A top priority flash message knelled its arrival on my phone Friday last week. One of the girls was in urgent need of moral support. So, Bac’s Day was an evening of solaces and preventing waterworks.
Eve had peeled back the mask behind the face that was her new boyfriend. Turned out Nick was not what he really was.
Unless one is an undercover government’s agent, anyone who answers to two names is a time bomb waiting to explode. Nick was not his name, and he was not Kenyan. To make matters even worse, he was a fugitive. He was one of the robbers wanted by the DRC’s president for stealing his gold. Trust a gossip columnist to sniff all the way like a hound to where the scandal thrives.
Eve has a PI on speed-dial, plus his brother is in the NSIS. She wanted to do some background checks on the guy before she they got serious. Blame it on her; she was beginning to fall in love with the wretch. It would have been untestable if it was Gwendolyn. Investigative reporter to her résumé is enough to forgive her for going around asking questions she shouldn’t, but Eve, of all people, a celebrity gossip columnist?
Long story short – she gave him the boot – and she was mourning her loss. We all were. We almost broke our rule of not drinking ourselves to stupors in public. When Eve was calmer enough for the subject to shift goal posts, I told them of what editor-in-chief Yedioth Ahronoth, Kenya had told me. Actually, I broke my weeklong silence on the subject.
“That sounds like a threat to me,” Gwen said.
“Bottom line is, you’ve been warned,” said Wisty, taking a sip of her Baileys.
“I don’t get it,” Eve joined in. She was now her usual self, thanks to the alcohol.
“Beats me,” I said lackadaisically. “It is Gwen who told me not to publish the story that I had about Fr. Frank. Now, it comes from the editor-in-chief himself that the same person who warned me is now being warned. What I’m I missing here?”
“I don’t know, I’m as shocked as you are.”
“Unless there is something you are not telling us, Gwen,” Wisty said. I knew that tone.
“I don’t care whether she’s keeping something from us or not,” I interjected, “I want to know what it is, no matter how.”
A long spell of silence stretched between us before Gwen broke it, “You remember when I told you that the director of public prosecutions’ office was involved? It was more than that.”
“How do you mean?” I asked everything clear in my mind.
“What I did not tell you was that the DPP told me that it was a matter of national security. Apparently, the Israeli government is involved somehow. I decided to do an in depth investigation before I say or do anything else. The trail is leading me to an underground movement thingy.”
“You are beginning to spook us,” Eve said, the alcohol taking toll on her.
“Go on,” I said. I was trying not to say “and you kept that from me?” but I could grasp what she was trying not to say.
“I’ve been asking around, top government officials and intelligence guys and the like, no one is willing to talk, but word has it that there is a ghost movement of assassins with connection to the Catholic Church. That’s how I stumbled upon Fr. Frank’s name.”
“You mean Fr. Frank is an assassin?” I asked skeptically.
“That’s how it appears,” she replied.
“But why is Yedioth Ahronoth, Kenya warning you?” asked Eve.
“That’s the sixty-million-dollar question,” I said. “And I want it answered like yesterday.”
“But I can’t answer it,” Gwen said, her eyes on me.
A dark ominous cloud of silence hovered over us for a moment before I said, “We are going to find out.”