Rainclouds hung low over Dzorwulu like a warning no one could read. The B-Team's unmarked surveillance van sat quietly across from a heavily fenced compound—a house that belonged to General Kwadwo Danso, former intelligence chief and now, allegedly, a silent partner in the cartel's logistics arm.
Inside the van, Kojo watched the feed from a long-range camera. "No movement. Curtains closed. Security light's been flickering since dawn."
Akosua leaned back, arms folded across her chest. "The kind of place where you don't need CCTV because you already know who's watching."
Brian's voice came through the comms from the support car two streets over. "We go light today. No action. Eyes only."
Adjeley, stationed at a roadside waakye stand, chimed in. "Still no visitors. No deliveries. Either he's cautious or the real business is done elsewhere."
Kojo swiped across his tablet. "Got a ping. His router just came online. But… there's a secondary node here. High-level encryption. Not a civilian setup."
Akosua leaned forward. "Encrypted traffic. Could be handling shipment manifests. Or maybe…"
Brian cut in. "Or intelligence. Either way, pull whatever you can. Discreetly."
Kojo nodded. "Already cloning the packets. I'll know more by nightfall."
Inside the mansion, General Danso sat at a marble table lined with untouched documents. A muted television played in the background. He was staring at his laptop, fingers drumming the table.
Suddenly, a small chime.
A secure call request popped up: NO CALLER ID — ENCRYPTED LINE.
He accepted with a single click.
The voice on the other side was altered. No trace of tone or gender.
> "He's still digging. And he's getting close."
Danso said nothing.
> "The church is gone. We cleaned what we could, but they found a face. Mine."
Danso finally spoke. "Brian is stubborn, but not stupid. He won't stop."
> "Then someone close to him needs to intervene."
Danso frowned. "She won't. She doesn't even know."
> "She will. Tonight. Make sure she receives it."
The call ended.
Danso closed the laptop slowly.
Then reached into a drawer and pulled out a black envelope sealed with wax.
Back at the van, Kojo had cracked a partial file from the encrypted network. "There's a schedule. Codenames. I'm seeing a route labeled 'Pineapple Drop' scheduled in two days. Destination listed as… Ho."
Brian replied immediately. "That's a new corridor. They're shifting east."
Akosua nodded. "Trying to move quieter, away from port heat."
Adjeley scanned the footage from the compound gate. "Danso's still alone. But I don't trust that driveway. Looks like a hidden garage entrance on the side."
Kojo tapped another key. "Wait. Pulling up an old NIB personnel file."
A photo filled the screen.
Danso.
And next to him: Alicia.
Young. In uniform. Smiling. Eyes bright.
Akosua whispered, "Your wife?"
Brian didn't answer.
Kojo said carefully, "Looks like they served in Operation Firebelt back in 2010. Classified clearance. Deep black."
Adjeley asked, "You knew?"
Brian's voice came low. "No. She never mentioned it."
Silence.
Akosua tried to pivot. "Could just be a forgotten past. She's never been part of any flagged intel."
Brian nodded slowly. "Still… this just became personal."
Later that evening, across town in North Ridge, Alicia arrived home from work. The apartment was quiet — Brian hadn't returned.
As she placed her bag on the counter, she noticed something on the floor, half-slipped under the door.
A black envelope.
No name. No markings.
She picked it up slowly, heart skipping.
Inside: a single sheet of heavy white paper. Typed text.
> "Stop your husband.
Or we will."
There was no signature. No logo. Just those six words.
Alicia sat down, reread it twice. Her face didn't change.
But her hands… they trembled.
She folded the note, placed it back in the envelope, and locked it in her desk drawer.
Then she poured herself a glass of wine — and drank it in one long pull.
Back at the safehouse, Kojo reviewed footage from the fire-scrubbed church compound.
"Found something."
Brian leaned over. "What?"
Kojo pointed. "A second entry after the fire team left. Twenty-two minutes later. Small frame. Hoodie. Limp on the left leg."
He enhanced the image. "That's Dora."
Adjeley's jaw dropped. "She went back?"
Akosua narrowed her eyes. "No one forced her?"
Kojo shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. She moved with purpose. Scanned the room. Took something from the board. Then walked away."
Brian exhaled. "So what did she take?"
Kojo tapped the screen. "A flash drive. It was taped behind the central cork panel."
Akosua leaned in. "And now she's disappeared again. Wiped from all systems."
Brian looked around the room. "Someone gave her new identity clearance."
Kojo whispered, "Which means someone high enough to clean records."
Brian's jaw clenched. "And someone afraid of what's on that drive."
Across town, Danso received a message on his burner:
> "Delivery confirmed.
She read it."
He smiled faintly, and poured himself a drink.
Outside, a hawk circled the compound silently in the dusk light.
Inside, P's number rang once on his hidden line.
He didn't answer.
He already knew what the message would be.