Sometimes being afraid is the
most reasonable thing you can be. This was what came to my mind after I saw Mr.
Reddington’s corpse on the floor of my visitor’s room. I sat down in an
armchair and felt as if I was going to throw up. That lasted for, perhaps, five
minutes, and was followed by an intense feeling of more fear. The poor staring
face of Mr. Reddington on the floor was more than I could bear. With great
effort I managed to get a towel in the bathroom and covered it. Then I
staggered to a cupboard in my kitchen, found the whisky and quickly swallowed
two mouthfuls. I mean, I had seen people
die violently before; indeed people got shot almost every month in the streets
of Baltimore City. However, this cold-blooded indoor murder of my guest, Mr.
Reddington, really hits home. Still I managed to pull myself together, even
though I was convinced that I was in a very hot soup. I looked at my watch, and
saw that it was ten-thirty.
Suddenly an idea seized me, and
I went over the flat with a small knife I found in the kitchen. There was
nobody there – not even a trace of anybody – but I shuttered and bolted all the
windows and doors. The good thing was that there was electricity so I could
turn on my air-conditioner to deal with the heat. By this time my mind have
calmed down and so I could think again. It took me about an hour to figure out
what to do. I did not hurry because I
told myself that, unless Mr. Reddington’s killer came back, I had till about
six o’clock in the morning to think about my plans and put them into action.
I had no doubt in my mind that I
was in a big trouble – that was pretty clear. Any shadow of a doubt I might
have had about the truth of Mr. Reddington’s story was gone. In fact, the proof
of it was lying under the towel in my visitor’s room. The men he was running
from – possibly, the five majors of the
Nigerian Army or the people working for them, who knew that he knew their plans
to take over the government – had found him, and had silenced him. The problem
now is, he had been in my flat for four days and his enemies – the five majors
and their clique – must have reckoned that he had confided in me. So naturally,
I would be their next target. They might decide to take care of me to make
certain of my silence that very night, or tomorrow, or even the day after
tomorrow; but the bottom line here is that my days are numbered.
Then suddenly I thought of
another idea. Why not just inform the police, I told myself, or go to bed and
let Adeyemi find the body and inform them in the morning? If I do that, what
kind of story was I to tell about Mr. Reddington? I had lied to Adeyemi about
him, and the whole thing looked desperately fishy. Suppose I tell the police
everything Mr. Reddington had told me,
what would be their reaction? They would simply laugh at me. The odds were a
million to one that I would be charged with his murder, and the circumstantial
evidence was strong enough to put me in prison or hang me, for capital punishment for murder was
the law of the land in Nigeria at the time. By the time the real truth comes
out, I will be already dead. Apart from the American Embassy and my research
assistants, few people knew me in Nigeria; I had no real friend in the country
who could come forward and swear to my character. And even if American Embassy
is able to convince Nigerian government to save my life and send me back to
America, my situation will not be better. I would definitely be sent to prison
for murder and that will be the end of
my career. Perhaps that was what the five majors and their clique were playing
for. They played this one very beautifully, since a Nigerian prison was as good
a way of getting rid of me till after January 15th as a knife in my
chest.
For some reasons that I could
not explain, I decided that I must survive this. Somehow or the other the sight
of Mr. Reddington’s dead face strengthened my determination and also made me a
passionate believer in his scheme. Yes, he was gone, but he had taken me into
his confidence, and I was pretty committed to carry on his work. That could be
my ticket to surviving this problem. My malaria research in Nigeria will have
to wait. I will explain to Dr Black and to my lab assistants later, when this
problem is over.
You may think this ridiculous
for a man in danger of losing his career and his life, but that was the way I
looked at it at the time. I may not be a brave man, but I hate to see a good
man like Mr. Reddington downed, and that long knife would not be the end of him
if I could play the game in his place.
I spent about two hours thinking
the whole thing out. Suppose I contact the American Embassy and tell them the
whole story? Well, like Mr. Reddington said, I must have concrete evidence to
back up my story before I can do that. That will be the only reason they will
believe me and then take the risk of informing Nigerian government. Right now I
have no such evidence except what Mr. Reddington told me, which I have not
really verified. Not only that, they may not believe my story anyway given that
I am somehow linked to his murder. They might think that I am trying to lie myself
out of the problem. My problem will become more complicated if they don’t
believe me because of Mr. Reddington’s murder since they may decide to send me
home to face trial. Besides, how will I contact them anyway? Remember, this was
in the 1960s. Only a few rich Nigerians have telephones at their house. I definitely don’t have any telephone in my
flat, even though it was one of the most luxurious flat in Lagos at the time.
There was nothing like the internet or cell phones either. The quickest way to
send a message then was through the telegram. But then you will have to get down
to the post office first, which at this point is too risky for me since my
enemies will be waiting to pounce on me outside. Getting to the American
Embassy, which is also located in Victoria Island is also risky: the street
where it was located is very far from my house. These people are very smart:
I’m sure they must have known by now that, as an American citizen, the first
place I will run to hide myself will be
the American Embassy. So, naturally, they must have their men stationed
on the way to the American Embassy, waiting for me to show up. In any case, I
wasn’t planning on going there anyway, so it is out of the question.
While all these were going through
my mind I came to a decision: the best option for me would be to vanish and remain
vanished till the end of the second week in January. Perhaps I may get
something more concrete and convincing to add to Mr. Reddington’s tale. Then I
must somehow find a way to get in touch with either the American Embassy or the
Nigerian Government people and tell them the whole story. I wish Mr. Reddington
had told me more before his death, and that I had listened more carefully to
the little he had told me. Right now, I knew nothing but the barest facts about
the five majors and their clique. And, like I have noted earlier, there is
still the risk that I would not be believed in the end even if I’m able to
weather the other dangers. In plain terms, I must take my chance on my decision
and plan, and hope that something might happen which would confirm my tale in
the eyes of the American Embassy officials or the Nigerian Government.
I told myself that my first
assignment was to keep going for the next three weeks. It was now the 22nd day
of December. That means that I have about twenty-two days of hiding before I
could venture to approach the American Embassy or the Nigerian government. I
reckoned that three sets of people would be looking for me: Mr. Reddington’s
enemies to put me out of existence, the Nigeria Police, who would want me for
Mr. Reddington’s murder, and my lab assistants who would want my direction to
close the lab so they can spend the Christmas with their families. I wasn’t too
worried about my lab assistants though. I’m more worried about the police and
Mr. Reddington. I knew then it was going to be a serious hunt, and I was
surprised how the prospect comforted me. Since I came to Nigeria, apart from my
research work, I had been slack so long that
any chance of activity that is not my
regular work makes me excited. When I had to sit alone with Mr. Reddington’s
corpse and wait on ‘mother luck’ I was no better than a bored Alsatian dog. But
now that my own safety lies on a balance I seemed to be prepared to be cheerful
about it.
The next thing that came to my
mind was whether Mr. Reddington had any papers in him that would give me a
better clue to the whole five majors’ business. I drew back the towel and
searched his pockets, for by this time I was no longer afraid of his dead body.
For a man who had been so violently struck down in a moment, his face was
wonderfully calm. I found nothing in his shirt pocket, and only a few loose
coins, a small knife, and a stick of
cigar in his trouser pockets. Also, there was a gold cigar case in the side
pocket of his jacket. There was no sign of his diary – the one that had a black
cover – in which I had seen him making notes. I had no doubt that whoever was
his killer took it.
As I looked up from my task, I
saw something that made me scared again: some of my drawers had been pulled out
in my writing table. I knew that Mr. Reddington would never have left them in
that state, for he was one of the tidiest American I have ever seen. So, what I
had seen means that someone – perhaps, an intruder – must have been searching
for something such as a wallet or any other such items. I became more scared
when I went round the flat. What I found was these: everything had been
ransacked – drawers, cupboards, dresser, inside boxes and books, the sideboard
in the dinning room and even the pockets of the clothes in my closet. I could
not find the book. To say the truth, I wasn’t surprised that the enemy had
found it, but they have not found it on Mr. Reddington’s body...
END OF EPISODE 3
P.S. Stay tuned for
Episode 4, which will be published here next Sunday.
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