The Nivenger (A Political Action Thriller) – Episode 1



I use the dark as cover as I trot up to the black gate. The massive lawn and the sprawling glass mansion which it encloses is visible through the bar style gate. There are no security guards in sight, but I can see about three cameras on my side of the house ceaselessly spinning on their axis and covering every square inch of the expansive backyard. I can’t hope for the darkness to shield my approach to the visible small backdoor because of the huge floodlights. I pull my face closer to the iron bars of the gate and take three sniffs. It was just as I was thinking. The gates are electrified. A thought comes to my mind which causes me to tremble. I take a closer look at the security cameras. Upon closer inspection, I see the tiny blue light blinking beside the red light both at the bottom of the lens. It tells me only one thing: the cameras have motion sensors. So even if the guards, wherever they were stationed in the house, were all asleep, as soon as I step on the grounds of the house, the alarms would go off. And with the status of the owner of the house, it wouldn’t take reinforcements more than five minutes to arrive. As I crouched in the dark, mere inches beyond the reach of the floodlights, I begin to realize just how impossible my task is. The house is too large to cover in the little time I have. Where are the guards? What is the inside of the house like?

I have a decision to make. Usually, as soon as I notice that I am surprised by certain aspects of the defense of my target, I turn away and come back later better prepared. But this time, I am finding it hard to turn away. Maybe it has something to do with the mix of rage and hurt that has brewed into a potent elixir and was poising my heart. Maybe it has something to do with Ola having left me, I’m not sure. Or maybe it was the fact that my target was a very elusive man. It had taken me three months to track the senator. I have been trailing him on Social Media from Chicago to Palestine to the UK then to Brazil and now he has finally returned to Nigeria. According to his Instagram upload, he’s in his Banana Island mansion until the end of the weekend that is Sunday tomorrow. This is the only day I have. Tomorrow the man flies for New Jersey and he might not return to Lagos again for another three months.

And it is very, very crucial that this senator dies today. Everything depends on it.

I quickly make the decision to forge ahead into the unknown. I place my small backpack which contains all the tools I use to get passed security systems. As I pull out all the devices I think I would use for this particular security system I mutter phrases of the national anthem. It has become a norm for me to mutter the national anthem during the course of my missions to remind myself that what I’m doing is for the good of Nigeria. I am not a murder, nor am I an assassin. I am the savior of my country. I am the shred of clothing that keeps it bound together. And the universe seems to agree with my self-appointed role. I say this because it has only been six months since I became what I am, yet whenever my name is called it strikes fear in the hearts of the corrupt.

Arise! O Compatriots, I mutter as I raise the electric field disruptor to the gate. The disruptor looks like a PS 3 controller with two short aluminum antennas. The antennas touch the bars and a green light comes on. I press the single middle button and there is a brief spark that disappears as soon as it appears. The green light turns red, telling me that the gates are no longer electrified. Just to confirm, I take a piece of metal from my open back pack and gently strike the gate. No spark. Good.

Someone might have seen the disruption of the electrical field on the camera, so I wait for a full three minutes, muttering the anthem to myself: to serve our fatherland, with love and strength and faith…

No one raises an alarm.

The next thing I do is put back the disruptor in the backpack and seal it up. I take the only other item I had retrieved from my backpack and stick it to the tip of one of my arrows. As I do this, muttering the anthem, I feel for my quiver and the sharp edges of the arrow tips reassure me. Did I tell you I hate guns? They are so impersonal.

Once I have firmly attached the device to the arrow, I rise to my feet, notch the arrow, aim and let loose in a single fluid motion that take less than a second to execute. Even as the arrow sails through the air, I am leaping over the gate. The arrow strike the camera before it can record my landing on the lawn and trigger an alarm, infecting it with a custom made virus that is right now shutting down the security systems. If anyone is watching, all they will know is that the systems are restarting. They will never suspect that I am coming. Everyone who has died by my hands never saw me coming.

I cross the lawn in seconds and slip into the mansion, muttering to myself: one nation bound in freedom, peace and unity.

I come into a huge kitchen with a blazing florescent light tube overhead. I don’t have time to look at the shiny utensils or gold studded cooking equipment because there is a guard ahead by a door to the right who reaches for his gun. Trained by instinct and tested by numerous battles, my finger brushes a leathery hilt by my side and comes back up in a blur. The guard’s hands immediately changes vector from his holster to his chest as he clutches the knife that buries itself in his heart. He chokes for a while before collapsing to the ground. I would like to leave my knife in his chest but there are more guards to kill. I step up to the guard and pull my knife out of his body. I clean off the blood stain on my white vest, making sure the red smears the green embossed emblem: NYSC.

I pull out my tablet and look at the building’s schematic. Not only has my virus shutdown the security cameras, but also it has sent to me a rough electrical schematic representation of the house. I study the map for a minute and I figure out where the master bedroom is. My heart begins to race. I can actually pull this off.

Oh God of creation, direct my noble cause.

I slip through the door into a wide corridor and make it swiftly to the stairs without incidence. It is helpful that most of the house inhabitants, like the house maids, are asleep. I meet about three more guards before I get to the senator’s room. Two I drop with an arrow, which I leave in their bodies (the knives, I do not leave), while the third I sneak up behind and slit his throat. As I stand before the door, I hear deep moans, one husky and masculine, while the other high pitched and feminine. Anger twists the pit of my belly and I almost make a costly mistake by kicking down the door. I compose myself, muttering the next phrase of the anthem: To build a nation where peace…

The phrase begins to work until I hear the senator in the throes of pleasure say: “Take a piece of the national cake, baby, take it,” the harlot responding with deeper moans. Enraged, I roar like a mad man and kick down the door. Like the wind, I flow into the huge bedroom, pulling an arrow, notching it, and aiming at the chest of the senator.

“What is this!” the senator yells, pulling out of the prostitute and pushing her naked body away as though it is plagued. He tries to reach for his clothes, but I raise my aim to his eyes and he stops.

“Senator Makinde Ayodele,” I say in a very deep voice, “YOU HAVE FAILED THIS COUNTRY!”

“Wait,” the senator says, his persona turning from defiant to beggarly in a split second. “I can pay you double. I can…” and he begins to reel out promises.

However, I am done listening to him. I mutter to myself the last line of the anthem—the one that matters most to me: and Justice shall reign. I let the arrow fly, watching with satisfaction as it tears through flesh, breaks through the skull, passes through brain matter, and punctures through the back of the head. The senator dies instantly.

And then the alarms go off.

Ignoring the prostitute who was cowering naked in the corner, I use one of my knives to draw blood from the senator’s heart and scribble something on the highly polished wooden floor. Then I take one last look at the door, where the first guard is rushing into the bedroom, gun raised. I act quickly and my knife meets his onrushing body at his eyes and he collapses forward, dead. I take the gun from his hand and shoot the harlot twice in the head, deeming her unworthy of dying by my knives or arrows. I hear running boots headed up the stairs, so I retrieve my knife and run for the window. I climb out and jump over the rail guard. It’s only a single story. I land with a roll and hightail it towards the gate. As I scale the fence, I hear the wail of sirens in the distance. It isn’t even up to five minutes and the police are already here. Well, it is too late already.

I take one last look at the mansion and smile. Then I vanish into the night.


To be Continued…


The Nivenger will return…


Beware, O ye corrupt leaders, for the Nivenger is coming for you!


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