The morning air in Agbozume was heavy with dust and salt, carried in from the nearby coast. A thin mist hovered just above the earth like a warning refusing to burn off. In a shaded clearing, three members of the B-Team lay low among scattered thornbushes.
Kojo raised his binoculars and whispered, "Both trucks just left the depot. Convoy-style. Headed east."
Akosua pressed the earpiece deeper into her right ear. "Brian, we've got movement. No escort, no backup. Could be a dry run."
Brian's voice crackled back from Accra. "No such thing in this game. Stay close. Eyes only. Don't engage."
Selorm adjusted his jacket, eyes locked on the fading outline of the trucks. "They're heading for Aflao. If they cross, we lose them."
Kojo started the SUV silently. "Then we don't let them."
They followed at a distance, keeping the convoy in sight just enough to stay unnoticed. The trucks moved confidently — almost arrogantly — through the border-adjacent towns. Every now and then, one of the drivers would toss a hand out the window to greet locals.
"Too comfortable," Akosua murmured. "They know they're protected."
As they passed a police checkpoint, Kojo noticed something odd. "Did you see that?"
"See what?" Selorm asked.
"The officer waved them through. No check. But they pulled one car aside behind us. Civilian with two kids."
Akosua stiffened. "They're diverting attention. The cartel's paying for blind spots."
Selorm nodded. "We're in the lion's jaw now."
Meanwhile, in Accra, Brian sat hunched over the operations table, the map before him littered with red pins, encrypted notes, and highlighters running dry from overuse. He hadn't slept properly in days. Not since the message.
She can't protect you forever.
He replayed it again, just to remind himself that the voice was real.
His phone buzzed. Adjeley.
She entered the room holding a tablet. "Intercepted radio traffic in the Volta corridor. One of the truck drivers mentioned the name 'Judas.'"
Brian's brows lifted. "Judas Atta?"
She nodded. "Confirmed. Enforcer. Used to work for the Nigerian pipeline gangs. Slippery. Kills first, negotiates never."
Brian turned to his system, typing furiously. "We've tracked him before. Likes to hang around logistics outposts. Agbozume's perfect ground."
He switched the feed to the live drone footage. Kojo's vehicle appeared in thermal: three signatures, low gear, all silent. The trucks were pulling into a fenced compound marked with corrugated sheet walls.
Brian's pulse kicked. "Tell them to observe, not engage. And send backup from Dzodze barracks, quietly."
Adjeley nodded and walked off.
At the warehouse compound, the trucks slowed to a halt. One reversed into the main bay while the other remained outside, engine humming.
Selorm pulled out a long-range lens and zeroed in.
"Crates being unloaded. Marked agricultural, but way too clean."
Kojo adjusted his comms. "We move in closer on foot. Stay covered."
Akosua narrowed her eyes. "That guard—left arm. That's a burn scar. Matches intel on Judas."
The trio moved in along a broken fence, silent as fog. Kojo crouched by a rotting log, holding a hand up. "Hold. Movement inside."
They watched as two men pulled open one of the crates. Inside — stacks of sealed packages. Meth. Fentanyl. Marked in different gang symbols.
And then another crate was pulled.
Cages.
Children.
Ten at least, bound and gagged. Wide eyes. One was barely five.
Akosua's breath hitched. "We're not just dealing drugs."
Kojo's jaw clenched. "Human cargo. Jesus."
Selorm started recording. "Get every angle. We need this evidence to stick."
Suddenly, headlights roared behind them. A third truck, previously unseen, barreled down the access road.
"Down!" Kojo yelled.
They scattered as the truck skidded to a halt. Armed men leapt out, firing blindly.
Bullets tore through the underbrush.
Selorm rolled behind a ditch. "Ambush!"
Akosua fired back. "They knew we were coming!"
Kojo pulled Selorm up and shoved him toward a broken drainage path. "Retreat! Fall back into the gully!"
Akosua covered them with precision shots. One gunman dropped. Another fled.
Then, through the gunfire, Kojo's radio crackled.
A stranger's voice.
"Truck headed for Dzodze. I bought you thirty seconds. Don't waste it."
Then silence.
Kojo hesitated. "Brian, did you hear that?"
Brian responded, "Who was that?"
"No idea. But they're helping us."
Akosua narrowed her eyes. "Or setting us up for the next trap."
Still, they ran.
By noon, the B-Team had regrouped in a shack near the Tadzewu Road, far enough from Agbozume but close enough to trail any next move. Injuries were minimal. Selorm had a graze to his shoulder. Akosua's jacket was torn.
Back in Accra, Brian pulled up the partial footage from Selorm's camera. Amid the chaos, a face flashed across the screen — the driver.
Judas.
But behind him, just for a second, a figure emerged. Thin, tattered scarf, scar across her jaw.
Adjeley walked in.
"Freeze that frame."
Brian did.
They stared.
It was Dora.
"She's deeper than we thought," Adjeley whispered. "But she's not hiding anymore."
Brian rubbed his temple. "She's showing us just enough to follow her."
At that same hour, Alicia stood in the Ministry of Health's records room, leafing through anonymous child medical reports from Volta. Some had names. Others just numbers.
One caught her attention.
K.A. Mensah. Male. Age 11. No known guardian. Picked up near swamp border checkpoint.
She held the file, unmoving.
It was stamped in red: UNREGISTERED ORPHAN.
Another trail.
Another secret.
She slipped the file into her bag and turned slowly. Outside the window, a van idled. Tinted windows. No license.
She walked out, calm as stone.
The storm was coming.
And no one would be spared.