At the underbelly of the dreaded Nyayo House we were taken direct to the briefing room. What I expected was a debrief of how Operation Moscow had gone, to be touted for the death of the Ambassador of Kiambu. It was the opposite of my expectations though. It was another assignment. There was always another assignment.
This mission was a deadly affair. And it was urgent. Actually, Youth Aviation had been chartered to take me and Tatyana to Mombasa in thirty minutes. Tatyana would be command while I did the dirty work. I always did the dirty work. Well, what do you think? I am one of the most lethal female assassins in the world today.
The man responsible for terror attacks that had rocked the country these past days had become a priority. Ever since the murder of the last of sheikhs who was instrumental in spreading Islamic extremism and radicalizing the youth at the coast seven years before, the heat had cooled down at the coast. Until now.
There was a new one – young, dangerous and calculating. Another Osama bin Laden. They always sprout up from wherever Allah knew where, spewing terrorism and extremism propaganda. This one was more vicious, venomous and a real pain in the ass of the government. He had to go, by all means. I was the one to kill him.
“But why me?” I screamed at Command, the woman who no one dared blink while she was talking.
Command gave me her famous stare that said it all: I open my filthy mouth one more time, or move a muscle, and my CD4 count would plummet like the mystical rock that would crush the earth at the end of time.
But I was not relenting. Not anymore. These past days I was regaining control. No matter how many drugs they pumped into my system to make me subjective, obey everything without questioning, there always was a vestige of consciousness of who I was. My memory had come back in tons.
Well, it was like Command had gotten laid, something I’m cocksure she never did, or something because she surprised everybody else in the room when she said, “Because you are the best we have”, as though that flattered me. Even without her answering I knew the answer. I did the dirty work.
An hour later the blue Youth Aviation helicopter took off at Wilson Airport. It rose from the ground the way Jesus’ ascension is portrayed in art. It rose to – 10000 feet? – then dropped like a stone leaving my intestines somewhere up there and collected them on the way down.
The helicopter flew towards the direction of Ngong Hills. Ever since Internal Security minister’s chopper crashed in this area flying over it always makes my stomach go taut. I relaxed when we were clear of the area and the chopper had levelled.
Flying to Mombasa is about forty-five minutes, but Youth Aviation’s choppers make it in ten minutes less. Yeah, to have four o’clock tea at Nyali Beach Hotel after having a high power lunch in Nairobi before joining your family in the evening in Zanzibar.
The Coastal Affair mission was not a touch and go thing. Sheikh Makbul aka al-Zenawi had mujahedeen soldiers guarding him like the Vatican Guard. Getting to him was next to impossibility. Plus, no women went near him, except for one.
British born Amanda Walker aka Farhiya Ghazali aka The White Sister was a global terrorist hunted by the G8 countries. She travelled to all terrorist cells in the world to map out how to rain terror. Apparently, she was in Kenya to meet the revered sheikh to plan their next target, which happened to be the State House.
The Squad had been tipped of her whereabouts and got hold of her. Technically, they kidnapped her so as to steal her identity.
I was Farhiya Ghazali. That’s how I was going to meet with Sheikh Makbul.
‘Sheikh Makbul aka al-Zenawi was found dead in the mihrab. Sources have confirmed that Sheikh Makbul was in the company The White Sister, the revered British born terrorist Amanda Walker. Amanda Walker visited the Masjid Musa mosque yesterday and joined the sheikh for Asr prayers. Sheikh Makbul is said to have dismissed his mujahedeens who guard him…’ the anchoress, a curvaceous woman was saying. What TV station was it? I didn’t care. Whether it was Citizen, NTV, KTN, K24 or K-whatever they were reporting the same thing.
I was aboard KQ747 on my flight back to Nairobi. Another thorn in the government’s ass was gone, thanks to me, Amanda Walker aka Farhiya Ghazali. Mombasa was a melee of street protests against the death of Sheikh Makbul. It was post-Rogo/Makaburi all over again.
Who cared? My CD4 count remained intact.