The Attaché: Rise of the West

By C.A Oganga

Amber in her own way mourns with Ivan who tries to cope with his loss, and together, they subtly rope Robin into their world by trying to explain the bizarreness in the occurrence of the tragedy.

The three friends gather to pay their last respects to Dimitri Izhevsk, Ivans dad. They struggle with that reality, trying to comprehend the circumstance behind it.
Eventually, life begins to smoothen into normalcy and quickly, it disintegrates, and the three friends have to part ways. Amber and Ivan journey off to their responsibilities as Dylii in their respective factions while Robin heads off to Barcelona to be with her family, having just discovered that her parents are getting back together.

Ambers journey begins in Nairobi where she is propelled into truths that she struggles to deal with. She losses her support system, plunging her into uncertainty. She struggles to find a balance between a normal life and her Dylii existence.

Ivans return to the Western Faction comes with challenges that he must face. A lot is expected of him, most importantly, unwavering loyalty and obedience. He is faced with his most important mission yet, which lands him in dreadful trouble.

He must tread carefully to survive the wrath of the West.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: May 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781482878349

C.A Oganga

He or she will be able to relate in a way that is true to the human nature as I have tried to incorporate as much human nature into the book to bring out an authentic feel to the story, to be as humble yet extravagant as possible. The anticipatory touch that I have created is intended to capture the reader’s attention, which will create interest and enthusiasm throughout the book. The level of uniqueness in the book, I hope, will create some kind of understanding of the evolution of creativity, drawing as many readers as possible.

Book preview

THE ATTACHÉ

Rise Of The West

C.A. Oganga

The author of The Attaché: A Community of Spies,

the first installment in The Attaché Series.

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Copyright © 2018 by C.A. Oganga.

ISBN:                   Softcover                         978-1-4828-7833-2

                            eBook                             978-1-4828-7834-9

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

www.partridgepublishing.com/africa

CONTENTS

Before Sunrise

Sunrise The Baron

Dawn

A Little After Sunrise

Reports To Crystal City

0900 Hours

1030 Hours

Chapter 1 The Final Farewell

Chapter 2 Nathan

Chapter 3 Hellen’s Story

Chapter 4 Famiglia

Chapter 5 Home Sweet Home

Chapter 6 News, News and More News I

Chapter 7 The Last Of Dimitri

Chapter 8 Escape Route

Chapter 9 My Love To You

Chapter 10 News, News And More News II

Chapter 11 Rise Of The West

Chapter 12 Nouvaeux Départs

Chapter 13 The Meet

Chapter 14 The Western Institute

Chapter 15 Kenya

Chapter 16 Nairobi Night Life

Chapter 17 Truth

Chapter 18 Aunt Claudette

Chapter 19 Run For Your Life!

Chapter 20 The Help

Chapter 21 The Branding

Chapter 22 Consequences

Chapter 23 Counter-Action

Chapter 24 The Flaw

Chapter 25 Recovery

Chapter 26 Ivan’s Mentor

Chapter 27 The Most Important Mission

Chapter 28 The Asset

Chapter 29 Change of Plan

Chapter 30 Fast Forward

To

Mauryn

and David

&

Benjamin and Eugene

LOOSE ENDS

BEFORE SUNRISE

Tower Bridge, London

It was still dark though the lamp posts standing on the concrete barricades that separated the side path from the River Thames cast their lighting through the wee morning. No one could ignore the very detailed carvings on the black posts, of large open mouthed fish gawking at anyone who passed by.

Big Ben stood tall, majestically, like a queen amidst her subjects. He lit up the clock that read the time in the earliness of morning. The houses of parliament were blurred by the morning mist that cast its spell across the land.

The sky was navy blue with hints of grey, the sure effect of the bright moon on the stray clouds.

The rising morning was chilly. The air was dense and hard to inhale.

There was almost total silence, jelling well into the obscurity, with no one in sight but the man that emerged from City Hall walk, stepping heavily on the tarmacked path.

His silhouette was almost that of a hunch-backed man, having an elaborate bending to his spine. His lopsidedness was prominent; he clutched at his side where a nine millimeter bullet had been dispatched into his flesh.

He occasionally glanced at Big Ben and then at his own pocket watch as though anticipating the stop of time.

He hastened his pace, hurrying towards Tower Bridge.

A trail of crimson drew on the concrete, fresh human blood dropping from its source at almost regular intervals.

The man pushed himself further once he saw a human silhouette in the distance. He seemed about to give up but kept going nonetheless. He was determined regardless of his inadequacy.

Between the two pillars of Tower Bridge stood a man facing the Thames. He was attired in a long black over coat that masked him from neck to ankle. His hands were crossed behind him and one could see his pale fingers which were stiff and ice-like.

He turned immediately he sensed company.

James, you are late! he mouthed sternly.

The well-fitting suit that he had on was impressive, blacker than the dark light posts. His shirt was about an inch visible from the collar, having no tie in place. His build was not heavy but that was no basis to judge his strength.

His face was almost impossible to see, dulled by the residue of the night that had passed.

I am sorry that you had to wait. James apologized, looking up at the man. Minor accident. He added, referring to the incident at Winterstorm.

One could see the agony in James’ face, even as he tried to hide it. His grey eyes were watery though no tear fell from them. His lower eye lids were swollen.

His face narrowed towards the bottom, his beard covered some parts of his cheek and thinned at his chin. His eye brows were thick. Some of his dark hair gathered at his temple, draping on that side, wetted by his own sweat. Some of his hair strands dripped the salty water.

He held on to his side more with more wincing.

What happened James? the man questioned calmly.

I don’t know really, James replied. He attempted to stand upright.

No, no, don’t labour yourself, this conversation won’t be long. The man said tauntingly. He placed his hand on James’ shoulder, sort of comforting but James knew better. He had moved a bit closer, so that James could see his daunting eyes.

I can make this right. I just need more time. I just need a few more hours. James pleaded.

Shhh, you have done all you could. The man assured. The Baron appreciates your hard work and abiding loyalty over the years. He added.

Please Jacques, James entreated, falling to his knees. He had his face towards Jacques who already had the spout of his hand gun, corked and pointed at him.

Get up James! A Dylii does not beg for his life in this miserable fashion. Jacques reminded. Get up and face your end with dignity. He mouthed, raising his voice.

James struggled to get back on his feet. He was weak and getting pale, fast.

The blood that pooled around him emitted an intense metal-like scent.

He took a deep breath. He stared at Jacques with despair and helplessness. He kept silent, unable to speak another word. He just waited, knowing not to waste his last seconds pleading an already determined case.

Your brother won’t be as lonely on the other side, James. Jacques said mockingly and pulled the trigger.

The boom of his gun echoed in the silence, ending James’ life.

James’ lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud. Life was fast draining from his eyes, leaving behind a blank stare.

Immediately, Jacques bent over him. He seemed to be doing something sinister. A few seconds later, he was already up, straightening his expensive attire.

Jacques studied his watch and within seconds, a plain van came screeching towards the scene. Four men, completely covered from head to toe climbed out of it. They seemed like bug exterminators, but not quite, hurrying towards the corpse.

Two of them carried the body into the van as the others cleaned up the trail of blood from the pavement as fast as they could.

Once every spot had been taken care of, they all got into the van, speeding out of sight as though they had never been there.

SUNRISE

THE BARON

Somewhere in London

This was a particularly odd drawing room with only one single-sitter facing a neglected hearthside. The opening where windows had once ushered in the fresh air had been sealed roughly with wooden planks so that it was only dark to some measure such that only streaks of light escaped into the room.

The entire floor was covered with chipping tiles, forcing the concrete to surface. The walls were the colour of discoloured crème with cracks leading up to the ceiling. An ancient portrait of a man in the early nineteen hundreds graced the bare walls; it was the only thing less depressing in this room.

There was a man seated, his leg over the other, and leaning back on the moth eaten couch. He had his right arm resting on the armrest, his healthy fingers tapping lightly on the exposed wood with anticipation.

There was another man in the room. He kept warm in a black overcoat, standing too close to the man in the chair. He had just got there and was about to speak.

The man in the chair raised his hand to stop him. I already know, Jacques. He spoke authoritatively, his voice too sharp. I know, he repeated, resuming his tapping.

Who brought you the news? Jacques asked respectfully.

Your juniors beat you to it, but I understand you had another matter to attend to?

Yes Baron, Jacques responded. The Bachmeier brothers are no longer a concern.

Very well Jacques, the man said. But, you have failed me. He added, somewhat regretfully.

Failure is a fundamental basis for success Baron, you of all can appreciate that, Jacques said with confidence.

Wise, wise Jacques. If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed insult. The Baron spoke as though cautioning but calmly.

Baron, I have no reason to, Jacques assured. I only meant to encourage the current situation, my apologies.

The Baron laughed haughtily. No need Jacques, you are like family. You are free to speak your mind. He asserted.

I am glad you consider me so, as I do you. Jacques replied.

Mhmm, The Baron sighed. Back to business. The Melopomene Group no longer serves its purpose. You will be running point from now on, officially. You are my right hand now. I trust you will do right by me. The Baron uttered.

Yes Baron, it will be my utmost pleasure. Jacques said, accepting his promotion without hesitation as though he had been waiting for this moment.

Very well, I will let the others know of this new development. I need for everyone to know their specific roles. We have a lot to do. The Baron said.

I concur,

Hmm, The baron sighed. I would like you to pay a personal visit to the Bachmeier sons, bring them to me. And all the other Melopomene children, I may find use for them in the near future. He added.

Yes Baron, I will dispatch a team immediately.

There is something curious about the Rosald girl, an interesting report I got from the Melopomene Group before the Winterstorm incident. I would like a chat. The Baron said, getting up from his sunken seat. It seemed very obvious that he treasured this particular room, even in its current state. He stroked the bare top of the seat, gripping it suddenly with force as though something had just angered him.

DAWN

London

Lorenda was seated in her living room with one leg crossed loosely over the other. She seemed uneasy, seated crookedly on one of her multi-sitter couches.

Her drawing room was spacious, housed by very tall walls. The high ceiling adorned complementary lights that enhanced the room’s lighting. A traditional crystal chandelier hang effortlessly from its centre, brought down by a thin black cord.

The brown curtains had been drawn back, flowing gracefully to the wooded ground. The transparency of the curtain linings revealed the break of dawn, the insistence of morning gradually sucking in the darkness.

On her left was an inglenook, overlaid with a snowy mantelpiece and with a bricked background. There were pictures of family lined on the top, her late husband’s stare in their wedding portrait hard to look away from.

A sizeable carpet rested at the centre of the room. A coffee table stood at its middle.

There was another long couch facing her and two other single seats on her right, enclosing that area.

Lorenda adjusted herself on the seat, only then realizing that she had almost sat on a mobile phone, easily, because it was so small. She took it from beside her rear, placing it on her lap.

It seemed new, though being almost obsolete in this modern day and time. She had never put it to use since purchasing it seven years ago. It was only now that she had found use for it.

The recent incident had prompted her to unearth this mobile phone, the abduction and subsequent holding of her only son, Ivan. She had convinced herself all these years that he was never supposed to be taken unless there had been a flaw in her plan, of which Lorenda had thought to be very unlikely.

It had taken months and months to perfect the plan, to make sure that the success rate could only be absolute. She had invested so much in it that she could not have imagined the subsequent events unfolding in any other way.

Her mind drifted back to seven years ago, feeling ashamed now of what she had done. Her primary concern then had been her eleven year old son who was completely innocent in all this. Just like any mother, she had wished for him to grow up in a better environment than what she and Dimitri had known.

She had wanted her past life to remain behind and possibly start over. That is all she had wanted. That is what Dimitri had wanted for them.

Lorenda had been confident for the longest time that their plan had succeeded that she had allowed herself to be oblivious of the horrors of her past. This presupposition had afforded her the comfort of decent sleep at night. But now doubt had been uplifted within her. Since Ivan’s abduction, she had grown uneasy, provoking her to reach out to friends and do things she would otherwise not have done.

Her past life was now sieving into her present one.

Ivan’s fate had now taken an uncertain path, deviating from the sanctuary his parents had wholeheartedly sacrificed for. He was now inheriting his father’s past life, a life he could only live, not for himself but for the very Community that had taken his father away from him.

She could only imagine what they could want to do with him.

This broke Lorenda’s heart.

Wilbur had promised to bring Ivan back home but at the time, Lorenda had not been convinced enough to place her whole trust in him. She had grown too desperate.

None of the friends she had reached out to from the Eastern side were talking. She had known that they could not dare get involved in her affairs but she had reached out anyway. No Easterner wanted to be associated with her, especially because of the recent developments in the Dylii Community. Additionally, the long-running animosity between her family and the authority in the East had made many of her closest Dylii friends to shy away.

She had one last course of action to ease her anxiety after that. It had come to mind that she had never actually confirmed the success of the plan those many years ago. She had placed her trust in the executor they had contracted, so much so that she had not cared to receive the confirmation note.

She had purchased the phone for that purpose only.

She had been too consumed in her newly established life that she had not bothered to really take a moment to review the impending details of the plan. Furthermore, she had not been contacted in any other form regarding the same.

The phone had been on for a while now since extracting it. She had hoped to receive a text from seven years ago confirming the plan but to her dismay, there had never been such a text.

This had confirmed her worst fears. Their plan had failed!

In that moment, the phone buzzed, lighting up the screen with a text, Sincere apologies for the delay. It is now done. read the text.

Immediately after, another text lit up the screen.

I will be expecting the remainder of contractor’s dues in the next three days. Read the second text.

Lorenda froze, her heart missing a beat. One could see the veins in her temples surface under her pale skin, anger building up within her. She felt a flash of heat engulf her, stimulating sweat to form on the pores of her skin.

She could hardly think straight, grief and regret gripping her whole being. She felt like her heart was being wringed dry, like life was being sucked out of her. The amount of pressure she felt on her chest strained her breathing, causing her to wheeze for a moment there. There was no scale that could measure the emotional and physical pain she was now feeling.

He was still alive! He was still alive!

The sound of a car engine broke the silence, a heavy vehicle pulling up in her driveway.

There was a knock at the door. Lorenda did not seem to have heard it because she was still fixed in the same spot without as much as a twitch.

The second knock was louder but Lorenda did not move this time either.

After a series of unanswered knocks, the guest let herself in.

Good morning ma’am, the woman spoke professionally, after she had already made her way into Lorenda’s living room. She was dressed in a dark trouser suit with a light shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. She had hair like straw, coloured to the tint of hay, restricted at the back of her ears. Her posture was perfected by all the training she had committed to.

The expression on her dark skin was stern, having no chance of a smile. She was clearly here on business. I will need you to come with me, she announced.

Lorenda managed to face her. She was trying for calmness, to regain control over her body. Why? Lorenda questioned, making eye contact with the Dylii.

I need you to identify a body, the woman answered. Orders from Crystal City, she added.

Lorenda took a deep breath. Sure, she said after a short pause, knowing exactly who she was going to identify. She seemed drained.

After you, the woman said.

Lorenda run her fingers through her thick dark hair, adjusted her long overall as she made down her front steps. The man in the driver’s seat hardly turned.

Lorenda climbed into the back, adjusting her overall once more. The woman sat in the passenger seat, signaling a go.

The drive into town was short, as expected. The SUV halted at the entrance of the city morgue. There was not so much activity going on apart from the ambulance that had just wheeled in a fatality.

The sun was now rising, making the morning more pronounced. Lorenda could feel the morning sun radiate on her pale skin as she alighted, encouraging her for the less delightful task ahead. The entire ride here had been depressing. She had had too many bad thoughts rushing through her mind.

Lorenda felt calmer now than before, the effects of the new realization subsiding.

The woman led Lorenda inside. One of the morgue attendants came to assist. Once all the paper work had been taken care of, Lorenda was led into the keeping room.

A corpse had been placed on a metal table, covered. The deceased’s feet could be seen, exposed and with a yellow tag on the big toe.

He came in this morning from up north. Time of death is estimated to be about 4:50 a.m. The skinny morgue attendant said with an almost nervous voice. It was quite clear that he was new to the job. He was not that old either, possibly in his late twenties. He must have tried all other jobs and failed for him to land this one. Cause of death is a stray bullet to the chest, heard he was in a scuffle with armed robbers last night.

Lorenda knew too well that this man had not died of a stray bullet. The person behind the gun was a trained assassin with the highest possible precision. And she was cork sure she knew who had killed this man.

I will leave you to it then, the skinny man said, moving back to let Lorenda have a moment.

Lorenda moved forward. She stood for a while before unveiling the corpse. She left the sheet at his chest. She stared at him, not really shocked.

She noted all the familiar things about him. His slender face, the thick eye brows and thin lips.

The strands of his hair fell back, still looking alive but he was pale enough for anyone to know he was no more. His eyes had been shut and he looked somewhat in a peaceful sleep.

She did not lose control over her emotions as expected. Not even a tear fell from her eye. She just stared at him for a while longer with hardly any thoughts in her mind.

She then lifted one finger to stroke his cheek. He was still warm but the coldness of death was surely eating on him. She stopped her finger at his chin, feeling his unkempt beard. How she wished she had had the chance to groom it before his demise. She smiled slightly at the remembrance of a good memory.

There was bruising on his arms and chest that Lorenda did not really dwell on. None of that mattered now that he was dead.

She glided her hand over his left arm, only lifting it slightly. She ran her finger under it and pulled it out as though she was looking for something. Her fore finger had stained on a dark powdery substance.

We found that just a few minutes before you came in, the morgue attendant said almost immediately. I should have told you that. He added regretfully.

No worries, Lorenda said, turning to face the Dylii woman and the morgue attendant. She wiped off the substance on her blouse, ready to take her leave.

We suspect that might be a highly reactive element, the morgue attendant said with alarm.

It is just black powder, Lorenda said. She exhibited a dangerous calmness.

Right, the attendant sighed, adopting Lorenda’s calmness. With all due respect ma’am, shall we start the process?

Lorenda nodded, With utmost care, she said. I will be back to take him to rest, she added. She walked out without a word. The Dylii woman hurried after her.

Ma’am, you haven’t given the deceased’s identity. She reminded, her expression still stern and business like.

That is my late husband’s body. Lorenda said stopping abruptly. She did not turn to face the woman. Dimitri Fedir Izhevsk. You might want to write that down, she added.

But he was already dead! the woman expressed her shock, her expression changing for once.

Exactly, Lorenda said, anger taking root once more. She started to walk again. I will find my way home, she told the woman and disappeared out of sight.

The woman stood, dazed. She was not sure if Lorenda had been serious though she too had suspected the same, from her brief glimpse at the corpse. She took out her cellphone and dialed a number, placing the phone against her ear.

Elize Nain, report your findings. A voice on the other end instructed.

Dimitri Fedir Izhevsk. Cause of death: single shot to the chest. Time of death is estimated to be an hour ago. Elize said with a bit of doubt. She had known that Dimitri Izhevsk was already dead; she had seen his name on the list of the deceased at Crystal City.

As standard practice, all graduates who had been absorbed into Crystal City had to be shown the list of all members of the Dylii Community, dead and alive. Dimitri’s name had stood out; he had been one of the most honoured Dylii of his time, regardless of the circumstances surrounding his life.

Please repeat that, the voice on the other end requested.

Dimitri Fedir Izhevsk. Cause of death: single shot to the chest, time of death is estimated to be an hour ago. Elize repeated.

Immediately, the line flat-lined.

***

Lorenda was still within the Central Business District. She was in one of the city’s red telephone booths, dialing up a number. She had some bit of change with her that was proving to be lifesaving at this moment. She waited.

London had a bit more people walking up and down the streets. This Wednesday morning had little snow carpeting the city though no white fell at this moment. Christmas had passed and everyone was awaiting the New Year.

"Hello, Yuri, I need you to come to London with mama, nemedlenno. I will explain." Lorenda said. After Yuri’s positive response, she hung up immediately.

She stood in there for a while before deciding to go home to wait for Ivan. Now she was sure he would return to her and she would be there to wait for him.

A LITTLE AFTER SUNRISE

London, Broad Street

A chilly sensation clustered the atmosphere this morning. The sun had risen but warily, the warm rays only minimal. The clouds were almost transparent, silvered within the sun’s embrace. The skies generally had a pale yellow appearance as expected. The mist had cleared up now, the morning dew making its debut.

A few Londoners were already on the streets going to their workplaces, armed with handbags and briefcases and morning coffee. The street lights were already offed; the only lights that operated were the traffic ones that flickered in alternating times and colours, directing traffic.

The surrounding buildings were as tall as ever, some clean and others infected with blackish-wear, making clear the variation in their ages.

The abandoned subway just close by had been off limits to the public for years now. The government had put its restoration on hold as it pondered on whether it would make any difference to the transporting system in London, especially because a new and improved subway had been opened not too far from it.

This particular one had been around for the longest time and some thought it would be prudent to turn it into a ‘tourist attraction’. A lot of stories had been spun about this subway. One that stood out the most was that it had been an operating space for MI6 just after the unfortunate event of part of the ceiling spontaneously caving in in the middle of the day occurred. Obviously, after that incident, it had had to be shut down.

The supposed occupants had never been seen or heard at any time of day or night. But then again, the MI6 were like phantoms. No one could really catch them by surprise.

Now it served as a dwelling place for mice and any other animal that could gain access to it.

A middle aged lady was seen descending down the stairs leading into the subway. No one bothered to stop her, maybe she was lost and she would find her way back, eventually.

She walked gracefully with her cloaked hand sliding gently down the rail. Her low stilettos were silent as she strutted. One could see her long pale dress peer through her long-sleeved black flowing overcoat, joined by a dark button just above her waist.

Inside was shaped like a dome, having scratches and bruises on the stone walls. Old posters were ripping from the walls. Also, the paint was peeling at the weakest points. This tunnel was empty, or so she thought.

As she walked on, it was clear to see the gaping hole that had been left after the unfortunate event. The floor had debris strewn all through. There were metal rods poking out of the concrete, hanging vengefully.

There was not much to see after that.

She made her way around the destruction, taking a left turn. There was a set of stairs leading to an upper landing.

A small group of people were standing, arranged on either side of the out of service escalator. They all expressed some sort of relief when they saw the woman.

You are late Miranda, Befekadu said sternly. The remainder of the Melopomene Group was convened this crisp morning following the death of two of their members.

Norma, Ming-Hua, Laurent and Befekadu all stared gravely at Miranda.

I am here now. Miranda asserted, moving closer.

Let’s get right on with it then, Laurent said. "Henry and James’ deaths were by no means an accident. Winterstorm was a ploy to get rid