“What—what’s happening?” the man stammers, not angry now that he’s realized something is wrong. “Should I call the police?”

“No,” I say automatically.

The Griffins don’t call the police when we have a problem. In fact, we’ll do anything we can to avoid contact with the cops.

I’m waiting, heart pounding, too scared to even look out the peephole in case the diver has followed me, and he’s waiting outside the door. Waiting for my eye to cross the lens so he can fire a bullet right through it.

“If I can use your phone, I’ll call my brother,” I say.

* * *

2

Raylan

I lay very still in the false bottom of the cart. I can feel it bumping and jolting over the dirt road, then pausing outside the gates of the Boko Haram compound.

The insurgents have been holed up in here for a week, after taking control of this patch of land close to Lake Chad. We’ve got intel that Yusuf Nur drove into the compound last night. He’ll only be staying here for twelve hours, before heading out again.

I hear Kambar arguing with the guards over the wagon full of rice he’s brought. He’s dickering with them over price, demanding that they pay the full 66,000 Naira they offered, and not a kobo less.

I’d like to strangle him for making such a fuss about it, but I know it would probably look more suspicious if he didn’t haggle. Still, as the argument drags on and on, and he threatens to turn around and take his sacks of Basmati back home, I have to stop myself from giving the boards overhead a thump, to remind him that getting inside is more important than getting his money.

Finally, the guards agree to a price just a little lower than Kambar wants, and I feel the wagon lurch as we drive inside the compound.

I hate being cooped up in here. It’s hotter than hell, and I feel vulnerable, even though Bomber and I are both armed to the teeth. Somebody could douse this cart in gasoline and set it ablaze before we could shoot our way out. If Kambar betrayed us.

We’ve been working with him on and off for two years. So I’d like to think I can trust the guy. But I also know he’ll do a lot of things for the right price. He’s done a lot of things for me, when I scrounged up a good bribe.

Luckily, we pass into the compound without incident. Kambar drives the cart over to what I assume is the kitchen area, then starts unloading his rice.

“I hope that smell is the cow, and not you,” Bomber hisses at me.

For almost three hours now, we’ve been crammed in here together, like two lovers in one coffin. It’s definitely a lot more intimate with Bomber than I ever hoped to experience.

He’s not a bad guy—a little bit stupid, a little bit sexist, and pretty fuckin’ awful at telling jokes. But he’s a hard worker, and I can count on him to follow the plan.