CHAPTER 71

The road to Calabar was lined with whispers.

Old trees bent toward the highway like they wanted to listen. Petrol stations looked abandoned even when people were there. And as the van rolled past Akamkpa, Fatihah muttered beneath her breath, "This place smells like secrets."

Zainab said nothing.

She was deep in her notes—codes, symbols, names she'd gathered from the Raven's past financial statements and the Bureau's now-defunct archives. Somewhere in the mess, a pattern had begun to form. Not of money, not of names—but of shadows. The same shell company kept appearing. And every time, the trail ended in Cross River.

Obi drove like a man with purpose, his eyes scanning the rear-view mirror every ten seconds.

"You know they're watching again," he said flatly.

"I'm counting on it," Zainab replied.

They arrived at a fishing village three hours later. Not listed on any map. No cell service. Just water, mist, and stories too old for the internet.

Their contact was a woman in her fifties named Mama Eka. She sold dried fish by day and ran an underground informant network by night. She didn't smile when they arrived. Just nodded once and said, "The Jackal was born in this village."

Obi blinked. "He's from here?"

"No," she said. "He was made here."

She led them to a shack behind her smokehouse. Inside were boxes—metallic, dusty, untouched.

"They used to test mind control techniques here in the 90s," she said. "Psychological warfare. Disinformation labs. All under a fake health NGO. Jackal was part of the first trial. They say he didn't blink for three weeks."

Fatihah swallowed. "What happened to the others?"

Mama Eka looked her dead in the eye.

"They died. All of them."

Zainab knelt by the boxes. Each one had a number. She opened one, slowly.

Inside—photographs.

Men in military uniforms. Notes scribbled in multiple languages. Diagrams of how to trigger trauma responses using colors and sound. She found one folder labeled: "Subject MALA: Field Deployment 001."

Her fingers shook.

It was a personnel file.

NAME: Chief Felix AdioALIAS: MALADESIGNATION: Psychological Reassignment OfficerCURRENT STATUS: ACTIVE (UNVERIFIED)

Obi knelt beside her. "He's not just a ghost… He's a system."

That night, they burned copies.

And encrypted digital scans.

They weren't just hunting anymore.

They were preparing to expose a new arm of darkness—one the Bureau had buried even from itself.

By dawn, Mama Eka gave them each a small vial.

"A protection mix," she said. "From the old ways. For clarity. For courage. For when bullets won't help."

Zainab took hers and tucked it into her chest pocket.

"Where's the Jackal now?" she asked.

Mama Eka smiled for the first time.

"That's the easy part," she said. "He's coming to you."

And she was right.

Because that evening, back at the shack, a note slid beneath their door.

"You've touched the bones of the mountain.

Now let's see if you can carry the weight.

Come to the Old Court at 11PM.

Alone."

Signed:

—M.

Zainab folded the note.

No fear in her eyes.

Just fire.

It wasn't just about the past anymore.

It was about silencing the kind of future that swallows generations.

And this time, she wouldn't be the one running.