THE INITIATION

Part 1: ARRIVING In the city of Lagos

Lagos, Nigeria, was a city that thrived on contradictions. Beneath the sweltering sun, chaos and charm tangoed with an effortless grace that left most visitors spellbound or utterly disoriented. For Mark and Sarah Johnson, however, Lagos was neither a tourist destination nor a cultural curiosity. They had come to Lagos on a mission, though their cover as a vacationing American couple was impeccable.

Mark, with his chiselled jawline and perpetually tousled black hair, played the part of the enthusiastic tourist. He had a knack for blending into crowds, adopting the wide-eyed wonder of someone perpetually amazed by their surroundings. Sarah, on the other hand, was all sharp angles and sharper wit. Her raven-black hair and cat-like black eyes gave her a mysterious allure, but it was her quick tongue and sharper mind that made her indispensable in the field.

The couple arrived at Murtala Muhammed International Airport, their casual attire masking the intensity of their mission. The plan was simple: infiltrate a high-profile gala where influential figures from across Africa would be present. Their target was a man known only as "The Broker," a shadowy figure in the world of illicit arms deals and espionage.

As their taxi weaved through the frenetic traffic, Mark glanced out of the window at the bustling streets of Lagos. Hawkers paraded their goods with fervent sales pitches, and the air was thick with the scent of street food, diesel fumes, and the unmistakable energy of a city that never seemed to sleep.

"Exotic, isn't it?" Mark commented, his tone laced with amusement as he took in the vibrant chaos around them.

"Exotic is one way to put it," Sarah replied, her eyes narrowing as she spotted a man on a motorcycle weaving through traffic, his gaze lingering a second too long on their taxi. "But I'd say it's more alive—every street corner, every alleyway. It's like the city has a pulse, and it's beating fast."

Mark chuckled, though his eyes remained watchful. "You always see the undercurrents. But that's why you're the brains of this operation."

"And you're the charming distraction," Sarah quipped, a smirk playing on her lips.

The taxi eventually pulled up to their hotel, a grand structure that stood in stark contrast to the chaotic streets outside. The Eko Hotel and Suites was an oasis of luxury in the heart of Lagos, and it was here that the gala would take place later that evening.

Once in their room, the couple dropped the pretense of casual tourists. Mark unpacked a small case filled with surveillance equipment, while Sarah accessed encrypted files on her laptop. They were here to gather intelligence, not just on The Broker, but on the network of power brokers who operated in the shadows, influencing governments and economies with the flick of a pen or the pull of a trigger.

"We're in for a long night," Sarah said, glancing at Mark as he meticulously checked their gear. "The guest list is a who's who of Africa's elite. We'll need to be on our toes."

Mark nodded, his expression serious. "I'll be the social butterfly. You work your magic with the tech. Remember, we're just a couple enjoying a fancy night out."

Sarah smirked. "A couple of what, exactly?"

Mark grinned. "A couple of charming, unassuming tourists. Now, let's get ready. We have a party to crash."

The gala was everything they had anticipated and more. Held in the hotel’s grand ballroom, it was a spectacle of wealth and power. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the crowd, and the air was filled with the soft hum of conversation punctuated by bursts of laughter. The attendees were draped in designer attire, each person exuding an air of importance that was almost palpable.

Mark and Sarah entered the ballroom, their appearance as impeccable as their cover story. Mark wore a tailored suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, while Sarah’s sleek black dress clung to her like a second skin. They looked every bit the part of an affluent couple enjoying a night of glamour.

As they mingled with the crowd, Mark made small talk with diplomats, business tycoons, and socialites, his easy charm disarming even the most guarded individuals. Meanwhile, Sarah kept a low profile, using her phone to scan the room and discreetly hack into the hotel's security system.

She spotted him first—their target. The Broker was an unassuming man in his late fifties, dressed in a modest suit that belied his influence. He was speaking with a group of men near the bar, his demeanor calm and composed. Sarah’s heart rate quickened as she sent a quick message to Mark: Target in sight.

Mark caught her eye from across the room, subtly nodding in acknowledgment. He casually made his way toward The Broker, engaging a few guests along the way. Sarah, meanwhile, continued her surveillance, her fingers flying over her phone’s keyboard as she accessed the hotel's internal cameras, focusing them on The Broker and his entourage.

As Mark approached The Broker, he smoothly introduced himself, playing the role of a wealthy investor looking to expand his business in Africa. The Broker, ever the cautious operator, was polite but distant, his eyes assessing Mark with the practiced gaze of someone who had seen it all.

"I've heard so much about Lagos," Mark said, his voice dripping with feigned admiration. "It's a city of opportunity, wouldn't you agree?"

The Broker smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Opportunity, yes. But also a city of great challenges. It takes a certain kind of person to succeed here."

Mark chuckled, his expression one of casual confidence. "I'm always up for a challenge."

The Broker's eyes flickered with interest, but he remained guarded. "I’m sure you are, Mr. Johnson. But Lagos is not a place for the faint-hearted."

Mark nodded thoughtfully, as if considering The Broker's words. "Well, I suppose that's what makes it so fascinating. The risks, the rewards—they're all part of the adventure."

The Broker raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "Perhaps. But one must be careful. The line between success and failure is often razor-thin."

As the two men engaged in their verbal sparring, Sarah's focus remained on her phone, her eyes scanning the data that flowed across the screen. She was so engrossed in her task that she almost missed the subtle shift in the room’s atmosphere—a quiet tension that had been steadily building.

A group of men had entered the ballroom, their presence inconspicuous but undeniable. They moved with the precision of trained operatives, their eyes scanning the crowd with a cold, detached focus. Sarah’s heart skipped a beat as she realized they were not part of the gala’s security detail.

She quickly messaged Mark: We have company. Uninvited.

Mark’s eyes flicked toward Sarah for the briefest of moments before he returned his attention to The Broker. "Well, Mr. Lawson," he said, using The Broker's known alias, "I’d love to continue our conversation, but I must attend to my wife. Perhaps we can speak again later?"

The Broker smiled thinly, nodding in agreement. "Of course. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Johnson."

Mark rejoined Sarah at the edge of the room, his expression calm despite the tension brewing around them. "Time to go?" he asked quietly.

"Definitely," Sarah replied, her eyes scanning the room. "Those guys aren’t here for the shrimp cocktails."

The couple made their way toward the exit, their pace unhurried but purposeful. As they reached the door, the first gunshot rang out—a sharp crack that cut through the soft music and laughter like a knife. Pandemonium erupted as guests screamed and ducked for cover.

Mark and Sarah moved quickly, their training kicking in as they navigated the chaos. They slipped out of the ballroom and into the hotel's maze-like corridors, their minds focused on one goal: escape.

As they rounded a corner, Sarah glanced at Mark, her eyes alight with a mixture of adrenaline and determination. "This was supposed to be a quiet night."

Mark grinned, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "You know us, Sarah. We never do quiet."

With that, they disappeared into the labyrinth of Lagos, the city’s pulse matching the rapid beat of their hearts as they raced toward the unknown.

All Mark could think about was the next week; him and Sarah worked at a Fortune 500 Consulting Company as part of their cover for the year they’d live in Lagos. They had just passed themselves off as tourists and potential investors to a lot of powerful people. And it seemed Lagos, and Nigeria as a whole, was a place where people caught on quickly. He just hoped he and Sarah would be able to make it out in one piece.

Painting by Mark Rothko