Prologue

The old man lay on the hospital bed, his gnarled hands trembling as a bout of cough racked his frail frame. The noise of the fan did not bother him. neither did the mosquitoes that tried to extract blood from his ravaged body. In fact, nothing mattered now. Death would come soon.

‘How is the chief today?’ asked the young nurse as she drew the curtains for the sun’s rays to enter the room. he blinked in annoyance but maintained a studious silence, unwilling to expend energy.

‘Bright and sunny. . .isn’t it?’ she tried again, and he looked the other way.

She shook her head in resignation before approaching him.

‘Let’s check your vitals,’ she said, adjusting the probes attached to his arms and chest.

‘Blood pressure is fine. Temperature is normal and pulse rate is stable,’ she rattled, her brown eyes scanning the display fixed next to his bed.

‘You will soon go home,’ she declared, noting down his parameters on the medical sheet mounted on a clipboard.

This time he grunted an acknowledgement, and as was the practice for the last three months, she gave him his medicines before leaving the room he let out a sigh, knowing who would come next.

The young man in the brown suit did not fail him and came just as he was finishing his breakfast.

‘The doctor says that you are improving,’ said the man as he made himself comfortable in the blue plastic chair kept next to the bed. Not waiting for a response, he came to the point straight away.

‘Where are the diamonds, General?’

The brusque voice resonated off the cream-coloured walls, but the military veteran did not appear impressed. He took his time in wiping the cereal that had dribbled down his lips before returning the stare.

‘We are running out of patience,’ declared the tormentor as his grip tightened over the needle pierced into the frail hand for the intravenous drip.

The stoic silence infuriated him, and he pushed the chair back to leave.

‘General. . .you will talk or you will die a slow, painful death.’

A murderous rage contorted his face, but the veteran remained unfazed and straightened his shoulders before a smile appeared that made him look younger by ten years. ‘You have twenty-four hours,’ whispered the brown-suited man before stomping out of the room.

The General sighed aloud, and a frown creased his forehead.

The Nigerian mafia would not let him or his family live for long.

He adjusted his pillow as his mind raced ahead. The diamonds that were the cause of misery in the bloody civil war of 1967 had to die. He was the only one who could prevent another bloodbath.

Arriving at a decision was easy, and he slipped out the blue capsule hidden in his pyjama pocket before reaching out for his medical sheet. He flipped it around, and his trembling fingers held the pen to scrawl his last words to his son. Satisfied with the effort, he threw the clipboard back on the side table before placing the capsule in his mouth. He closed his eyes and bit the capsule, knowing that the cyanide would act fast.