CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The atmosphere in the safehouse had shifted. The discovery of child training camps and the coded whisper of Operation Silencio had cast a heavy silence over the team. Even Kojo, who always cracked a joke after each mission, sat in grim silence as he analyzed satellite feeds of Kumasi.

Brian stood at the large board in the war room, staring at the photo of P now pinned beside The Widow. The man they'd hunted in back alleys and burned warehouses had finally revealed himself — not as a fugitive, but as her lieutenant.

"P was never a rogue agent," Brian muttered. "He's her right hand."

Adjeley nodded, scrolling through intercepted messages. "We traced two encrypted messages from Kumasi to Accra schools. Both used internal codes — school clearance levels."

Akosua raised her eyes. "They're targeting children… at the schools themselves?"

Alicia leaned forward. "They could be using the schools for recruitment. Or worse, planning an attack."

Kojo confirmed their fears. "We've just pulled a hit on six schools across Accra — all receiving large 'donations' from a front organization called Bright Future Initiative. It's one of the Widow's shells. We cross-checked financials — shipments of 'books and supplies' are coming in this week."

Brian's jaw tensed. "If those shipments contain weapons or drugs…"

Adjeley finished the thought: "They're turning our schools into nests."

They needed eyes on the ground, and fast. Akosua and Selorm volunteered to go undercover as NGO coordinators at one of the target schools in Nima. The school had just received a new block of classrooms courtesy of Bright Future Initiative.

Three days later, they were in. Disguised in corporate polos and khakis, they blended in among local volunteers, teachers, and a suspicious headmistress named Auntie B.

Auntie B, a stern woman with steel-gray braids, met them at the front gate.

"I don't trust white-shirt folks," she muttered, shaking their hands stiffly.

Selorm grinned. "Don't blame you. Some are more corrupt than the ones they claim to help. We just want to talk to the kids and see what they need."

She softened slightly. "Hmm. We'll see."

Akosua slipped into teacher mode quickly, hosting art sessions and reading circles. Selorm bonded with the older boys on the football field. Within two days, they'd mapped suspicious patterns.

Some students arrived at odd hours. Some disappeared for weeks and reappeared changed — quieter, more violent. A locked room in the basement bore a keypad and "Supplies Storage" sign, but no one ever entered it during the day.

Selorm planted a camera during a night cleaning shift.

The footage came in shaky but clear: crates being opened at 2:14 a.m. Inside were not books, but modified AKs, handguns, military-grade comms, and black uniforms sized for teenagers.

Brian received the feed at 3:00 a.m.

"We go in tomorrow," he said. "We can't let a single one of those weapons leave that school."

The team assembled before dawn. This wasn't a full police op — they couldn't risk tipping off the cartel. The school had students, some innocent. This had to be surgical.

By 5:30 a.m., Brian, Kojo, Adjeley, and a small tactical team breached the school's outer perimeter in plainclothes. Akosua and Selorm guided them through the building.

The basement was locked.

Kojo tapped into the panel and cracked the keypad. The door creaked open.

Weapons. Uniforms. Maps. Names. Roster sheets. One read: Accra Phase One.

Adjeley whispered, "They're planning simultaneous takeovers."

Just then, voices echoed from above — footsteps approaching.

"Hide," Brian ordered.

They slipped behind crates. A group of teens entered, led by a familiar face.

"Dora," Kojo whispered. "How—?"

Dora, once their captive, now wore a uniform and cold pride in her stride.

She addressed the group. "We move next week. The headmistress will delay authorities long enough for extraction. Once you're armed, you'll head to your zones. Do not fail the Widow."

Brian's blood ran cold. She was training these kids to be child soldiers.

He gave the signal.

The team emerged with weapons raised.

"Freeze!" Brian barked.

The kids panicked. Some ran. Dora spun with fury. "You—!"

She reached for her gun — Adjeley shot it from her hand. Kojo tackled two boys. Selorm corralled the rest.

Brian rushed to Dora, slamming her into the wall.

"You're training children?" he growled.

"They begged for purpose," she hissed. "You offered them nothing but squalor and death."

"You stole their future."

Sirens wailed outside. The real police had been tipped off anonymously — likely Alicia.

Backup arrived just as they handcuffed the last of the young recruits. Brian turned to face Dora, bloodied and smiling.

"You think you've won?" she whispered.

Brian stared at her. "No. This isn't the end."

She smirked. "No, Detective. This is only the prologue."

Later that night, The Widow received the news in silence. Her expression unreadable.

P approached. "They've cracked Phase One."

The Widow touched her ring, a blood-red stone pulsing in the dim light.

"Then it's time for Phase Two."

P hesitated. "But—"

Her voice sliced through the air. "Release the sleepers."

Across Accra, six young teens woke in their homes, unaware that the chemical instructions implanted in their minds during conditioning would activate by dawn.

They were not just soldiers. They were weapons.

And the city was running out of time.