As this well-spoken voice came from the Mercedes’s speakers, Taiwo reached around with his iPhone to show a photo someone had posted on Twitter. It was taken from across the muddy transit park and showed rows of long-distance buses, local buses and taxis, like on any other morning. But the five-storey Transport Union building on the far side had caved, its buckled steel frame looming over a mound of concrete and shattered glazing units

Taiwo laughed, slapping one knee. ‘This will teach the Rotimi-loving scum to betray us!’

Gabe looked excited as he craned his neck to see the image. Julius was thinking how his mum had been up and dressed, almost as if she’d been expecting something …

‘Rotimi’s youngest son is in my class,’ Gabe said, smiling. ‘Last week he was all like, The area boys making a move is desperation. Everyone knows Adebisi can’t win a third term. Now I’m gonna be like, Where’s your Transport Union buddies now, bitch?’

While his brothers gloated, Julius considered death and carnage, but also more selfish thoughts. The city was going to erupt and there would be no way to get to Duke.

‘How dumb are they?’ Kehinde asked. ‘Gathering for a meeting at the same time and place, every Wednesday.’

‘Asking for trouble,’ Taiwo agreed.

Unable to show his secret phone, Julius had to listen to more callers on the radio. Gabe turned his screen away, so Julius couldn’t the see messages he was bouncing to his friends.

‘Kids in my class are getting off school now,’ Gabe told the car bitterly. ‘Adam lives in town and he says there’s fights and windows getting smashed.’

Kehinde looked at Jimoh. ‘Shall I call our mum and check what she wants?’

Jimoh was an enormous barrel-chested man, who’d been guarding the Adebisi family for as long as Julius could remember.

‘Call her if you wish,’ he said brightly. ‘But your mother usually knows what’s going on before it happens, so don’t bet on your chances of getting out of school.’

‘That’s truth,’ Kehinde agreed with a laugh. ‘I’ll give it a shot though …’

There was an angry caller on the radio as they turned off the beltway at their usual exit.

‘All this power struggle makes me sick!’ she railed. ‘Adebisi, Rotimi, who cares? Do they starve? Do they shed blood on the city streets? One tapestry in the new governor’s mansion costs more than I will earn in ten lifetimes …’

‘Can’t get through to Mum’s mobile, or the house,’ Kehinde told Jimoh.

‘Telephone lines are probably overwhelmed with this chaos,’ Jimoh suggested, then smiled. ‘But there are no buses or taxis. We’re making record time!’