The safehouse in Adenta was unnervingly quiet. Brian stood near the whiteboard, arms folded, eyes flicking across names and faces. Judas. Dora. Danso. And now, a small note pinned to the edge of the board, written in Brian's own hand: K.A. Mensah – orphan – Volta region.
It was like the devil had scattered his fingerprints in every direction.
Adjeley walked in with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Brian, who barely registered it.
"Kojo's group is safe. They've set up in a fishing village near Anloga. The locals are friendly — cartel doesn't seem to have strong roots there."
Brian finally looked at her. "And the kids?"
"Interpol has custody. Quiet extraction. The footage will take a few days to verify before we can use it publicly."
Brian took a sip, let the hot liquid burn the fatigue from his throat. "We're bleeding time."
Adjeley hesitated. "You know the boy's name on Alicia's report? K.A. Mensah. That surname isn't common in her region. Might be worth looking into."
Brian gave her a sharp look. "You think she's—?"
"No," Adjeley interrupted gently. "I'm saying we shouldn't ignore loose threads. Especially ones right under our noses."
He didn't reply.
Instead, he turned to the wall and drew a red line from Dora's photo to a pin labeled Swamp Route – Eastern Corridor.
"We focus on the route. Judas is too erratic. Dora too smart. But the product needs movement. If we control the roads, we control the story."
Later that evening, Kojo, Akosua, and Selorm sat huddled under a canopy at the Anloga fishing dock, a flickering lantern between them. Sea breeze rustled the tarpaulin roof.
Selorm flipped through recovered photos. "Most of the drivers don't use real names. But one face keeps repeating."
He passed the image to Kojo.
Akosua leaned over. "That guy — wasn't he the one in the police database from Madina?"
"Yeah," Kojo nodded. "He was arrested for robbery five years ago. Case vanished."
Akosua frowned. "No case vanishes. Someone made it vanish."
Selorm tapped the table. "So we find the person who pulled the file."
Kojo smiled grimly. "Backdoor approach. I like it."
The next day, Adjeley visited the National Archives under the pretense of reviewing child protection cases. She navigated through rows of metal cabinets until she found what she needed — digital logs of file deletions and overrides.
Within fifteen minutes, she found the entry: "Subject: D. Kwabla. Robbery. Sealed by Authority Code B10X – Internal Clearance."
She stared at the terminal.
Internal Clearance B10X was only available to senior law enforcement… or military.
She picked up her phone. "Brian, we've got a ghost inside the system. A high-level one."
Back at the safehouse, Brian scribbled down the name D. Kwabla and circled it. "This guy keeps popping up. Where was he last seen?"
Adjeley replied, "A private club near Tema Harbour. Imports and exports. We think it's a front."
Brian made the call. "Kojo, take the night shift. Stake out the harbour club. Low-profile. We need to find D. Kwabla."
That evening, Kojo and Akosua sat in a beat-up Corolla across from the neon-lit club. Music thumped through the walls like a war drum. Half-dressed girls laughed at the entrance. Expensive SUVs parked one after the other.
Kojo zoomed his lens. "There. Guy in white linen. That's Kwabla."
Akosua clicked photos quietly. "How do we get to him?"
Kojo smirked. "Not we. Me."
"What?"
"I used to work this beat. Still know a few waiters inside. I'll get close. You stay on comms."
Minutes later, Kojo entered the club, shirt half-unbuttoned, feigning intoxication. The bouncer looked him over, recognized him, and waved him in.
Inside, Kojo moved through the crowd like a shadow. He spotted Kwabla laughing with two girls, nursing whiskey. He slid up to the bar and bought a drink.
Five minutes passed. Then ten.
Then Kwabla stood and went toward the restroom.
Kojo followed.
In the corridor behind the bathroom, Kojo blocked the door and flashed his badge just low enough. "Don't shout. Just talk."
Kwabla froze. "I don't know you."
"No," Kojo said. "But you know your file was sealed illegally. You know about the Agbozume drop. And you know Judas."
Kwabla's lips trembled.
Kojo added, "Talk now, or I leak your sealed record tonight and let the real police take it from there."
Kwabla swallowed hard. "You didn't hear this from me."
"I never do."
Kwabla spoke fast. "They're moving something big in five days. Cross-country route. Ashanti to Volta. New driver, new manifest. P is overseeing it personally."
Kojo blinked. "P?"
Kwabla hesitated. "That's what they call him. No one says the full name. But he's top dog now. Not Danso. Not even Judas."
Kojo frowned. "Where do we find him?"
Kwabla shook his head. "No one finds him. He finds you. But… I heard he might show up in person at the Kumasi checkpoint."
Kojo turned to leave.
Kwabla grabbed his arm. "If they find out I talked—"
"You'll already be gone by then."
Kojo exited the club, brushing past the music and the girls, and slid back into the Corolla.
Akosua handed him a bottle of water. "That look says we've got something."
"We do," Kojo said. "A name. A ghost. And a destination."
Back at the safehouse, Brian updated the board. The name P was now underlined three times.
"Kojo says this guy might appear at a checkpoint in Kumasi. That's bold. We'll need full coverage."
Adjeley nodded. "If we confirm it's him, do we move?"
Brian paused. "We don't arrest. Not yet. We follow. We track. We expose."
Later that night, as Alicia sat at her desk in the Ministry's records department, she received a manila envelope slid under her door.
Inside was a photograph.
A boy in a cage.
And one line handwritten beneath:
"You can't save them all. But you could save one."
She stared at it for a long time.
Then quietly locked the door.
And began making a call.