have one on one contact with him about the Language but he was told that Mr. Igbinnekawa had died in his sleep.


To Agent Rowland, anybody that had link or trace to the language had one way or the other been eliminated. He believed that Mr. Igbinnekawa did not just die in his sleep but some people might have killed him. Had it been he got to know on time he would have asked for his autopsy but Mr.Igbinnekawa had long time dead before he even got to know about the strange language.


And ever since there had been sporadic attacks on the nation none of which left a clue behind that it made use of the Language for its operation except this one of the UN that had 0082 a number which correlated with one of the numbers in the list with him. It meant that the list contained all the attacks the sect might be planning. In view of this, he considered decoding the list a top priority to stopping the sect from carrying out the long list attacks written down.


And this sketch of a man with his number plate would lead him….and who could have left it behind? His mind ricocheted for answers! He looked so deep into the sketch and it all seemed that the picture was coming alive, forming a shape in his memory. Yes! He remembered, a woman had once given a description at the eve of new year bombing of whom she suspected and that matched the sketch, and not only that, if he could remember vividly well he had also shaken hands with him some few minutes before an explosion occurred last year at the 50th Independence Anniversary of the country. He ran his fingers brusquely deep into his hair, trying hard to solve the puzzle.

WHATCOMES NEXT IS CHAPTER FOUR.KEEP READING.Thank u all for the comments.

Ok, exhales, good luck with your writing but,
Guess you're not one that listens when people are trying to make a point. Writing a good book that appeals to people needs no degree, all that is needed is talent but it has to be nurtured gradually and painfully. Guess you want to make money in the end right? Guess what? It's not that simple. The world of book publishing is unforgiven and hard.
Now here's the truth that i've been saying nicely-the current state of your work, the arrangement, the tenses are not good enough, I have no urge to read further. Nairaland's too nice to tell you that, outside in other foreign forums, real book critics would tear you apart so you can stick to this place if you want gratification and not a frank statement that makes you rethink your strategy.
There are rules to writing novels, try picking a good novel and comparing their descriptions and format to what you have written. Writing also does not mean that you have to display all the strange words used in describing simple things. I knew what i said about the surveillance stuff, read what I posted carefully I say again. You're in too much of a hurry, who's going to seriously review your work at the speed that you're posting, you think it's easy eh? Try doing that for other people if you have not.
Anyway, I guess you were looking for gushing sycophantic praise about your hurried unedited work not constructive cirtism and comparison. As you write, only strive to get better, nobody wants to understand your style if it has no public appeal or if they can't be sucked into it.
The road to perfection and success in writing is painfully long, try to be less self centered, relax, review your work and tell your self some certain truths. Maybe later you'll thank me for this but for now-goodbye.

Ok, in your penultimate post for example, last paragraph-'his mind ricocheted for answers', How meaningful was that too you or did u just like that word 'ricochet'?
The last time that I checked, only bullets/missiles did that and not a straight thinking intelligent human mind. Use some other word and learn to review what you have written like it wasn't your creation.

@dumodust, Maybe u are right that u are not a good critic and I wonder why u should dabble into the field you have little or no knowledge about.

“they who are least acquainted with the game are aptest to bark at everything that comes in their way” Thomas Rymer.
“But you who seeks to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a critic’s noble name
Be sure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, taste, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your death,
But be discreet.
And mark that point where sense and dullness meet” Alexander Pope

“A false or malicious criticism may do much injury to the minds of others; a stupid invention either in prose or verse is quite harmless” William Wordsworth.

Though Amos Tutuola’s The palmwine drunkad is widely adjudged to be poorly written yet in African literarure it makes it own mark because it serves as a wake-up-call to other African writers to prove to the West that, that can never be the best to come from Africa. His work ,call it a stupid invention but is quite harmless compared the venom u are spiting on my thread.

I consider your post to be malicious and spiteful, only to condemn not to encourage one to deliver better. You can’t blithely allege without being able to pick out those mistakes. You talked about the tenses not being good enough.

I expect you to point out some, is it that I took my Phrasal verbs for Prepositional phrase?

Using my idiomatic expression wrongly without paying attention to the inflection in it, or adding when I should not?
Do I have inconsistence of tense usage?

Maybe I used my verb intransitively when it should be transitive?

Did I make my verb transitive locative when it is not locative?

Or my Syntax is wrongly used paradigmatically or syntagmatically?

Did I use my Adjective wrongly using it before noun when it should not be used?

Or did I adjectify my compound noun when it should not be e.g
Nation building, National interest?

Let’s move away from Tenses. Talking about characterization of Williams…tell me more about my major characters that I need to put flesh around.

Did I tell of events when I’m supposed to show it?, ‘the conversations are funny.’ u said.

My tempo, did I stick to high speed and refuse to relax when the event isn’t of action that needs to move faster with my naration to appeal to your emotion?

Oh! You have problem with my semantic extension the way I used ricochet?

Then you have to skin Sefi Atta alive for these sentences in her Everything Good will Come pg.93

“The man was thrown forward. He crashed over the trunk of the car behind us”.

Notice the verb throw and crash….?We call them semantic extension in English class.

Wake up boy! You are not attuned to reality.

Stop vomiting trash on my thread!

Sincerely, you're the one spitting venom on your own thread. Writing quotes, showing how supposedly knowledgeable you are and comparing yourself to accomplished writers shows how much you have deceived yourself. A writer puts up a post, articles and he has already made up his mind that he wants no correction, then why did you want people to read your work? Maybe you just expected to be told how exceedingly great and talented you are. Suit yourself.
Anyway, in seffi atta's book, a physical mass which was a human body crashed into a car bonnet? [td][/td]
What's so esoteric or skillful about the use of crash?
YOUR own statement was about the human mind ricochetting, lol, now that's interesting stuff.
Well, at the beginning, I felt you had some talent.right now I feel your combative and arrogant nature is destroying that.
So people cant say what they see anymore on the web? Nawa o! I thought obj and the rest where the only problems in the country.
Anyway, if you're looking for a professional critic, pay for one that will have the patience to read all this and stop soiling your thread with negative,insulting comments and 'cut and paste' Internet quotes which says so much about your character. I started with an open mind, I made a sincere comment, I felt you had to change some things and then suddenly in your own mind I was the enemy. Big news bro, I'm currently your best friend in this business.
Keep posting up your articles and insulting statements to turn off whoever's reading and my advice is that you should modify your statements because literary agents and publishers sometimes prowl around the web.
Do whatever you want as you please, ignore us your humble minions and oh! I almost forgot, always have a quote to back up all you do.

STORY CONTINUES

                                                     CHAPTER FOUR[b][/b]

Agent Rowland closed his eyes and went back to the eve of the New Year bombing; there was a lot he had to string together to understand the past in retrospect.

He was at the Mammy market that evening, he did come once in a while to while away time with his friends, exchanging pleasantries over the bottles of beer with some bloated roasted fish to complete the   razzmatazz the atmosphere was always swathed with.

To him Mammy market should be one of the safest places to go at such an hour to cool down one’s system. It was surrounded by military barracks and not being shrouded away by bush or buildings, very close to the main road in case of any emergency for one to quickly hit the road. So he always felt at ease being there.

But today proved different, though nothing earlier portended any evil lurking around the corner, it was filled with the everyday flurry of activities. The number was on the increase, people were swarming in and out rapturously with joy and hope of the new-year they had been yearning to witness. Music blaring from different quarters, and everyone with his or her love ones was swaying to the rhythm of the cool music.

Agent Rowland was sitting down in one of the bars swilling drinks, at his back were two men in suit bantering with the waitress.

“Baby…how are you?”

“I dey fine sir!”

“You see my friend is new here…I want you to be taking good care of him anytime he comes here.”
“No wahala sir!”

“You will arrange fine babe like you for him to be keeping his company.”

The waitress blushed and she replied “ Oga I know say you dey take style yab me.I no too too fine like that na. But no wahala I get plenty friends wey I fit hook am with.”

The other guy was amused by her reply, he held the tip of her rapper and felt the texture, and remarked “I always like Nigerian attire, very beautiful you can hardly come by such of these beautiful materials in US.I just have to buy some of it along if I’m going back next week”

Just some minutes later, Agent Rowland eye travelled a distance, straight to a man holding a polythene bag. His Detective intuition told him something…it was not clear what his mind was telling him…to begin trail the man? For what? He shrugged the thought off.


Maybe he was becoming paranoid again, that was what the nature of his job had made him, always anticipating danger around friends, colleagues, just anybody, his job had exposed him to too much of evil man is capable of, so he trusted nobody. His family life was in shamble, wife had betrayed him. His social life was at comatose, friends had traded him off to enemies, his office was; tell no one what you were assigned with because colleagues might be moles. So it was only him and whatever assignment given to him that were always friends. He handled each assignment with passion as if his life depended on it.

Whenever he behaved irrationally, he was at the best of his intelligence gathering. And this was one of it, he had to obey his instinct because it always gave him the alluring result. He moved closer to the man, observing him. It appeared the man was making an enquiry, then the man turned back, walking towards another direction.

Agent Rowland followed suit, and when they reached a corner, Agent Rowland deliberately stumbled on him, the polythene bag dropped from the man and the content inside spilled, it was grains of beans. Agent Rowland apologized. He regretted his action; his instincts failed him this time around. He was still mulling over his action when an explosion erupted!


It came with a full bang that shook the whole Mammy Market and its environs; there was a sudden lull, followed with eerie noise of wails accompanied by tears. Blood splattered, bodies littered everywhere. Agent Rowland was still lying on ground with bruises over his body, he struggled back to his feet and staggered around to see what had gone wrong. Everywhere he turned was in red, mutilated bodies all over, people weltering in pains. He observed that the damage was severe in some part of the market, that must be where the bomb might have exploded.

People had come to rescue the victims, ambulance had arrived, journalists had besieged the scene, police everywhere, information was being collated on how the bomb exploded, people who witnessed it were giving their own stories.

It was then Agent Rowland knew that his instinct had saved him, though failed him, when a woman one of the victims whom he knew very well as Mama Faruk gave an account of how the bomb exploded. She said the bomb was left behind in a polythene bag under the chairs where some two men in suit had sat, and when she discovered the bag without knowing the content that she asked her bar attendant to carry it so as to look for the two men, but unluckily for the bar attendant the content of the polythene bag exploded in her hand.


The woman narrated the story brimming with tears. She pointed at the remains of the girl, sniveling. Agent Rowland drifted his eyes towards the direction; he couldn’t but to weep. He knew the girl very well. It was the same girl the two men sitting at his back were chatting with. He saw the cloth torn, which one of the men had once admired.


And today at the bombing of UN building, the picture drawn in the paper in his hand matched the face of one of the two men of that day. Could that be a coincidence? And maybe if Agent Rowland could flash back to the bombing of October first he might see the same face appearing again. So he went back trying to pick the man from his memory among the number of people at the venue.


His brain was doing the search now, he closed his eyes briefly scanning through…just too many pictures in his head. Could he be in suit that day also? He was in suit at the Mammy market bombing and the picture in his hand today portrayed him the same. If in suit, many of his colleagues were in suit but with every one of them wearing the service badge.

He fought had to retrieve the image from his memory but it seemed that each attempt only dragged him wild, he slugged dejectedly on the bonnet of his car where he had supported his hands lowering his head all this while, doing the thinking, he yelled!

“No…ooo!”

And that drew the attention of his colleagues who had been busy pilfering the scene for a clue, to him. He called one of them and whispered some words to his hear, and two of them entered his car and drove away.


Somehow, they still drove past the bus which Halimot was travelling on, the holdup slowed down the pace at which the bus was moving but Agent Rowland’s vehicle was able to maneuver its way being a security vehicle. At that time, Halimot had woken up, and someone had sat very close to her, waiting for her to wake, he had eave dropped her when she was explaining things to Rachael, and without their notice, he had snapped Halimot’s photograph making use of his mobile phone. Later, he typed some message on his phone and sent it to another receiver. What he had heard was of importance to him than Rachael her colleagues whom she was trying to convince of what she knew of the bombing. Information of such could make or mar someone in his field of operation. He had thought it deep, he knew he had to strategize well to win Halimot’s confidence before she would be able to spill more information to his hand. And when that was done…he dreamt of a great fortune! He smiled rapturously.


Halimot raised her head and their eyes interlocked, he extended a can of juice to her prodding her to use it to quench her thirst, Halimot wanted to decline the offer but he persuaded her further. Halimot took it from him and she gulped it. Racheal was looking at the man hoping he would be of help to calm her friend down, he had told her that he was a doctor and would like to attend to Halimot, and that was why she had allowed him to take her seat.
And that was what he was telling Halimot now.

“My name is Doctor Richard”. He exchanged phone number with her and encouraged her to call him at anytime she was in need of medical assistance, especially for her child. The two smiled and began to switch from one topic to another about life. That was how they did till they got to the park.


Having alighted from the bus, they all departed in different directions. Rachael and Halimot with her child waved down a taxi cab and rode home.

And when the taxi driver had driven them home and was reversing his car, he picked his mobile phone and dialed.
“Hello, Richard! I have located her apartment. I’m coming straight to meet you now!”

He was the one Richard sent a text message to with Halimot’s picture, he had asked him to come to the park and disguised as a taxi driver to pick or trail her home, and that was exactly what he had done.

Richard was not a Doctor, it was just a smokescreen to get to what he had planned to achieve. He had a lot he was scheming right now…and everything must be done at a full tilt.

CHAPTER FIVE

Though Halimot had a pressing issue about her life that had been bogging her down all day which she had summoned up courage to face head-long with Austin if she was to call him or visit him but since that day at the UN House bombing where she had bumped on the strange language that was supposed to be hers and Austin’s alone, her worries had taken a new dimension folding into magnitude.


She bent forward to pick her phone on the table to make a dial, she had been on the thought for long since she came back from her journey, she couldn’t sleep, she rolled and rolled on the bed with the thought poking her into calling Austin. She just had to ask him about the language, she wanted to get to the root of it …and maybe to tell him about his son too, she slightly cast a gaze at Rahaman in the cot she had placed him, he was deep as sleep, she smiled, back to her thought, she looked at the wall clock, it was One ‘clock. The time discouraged her but she was stubborn. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she heard from him, so she picked the phone and dialed.

“Hello! Is that Austin?”
There was a long silence before the person at the other end of the call responded. The voice was clear and purring as if he had been waiting for the call, it was filled with an excitement but muffled by fear.
“Hey! Is that you Halimot?”

And with surprised she answered.

“ Yes! Austin, Is everything okay with you, aren’t you sleeping, why are you up late?”


“I know no matter what I did to you, you still care about me and so I’m. But listen, you can’t understand what is going on…and I wouldn’t want you to get involved with it, that was why I had to break up with you. I don’t want you dead baby…and for you to live, you have to be away from me. They must not know that I received your call…”

“Baby slow down, what is going on? I can’t understand you. Does that have to do with Etuku Language you researched on?”

There was a pause before the response…as if he was afraid to say what he was about to say.

“Yes, Yes! I learnt you were at the UN House bombing yesterday evening. When did you get back to town? You have to leave the town today baby before they get to you. And please don’t discuss anything about the language with anyone. You’ve got to deny that you know anything about the language. Trust me I would explain everything better to you. You’ve got to wait for me. Trust me!”

“Austin, I’m getting confused and more afraid . How did you know I was there? Who mustn’t know that I contact you? Why would they be after me? Why must I be running away from invisible enemies?”

“Let’s do it this way, wait for me at about 0800am, at Chocolate park today, turn your clothe in out, tie a yellow chiffon head tie, and stand exactly at the spot where I proposed to you. I will send a boy to hand you a parcel that contains all the information you need to know about what is going on.”

“I will”

“Say Hi to Rahaman. Tell him I love him”

“How did you know his name? You are scaring me more baby”
“I will explain things to you better. I didn’t lose contact with you. Please delete your call log. Don’t let them trace you to me. I’ve got to get back to work. I worked with them”

“Work with who and what type of job?”

The phone went dead. Halimot was not ready to end the conversation. There was a lot of information she needed to know…she held the phone for long looking befuddled. She smuggled up under the blanket shivering with fear, and at every minute peeping through her windows ear cocked, waiting to hear any creeping steps around her environs.

Then there was a brash striking of thunder and lightning, it stiffened her fear. She jerked and stood up, lowered the window blind and switched off all the light in the house. There came a heavy rain rattling on the roof of the house with water splashing on the windows.

STORY CONTINUES[i][/i]

Halimot began to think, how could Austin be telling her now that he loved her and did all what he did to protect her? All the humiliations from him as a kind of love and protection…from who? Was there any tinge of love coated with the way he had treated her? Was he trying to fool her again to take away Rahaman from her? She couldn’t put her thoughts straight, at about 5:15am she flaked out.


And at exactly 0800am she was at the rendezvous, dressed as she had been instructed. She swaddled Rahaman to her shoulder clapping his back with her other palm. She was nervous, looking left and right. People were busy teeming in and out. Where she was standing was very close to the road. She was observing the road with vehicles speeding pass.
Then out of sudden somebody tapped her from the back, she looked back and was startled by whom she saw, it was Richard.


“Doctor Richard. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to ask same question. Could that be a coincidence that we bumped on each other again?”

She smiled but before she could reply a boy had come up to her and handed her a parcel with a note on it. She nimbly collected it from him and tucked it in her pocket. She was tactically edging away from Richard.
“Hold on, why the sudden leave?”

“Forgive me, I’ve got to go. I will give you a call some other time.”

She scooted walking with a long step, Richard stood and watched her walk away. He picked his phone and informed.
“ She is just leaving, she was not paying attention to me”

Meanwhile, Agent Rowland was at the park, he was holding the picture of the sketched man to his chest asking people if they know or had come across the man, no one really paid him attention. Halimot wasn’t looking straight; she was busy looking back when she stumbled on him. The paper fell from Agent Rowland’s hand and Halimot bent down to pick it for him. She was surprised at seeing the picture she had drawn, with the man. She picked it up and handed it back to him, and Agent Rowland asked.

“Do you know this man, have you come across him?”

“No! I don’t know….know him?”She fluttered and was trying to move away, before she decided to ask him a question.

“Who are you please?”

He flashed his Identity Card.

“Agent Rowland”

Then she remembered what Austin had told him, warning her not to discuss the Language with anyone, so she quickened her steps.

“I’m sorry officer, he is not a familiar face.”

“Madam, you looked tired, I think you need to take some rest”

“Thank you officer! I will.”