Brief of Lies ✍
The orange sun hung low over the sprawling city of Abuja, casting long shadows across the roads and buildings as the late-afternoon hustle gave way to the evening calm. General Aina Adekunle, Director of the National Intelligence Agency (NIA), sat rigid in the back of a sleek S-class sedan, its gleaming surface reflecting the fading sunlight. His convoy—a fleet of armored Ascend SUVs....flanked the car on both sides as they sped towards the grand presidential residence, Aso Villa.
As the convoy approached the gates of Aso Villa, armed soldiers in sharp, army-green uniforms snapped to attention. The estate, a symbol of Nigeria's power, was nestled amidst lush greenery, its architecture a seamless blend of traditional elegance and cutting-edge modernity. Guard towers dotted the perimeter, each equipped with advanced thermal imaging and biometric scanners that monitored the surroundings ceaselessly.
At the entrance, a checkpoint bristled with activity. A team of elite security p ersonnel, clad in tactical suits bearing the insignia of the PGU-Presidential Guard Unit, swarmed the vehicles. Each car underwent a rigorous inspection, with scans for explosives and hidden compartments. A computer system analyzed each passenger's biometric signature, verifying their identities against a secured database.
The convoy was cleared only after the head of security, a sharp-eyed officer carrying a Spectra-9 sidearm, gave the final nod. The sleek vehicles glided through the gates, past meticulously landscaped flowerbeds and perfectly trimmed lawns. Hidden within the grounds were concealed surveillance drones, their silent rotors ensuring no movement went unnoticed.
One of the soldiers whispered to his colleague, "See as dem dey waka. Na so power dey move o."
"Dem think say na only dem get Nigeria?" the other replied with a smirk, quickly silencing himself as their commanding officer strode past.
Inside Aso Villa, opulence reigned. The marble floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandeliers fashioned from locally sourced crystals, their intricate designs casting dazzling patterns across the high, vaulted ceilings. Paintings of Nigeria's icons...Shehu Shagari and the likes and other historical triumphs adorned the walls, each framed in polished gold. The air was filled with a faint scent of sandalwood, an intentional touch to evoke calm and authority.
General Adekunle moved with purpose through the labyrinthine corridors, his polished shoes clicking rhythmically against the floor. His sharp, tailored suit emphasized his commanding presence, each step exuding authority. A presidential aide, a tall man dressed in a meticulously tailored Agbada embroidered with the crest of Aso Villa, led the way.
"The President has been anticipating this briefing, General," the aide said in a measured tone. "He is eager to hear your report."
Adekunle gave a curt nod but remained silent. His mind was consumed with the narrative he had so carefully constructed. He knew President Jaiye Martins was not easily swayed, but Adekunle was confident in his ability to tilt the scales in his favor.
They arrived at the President's private study, a room that radiated intellect and power. Shelves lined with books on history, science, and governance stretched from floor to ceiling, their spines glinting under the warm light of antique lamps. The centerpiece was a massive desk carved from Kayan mahogany, its polished surface reflecting the light.
President Jaiye Martins looked up from a document he had been reading. His sharp eyes scanned Adekunle as he entered, their intensity betraying both curiosity and caution. "General," the President greeted him, his deep voice filling the room, "I trust you bring news that justifies all this urgency."
Adekunle straightened, his demeanor unwavering. "Mr. President," he began, his tone steady, "we have much to discuss. The recent discovery made by Dr. Modupe Hassan, one of our nation's brightest minds, has caused significant ripples within the intelligence community. However..." He allowed his voice to drop slightly, adding weight to his next words. "There are concerns."
The President leaned forward, his brows furrowing. "Concerns?"
Adekunle continued, his voice smooth. "Yes, sir. Dr. Hassan, born in Quebec in 1998, is a certified prodigy. She wrote her SAT's at age eleven, earning top distinctions. By fifteen, she had completed a B.Sc. in Anthropology, and by her early twenties, she had secured a PhD in Nanotech engineering. Her achievements are undeniable. But..." He let the word linger ominously.
The President's gaze hardened. "But what?"
"Our investigations have revealed potential links between Dr. Hassan and certain underground organizations," Adekunle said, choosing his words carefully. "Organizations with goals that conflict with the interests of this nation."
A tense silence filled the room. The President's sharp eyes bored into Adekunle, searching for any hint of exaggeration or deceit. "Are you suggesting," the President asked slowly, "that Dr. Hassan poses a threat to national security?"
"Sir, there is evidence that her intentions may not align with the nation's well-being," Adekunle lied. "Her discovery of the alien craft in Maiduguri was suspiciously bogus.My team believes she aims to lure you in for an inspection of this fake spacecraft.... it's just another attempt to assassinate you."
President Martins stood abruptly, pacing behind his desk. "Assassinate me, you say? A fake ploy? Do you understand the magnitude of what you're saying, General? The implications of this ?"
Adekunle clasped his hands behind his back. "Precisely why we must act swiftly, Mr. President. I'll have my team bring her in, rumors are that she has ties to the revitalized Boko Haram terrorist group."
The President stopped pacing and faced Adekunle. "And what do you propose we do?"
Adekunle's lips curled into a faint smile. "With your approval, Mr. President, we apprehend Dr. Hassan and trace her to those terrorists. We must ensure the militia discovery remains under our control."
Martins nodded slowly, his expression resolute. "Do it. But quietly. The public must not know until we have full understanding and control."
"Understood, sir," Adekunle said, bowing slightly.
As Adekunle left the study, his smirk widened. The pieces of his plan were falling into place. Once outside, he entered his vehicle, tapping the armrest thoughtfully. "Modupe Hassan no go know wetin hit am," he muttered in Yoruba. "By the time I get that alien tech, presidency no go matter again."
The convoy sped through Abuja's streets, the city lights casting fleeting glimmers on the car windows. In Adekunle's mind, the future was clear: seize the technology, secure ultimate power, and eliminate anyone in his way.