A Path Of Vengeance - by Pen Kiel

Bimpe sat in the faded interrogation room, her wrists chafed by cold metal cuffs. The old national flag on the wall drooped, its colors dulled, and a crooked calendar with a smiling politician stared down at her like a silent judge. Her face was scratched, her dark hair falling in disarray over her shoulders. Across from her, Agent Uzo, a tall man with a square jaw and eyes sharp as knives, settled into the chair. His presence was suffocating, the air around him taut with authority.“I hear you’ve refused to eat,” Uzo said, voice low and measured, though there was an edge of impatience beneath it. “It won’t help you. Let’s be plain. We believe you and your friends hacked the national bank system, moving billions into multiple accounts. But this isn’t just the two of you.”Bimpe’s gaze dropped to the floor. Her fingers curled against the cuffs. She could feel the sting in her hands, but it was nothing compared to the anxiety coiling in her chest.Uzo produced a photograph, sliding it across the table. “We’ve found evidence that Maleek is involved. Where is he hiding?”Bimpe met his stare but spoke calmly. “I don’t know who Maleek is.”Uzo’s eyebrow lifted. “You don’t know, or you are lying? Maleek has been a high-profile target for a long time. We already know his next move. With or without your help, he will be caught.”Bimpe’s pulse quickened. She felt a shiver, not of fear exactly, but of something sharper. The thrill of defiance, tempered with the knowledge of her vulnerability. Her mind raced, weighing the cost of silence against the risk of trust.“Do you know the punishment for your crime, Bimpe?” Uzo leaned forward. “Tobiloba is also keeping silent. Your options are few. Silence will not save you now.”Something snapped inside her. First, a soft grin, then a laugh, sharp and wild, echoing off the bare walls.“This isn’t a game, Bimpe!” Uzo shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “It never was a game!”He stormed out, leaving her laughter lingering in the empty room like smoke.At the airport, Maleek moved cautiously, the brim of his black cap low over his eyes. Dark blue jeans and a black shirt concealed him enough to blend into the crowd, though his alert eyes missed nothing. The airport smelled of fuel, polished floors, and distant food carts. He handed his passport to the attendant, trying to appear ordinary, while his heart beat like a drum in his chest.The attendant stamped the passport, barely glancing at him, then called the authorities. “The man in the picture just left. Blue jeans, black shirt, black cap.”Minutes later, Uzo and his team swept the airport. “Search the terminal. Check every exit. He must not leave.”Ekene, Uzo’s assistant, frowned. “I think he’s already on the plane.”“Then we search the plane,” Uzo said, his movements precise and calm, betraying none of the urgency he felt.Maleek boarded, each step careful, mindful of the eyes and cameras that might track him. The plane taxied, engines humming, when a hand signal froze the pilot. “Stop the plane. Police. Wanted criminal on board.”The doors burst open. Maleek moved with practiced speed, grabbing Ekene’s pistol and kicking, trying to create an opening. The plane’s narrow aisles left him surrounded.“There’s no escape,” Uzo said, advancing steadily. “Time to meet your comrades, Bimpe and Tobiloba.”Maleek tried to fire. Nothing. Uzo’s quiet laughter filled the cabin. “You think we would risk bullets for you to take hostages? Foolish.”A brutal struggle followed. Maleek swung, Uzo blocked, and a heavy punch sent him to the floor. Hands twisted, cuffs snapped into place. “You are under arrest for fraud against the country,” Uzo said. “Take him away.”Three months earlier, rain fell in steady sheets over the cemetery. Bimpe knelt before her brother’s memorial, the wet soil clinging to her shoes. Her red gown was plastered to her knees, white scarf soaked, and dark hair tied back. Tears streaked her cheeks as she whispered into the storm. Rest on, dear brother. I will not forget how you were killed. I will seek revenge.A shadow approached. Maleek stood tall, umbrella in hand, dark suit clinging to broad shoulders. His eyes locked on hers, unwavering. He handed her a sealed envelope, marked with a curious logo.“You’ll know who I am when you respond to the letter,” he said, voice even, leaving her to the storm.She opened it immediately. Her eyes widened at the words. Call this number if you want revenge for your brother’s death.The next morning, a black car waited outside her apartment. Maleek’s gaze met hers, steady and unreadable. In silence, she stepped inside. The door closed with a soft thud, and they were gone.Madam Dagger’s room smelled of leather and polished wood. The corridors were alive with murals, roaring gorillas and fire-breathing dragons, their painted eyes seeming to follow each step. Bimpe watched the woman’s fluid swordsmanship, the metallic gleam of the blade catching the dim light.“You must be Bimpe,” Madam Dagger said, voice low and husky.“Are you the one who sent the letter? How do you know about Olarewaju?” Bimpe asked, heart hammering.The woman laughed, a low, throaty sound. “They want you to know one story. The truth is different. The wolves that hunt their prey showed no mercy to your brother.”Bimpe’s fists clenched. “Why call me here? How can you fight them?”“I was young once,” Madam Dagger said, gaze distant. “They lied about my fate too. But I survived. I will help you seek justice. Will you join me?”Anger, grief, and resolve battled in Bimpe’s eyes. Slowly, she nodded. “Yes. I will join you.”Later, Maleek introduced her to Tobiloba, slim and fit, a man whose smile carried warmth beneath his calm eyes. He explained the organization’s structure, their missions, and Bimpe’s role in the coming operation. The three of them moved as a unit, silent yet connected, each step bringing Bimpe closer to the dangerous path she had chosen, a path of vengeance, skill, and shadows.

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