‘You go to the hospital. We can’t go together. Go and see what you can get on the Dele Giwa bomb thing,’ James says to Adam without looking over his shoulder. Lomba knows what he is thinking: Adam’s comments on the caption of their last cover have pinched him hard. At their last editorial meeting they’d all said it was a bit too direct, too confrontational: ‘ABACHA: THE STOLEN BILLIONS!’ But James had overruled them, and it went to press. Now perhaps he is feeling guilty about it. Adam alights. ‘I’ll go right away, sir,’ he says with a small salute, and moves to the road to wait for a taxi.

‘He was beginning to sound like a doomsday prophet,’ James says. ‘Let’s go back to the office.’ At Lomba’s questioning look, he laughs and says, ‘I am too old to play heroes. We’ll just drive past. After all, we don’t have anything else to do. Or do you?’

‘No, sir.’

They see the fire from about two blocks away. The smoke rises thickly in a stiff, steady stream, like an obelisk – as if conveying the essence of a burnt offering to the heavens. The Dial has a whole building to itself; the building was once a house, a duplex, before it was bought and converted into an office. It is in a quiet, residential neighbourhood with trees and hedges by the roadside. Both floors of the duplex are on fire. As James parks on the opposite side of the road, Lomba opens his door and makes to rush across the road to the burning building, where a small crowd has gathered. But James holds him back. ‘Don’t bother. It is too late. And they could be in the crowd, waiting.’

‘The office is gone!’ Lomba shouts, unable to understand James’s calm indifference. ‘At least let us get the Fire Brigade. Something could be salvaged.’

‘Lomba, this isn’t an accident. This is arson. Deliberate, official arson. The Fire Brigade must have been informed by a neighbour by now. But try again if you want.’ He hands Lomba his mobile phone. Lomba dials. James watches the burning building in silence. Lomba almost screams into the phone, ‘There is a fire… No. 5 Balogun Road. You have…? Well, it is not here!… Do so!’

‘They told you that they’ve already sent a fire engine,’ James says calmly before Lomba can speak. Lomba nods. ‘They said maybe it got held up in the traffic,’ he says and stares ahead at the deserted road. They stare in silence as the fire rages across the road. Helpless fury forces tears to Lomba’s eyes and he brushes them away with the back of his hand. He stretches his open palm out of the window and watches the ash gather on it. He holds the ash before his face and says in a broken voice, ‘These very ashes could be from my pages.’