"Damn! What do I do? I must do something and swiftly too".

Susan was furious. She paced about nervously in her apartment at the outskirts of New York City. She had lost her job as the African Energy Correspondent for American Broadcasting Services (ABS) for filing a "fictitious" report. Her boss Anthony Goldberg had sacked her for what he further termed her "unflinching disobedience".

Yes, she disobeyed his orders because she knew they had bought him over. She insisted her story be broadcasted because she was ready to swear as to its veracity. Susan dug up the news item, thoroughly investigated it under life threatening conditions and filed her report.

Earlier, Susan had made a passing remark after her holiday trip to Port Harcourt City on oil spillages in the oil producing areas of Rivers State of Nigeria. She insinuated in the report a possible connivance by the government officials and the top executives of some oil companies to evade paying compensations to the victims of the spillage. She had stopped here but promised a spotlight on the issue. She did not know she had plucked on a very dangerous cord.

In her next visit to Port Harcourt City Susan investigated this possible connivance. She made a lot of contacts through the local chaperon she had hired.

Ogoni land seemed a paradigm of the object of her interest. The people were hospitable and charming; despite the poor appearance of many that told much about their living standards. The mention by Susan of oil spillage as her reason for visiting made most unable to control their vehement anger. She read from their faces, eagerness to purge their emotions. And she felt honoured to play the role of a cathartic agent.

But the hundreds who volunteered to grant her interviews overwhelmed her. She knew she dared not engage in such. Susan printed five thousand questionnaires and circulated them. Over two-thirds of them were filled out and returned.

When she contacted the Government Officials at the office of the Task Force on Oil Spillage and Gas Flaring, the military officers concerned, in turn, kicked her out of their offices. On one of the occasions, her tape recorder was smashed and her note pad torn to shreds. She was sternly warned not to appear in their premises again if she valued her life.

Susan was not cowed. This was the kind of challenge she likes. She loves it most when the going gets tougher.

She had heard almost everything about the soldiers. And she knew she had to track down one of the recruits. Majority drinks a lot of gin and smoke marijuana habitually. They idle away until such a moment they would be needed to quell a rolling civil war in Liberia, Congo, Somali or Burundi.

Susan knew that when an 'envelope' exchanges hands in the country, things would be done. So she tracked down a military truck driver with the Task Force on Oil Spillages through the help of an hotel cleaner.

"Haaa!", he hilariously exclaimed, snapped his tongue and hissed.

"White woman dis one is very very good. You say na from which country wey you come?"

"America", Susan answered.

"A-m-e-r-i-c-a! Everything about you dey very very kakarakaa like de Zuma Rock. See your military. E no get part two through out de whole world. I for like be soldier man there. Your country na real God’s own country. America na de first thing wey God create. God bin carry all de energy wey dey im body create am".

"Thanks for the compliments", said Susan, tactically cutting him short. Her pretty face was lit up with smile all the while.

"No compliment. Na de gospel truth wey I dey tell you so".

Susan could no longer control herself. She bursted into a controlled laugh. They were inside the bar. And a good number of people were around too.

After taking a longer sip he asked, "Is dis gin made specially for your military?"

"No", Susan replied caressing her glass of champagne, still amused.

Her companion admired her sleek fingers and their red-coated nails.

"I bought it here".

"Really", he asked rhetorically and continued, "I don dey think say dis one belong to de military. You know say your own na kakarakaa military. Very very brutal. My father bin tell me about de bombing at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. E bin talk say de American bomb dey shake de whole world like earthquake as de thing dey wreck unimaginable havoc for Japan. Na de thing wey a strong military suppose dey do. Abi you think e dey easy?’

Susan was just looking. She was taken unawares by the question.

"Sorry. I don forget say you no sabi anything for military intelligence". He added more drink to his glass. The content of the 75cl bottle of cognac had gone down already by one-third.

On keeping the glass back on the table he cleared his throat lightly and asked, "so wetin you wan make I do for you, woman?"

Susan concisely stated her intention.

"You be spy?"

"No. I’m not a spy. I’m a journalist", she replied hastily.

"You dey talk de same thing with me. Intelligence reports don show say most of una wey be western journalist get espionage as una profession and journalism as una. camouflage. I think I suppose arrest you" He stared hard at Susan who was apprehensive.

"I’m an energy correspondent", Susan said in defense.

"Energy correspondent", he repeated. "Wetin connect oil spillage with energy? You suppose go ask NEPA people. Na dem dey in charge of electricity distribution. Abi you mistake our task force for their own?"

He was just being technically impervious. How could he release such information for nothing? "Na only me suppose be good man for dis nation?" he thought convincingly.

Susan herself was in a dilemma. Obviously she underestimated the intelligence of a typical recruit. He had labelled her a spy and threatened her with an arrest. She knew the mildest treatment she would receive could be an instant deportation.

Susan remembered what her professor at the university had always told her class. "Don’t ever yield in the face of blackmail or threat to your life whenever you are investigating a crime. That’s what makes a journalist from journalists"

Really she was a journalist. It’s her talent. And she knew fear is the greatest killer.

"Ehm", Susan began, "I understand your position. I understand that as a soldier you are supposed to defend your country against any negative influence. But I’m assuring you I’m a professional journalist. I’m not a spy. If you wouldn’t mind I will present my papers to you. I’m in this country legally". She stopped briefly. She knew she was about getting to the climax. She thought of it. There was no way he could incriminate her. There was no tape recorder with him. She had been observant. There was no camera inside the bar either. Some politicians frown at being looked at with the third eye while drinking with their girlfriends.

Because of these facts, Susan had to be very cautious. So she faked a cough. A bit prolonged but controlled cough. While holding her tommy she stealthily eased the fat envelope from her trousers pocket, making use of her legs to drop it on the floor. She kicked it forward a little. However she lacked skill here. Her companion would have noticed if not for his lustful concern. He had been saying "sorry" for who-knows number of times.

"Thank you", Susan finally acknowledged.

"You dey alright?"

She nodded she was fine, holding with her left palm her neck which tilted leftwards. She was now convinced the soldier was not "kakarakaa" like the Zuma Rock. She realized she had panicked herself with the gin she offered the soldier. The content of the 75cl bottle was now half way down.

"Could it be this man is ogling? No.", Susan thought and immediately bent low in search of something. "Please help me with that envelop", she pleaded as she raised her head.

The soldier looked down and asked, "Na you get am?"

"Yes it’s mine. It fell off while I was coughing". Susan became scared the man could claim otherwise.

The soldier picked up the fat envelope and had a glimpse of the content before handing it over to her. It was slightly opened at one end. She knew the would-be recipient must be inquisitive to know ‘how much’. The soldier saw it. He knew they were dollars.

"Wetin you wan use dat kind money do. You wan buy car?" With this she knew he had swallowed the hook.

"I wanted to give it to you for a drink. But now you want to arrest me, I will keep it for my ticket. I would rather leave the country than court your trouble".

"Habaaa! Who wan arrest you? Who wan trouble you sef? Dat one na joke. Abi your people no dey like jokes? If I give de information you go give me de envelop?"

Susan nodded in confirmation. Both smiled heartily.

"After all, dat one no be disloyalty", he thought. "E get difference between stating de facts and revealing military intelligence. Law dey reward de first and punish de second. Which law better pass dis white envelope. Why is it dat barboon go dey work but na only monkey wey go dey chop? No be last month wey villagers bin kill six recruits. Any Oga commot there to stop demonstration?"

The soldier revealed everything he had seen and heard concerning the negotiations. He was determined to see that the current senior military officials were removed and new ones sent to replaced them.

Finally feeling the envelop he said, "you say dis na my gin money. Dis one pass am-o. Dis one suppose be service charge. Na dis kind envelope wey we dey receive when we give information where dissidents dey hide.

"Hmn! E talk say na gin money", he continued, obviously full of joy. "Gin money na those twenty twenty naira dem dey collect for checkpoints from motorists. My friend thank you so-o-o much".

"Thank you too", replied Susan. As he got up to leave she said, "Sir, sorry, you’ve not told me your name".

"Aaaah!", he screamed. "I be sergeant Garba. You fit call me commado-o.

"Commando-o", Susan repeated and laughed heartily to Garba’s admiration. They exchanged goodbye greetings.

As he was leaving she overheard him murmur, "At least Oga’s aide go know say de information im dey give me dey useful". From his physical look he seemed 55, but she was so sure he was about 45 years old. She understood his shortness as the work of nature. But his emaciated look as a consequence of his habit.

Susan was happy. Extremely happy. Now before contacting the individuals mentioned she wanted to meet with the officials of Rock Oil International.

They refused to grant her an interview on the grounds that the company’s Public Relations Officer was on a five-day visit to their headquarters in Lagos.

Before she left the oil company’s premises, a security officer accosted her and collected her telephone number.

Susan cheered up when the telephone rang. She had a tape recorder ready by the side of the telephone cradle.

"Hello. Susan Greenspan. Please who is on the line?"

"The security officer you met this afternoon"

"Mr…", Susan threw in, as she pressed the record button

"Sorry. I think you should be satisfied with the security officer at Rock Oil International".

"I’m sorry sir"

"That’s okay. Now are you ready?" the baritone voice cruised with an air of urgency.

"Yes I am".

"I will give you the names and telephone numbers of those, both from my company and the government side, who know much about the pollution saga.

On the government side you have Lt.col. Leonard Komo, the task force chairman, Maj. Gen. Aliyu Hamza the secretary and Brig Gen. Mark Kontangaro, field operations manager.

Others are Chief Boro Gabriel, the company’s Public Relations Officer, Mr. Royce Adam, the company’s secretary and Dr. Rufus Wilde.

Finally are the local Chiefs, the most influential out of the fifteen that are involved are: Chief Bartholomew Akaka, Chief Ken Boro, Chief Osei James and Kobani Ngei.

Be warned. The Chiefs especially the last one and the military men are very very dangerous. You are a journalist. You should know more about this country. I will never shed tears if you should die. Do you get me right?"

"Yes I do". Susan was filled with the aura of a newly commissioned officer who would feel that she could give in all her energies for her duty.

"Thank you very much Sir for your voluntary and kind help".

"You are welcome".

"Sir, may I ask…"

"No. Don’t ask anything. I am not giving you an interview. I only proffered information. And I must never add or remove anything from what I have said. Just search for your hoe and machete, get to the farm and work. I think we should say it has been a nice day".

"Thank you very much, Sir"

"Thank you too Susan for listening", he replied and hung up.

"What a man", she had thought. "Polite and principled". She prayed she would meet him again. But that would never be except by chance. There was no way to contact him "No name, no telephone number, no address". She did not even know where she could locate his office at the company site. He had met her outside and very briefly too. Above all he had pleaded anonymity. So she could not go over there and begin to ask of him by describing him.

Susan thought of the information. The most striking part of it was the warning.

Sergeant Garba however did not warn her of any danger. But she read the warning from his words. His own implicit warning was graver. She understood gin could make the American military hard like the Zuma Rock. She understood gin could make an average armed soldier in any of the streets around dream of causing quakes that would be equal to or even surpass that caused by the atomic bomb dropped at Hiroshima.

Besides she knew about the assassinations in the country, the incessant arrests, unlawful detentions, the Kangaroo military tribunals, the extra judicial murders and all other atrocities.

"Sergeant Garba can be trusted", she had thought after a while. The security officer gave her a total of ten names. And those were among the ones sergeant Garba had given her. Another interesting thing about sergeant Garba was the billions of naira he talked about. The villagers had alleged that bags of money exchanged hands but in millions. And sergeant Garba was so sure of billions. He went as far as calling the names of the people involved and the respective amounts they got.

Now the ground was set for the battle. It took her two weeks to contact most of the people

Susan took extra two days to compile the facts she had gotten and faxed them home. She posted the various interview tapes to New York too.

On the third day of rest she dialled Lt. Col. Leonard Komo. The line cut with Susan introducing herself. The same thing happened when she called the remaining two officers.

The sharp ringing of her hotel room telephone woke her up from Siesta around 2.30pm.

"Susan", the baritone voice called. She knew instantly who the caller was.

"Yes, good afternoon". She switched on her recorder. She was so eager to have him talk.

"I know you must be getting tired by now. Get your recorder ready"

"I’m set".

"Fine = 5 million, victims = 100 thousand, compensation per victims = 50 thousand…" when he exhausted the list of seventeen items, he added, "Numbers 2,14,15,16 and 17 are in human population, number 7 is in frequency and the rest are in naira. That’s all you need to know for now".

"What are the figures for?"

"Your will get explanation from your fax machine".

"Why did you send it there?"

"I feel at least your mother deserves to know why you died if you should. Beside I posted a tape to New York for you"

Susan was a bit rattled. "How did you get my address and fax number?"

"That is not necessary. Susan you must leave the country, now".

"Why?"

"Did you not call the three military officers?"

"I did call them this morning"

"Then consider yourself a serious security threat to them. I repeat leave the country. Now!" He hung up.

Susan was confused. She did not consider the figures again. Her mind could not hook on anything except Don, a young male vocalist performing nightly among others in the hotel’s nightclub. They have been friends long before now. So she reached for him and pleaded for his company to the Port Harcourt tourist beach.

The assassination attempt that evening while they were returning from the beach mesmerized her. Dr. Stevenson, the hotel’s Managing Director helped her arrange for security men that escorted her to the airport the following morning.

When Susan got to New York, her fax machine was the first port of call. Everything was intact. Her own investigation tallied with the security man’s information. The tapes were such reassuring evidence to allow for any doubt. Hence Susan wrote her report thus:

This was the report Anthony Goldberg, Susan’s boss, classified as "a fictitious report". "Susan I’m disappointed in you", he had concluded.

She couldn’t help but laugh in exasperation. "What? How do you mean?" All expressions about her were seeking for explanation. But this was not to come. Rather she got a further shock.

"Susan you are going on a compulsory leave for a period of one week. I think you need some time to rest after the tussles you encountered in the jungle".

Susan reported after a week very determined to have her way.

"You are now the chief liaison officer, ABS, Far East Region. Congratulations!"

Susan stood with her mouth agape. She gave out an exasperated laughter and asked "what about the report?"

"The editors are looking into it"

Mr. Goldberg had since rumpled the report. His face bore a mischievous countenance. So Susan threatened him with her resignation if he did not restore her former position.

Mr. Goldberg calmly brought out a letter from his drawer and gave it to Susan. After reading it, Susan tore it furiously and threw the pieces at his face. She walked out of the office, jobless.

For three days, Susan seriously contemplated a legal action. But a clause in the employer/employee contract bothered her.

As she continued pacing about furiously in her apartment, she happily remembered Mr. Coleman. He has been very friendly to her since he started work five years ago as one of ABS’s legal representatives. And he has been very successful in winning cases for ABS.

"Why had I forgotten him all this while?", Susan wondered.

Even though she knew he could not be her counsel, she was full of joy. At least his friends in the profession would. They are best of birds that flock together.

Susan quickly made for her hand bag after making the brief euphoric phone call to Mr. Coleman.

"I am back!" she exclaimed hilariously as she made for the door.

It is most likely Susan obtained justice because during their meeting at Regent Night club, Mr. Coleman pointed out to her the loopholes in the employer/employee agreement and the subsequent breach of law by Mr. Goldberg’s action.