Introducing: Black Master Olu

Olu Sango took a moment's glance at the visa papers of the white couple seated across his desk from him and smiled to himself. There's a fool born every minute, and by God, he'd just found another.

The couple sat contentedly before him; he offered them tea and biscuits early and even allowed the husband the chance to smoke a cigarette, anything just to calm whatever fears they might be having whenever it comes to travelling to any foreign country, and in this case, an African one. He'd made casual conversation with them and wasn't surprised to hear the hubby explain that this would be their first trip to any African nation. And why was that possible? He'd just been offered a contract job with a thriving oil company located in Nigeria, but more than that, it was a first-time experience for both of them and they couldn't wait to start living it. Olu couldn't help but share their enthusiasm about this, although unbeknownst to the white couple, his reason was for something entirely different from where their thoughts were heading. Oh sure, he would make damn sure they enjoy their stay in Africa ... most especially the Mrs.

While Arnold Coltrane was a slim, average-tall man in his latte forties, possessing sandy-colored hair that were already starting to turn grey, his wife, Becca, was a robust, light-blonde beauty. Olu was moved by the sight of her tits which although sagging from behind her blouse, seemed to want to push out and hug the air before them. She's got some natural hips too, he thought to himself, and her ass looks like it's begging for something black and strong. He sure couldn't wait to get her pert-shaped lips acquainted with his 9-inch superior black pounder.

But he had a plan, and such was what he was about to enact.

The couple had gotten a temporary visa at the Nigerian London office a day before they boarded their Virgin flight plane that brought them here to the state capital. Arnold's company office was well aware of his need to get a working two-week visa permit and thus had furnished him with Olu's telephone number as well as four day's period so as to get his papers intact. Olu couldn't have been happier when he got the call the previous day and after taking note that the couple were cooling off at a suite in the Nicon-Noga Hilton hotel had arranged today's meeting so as to get a better look at what he had to work with. While he'd made light humor and conversation with the couple and then offered them tea, he'd excused himself and gone to a side office and instructed two state security officers, loyal men whom he often used for such clandestine operations, and gave them the go-ahead to do what needed to be done. He needn't instruct them on what to do, as they were well familiar with this type of work. By the time he returned to seat with the couple, handing them documented embassy papers for them state their vital and personal infos, his boys were climbing into their nondescript vehicle and driving out of the embassy's gate. It was a twenty minute drive to the hotel, but the officers turned on their siren and broke through the city's traffic easily and stepped on the gear, cutting the journey in half.

Another fifteen minutes later and Olu was seeing the couple out of his office. By now they were acting jovial in each other's company as if he were an old friends; such was the charm he exerted whenever he was meeting couples for the first time. The company's expatriate worker who'd furnished Arnold with Olu's number had stated that Olu was someone who knew just how well to cut through all the bureaucratic red-tape nonsense he was bound to encounter once he arrived at the embassy. Arnold evidently felt happy with the way things were going as he led his wife down the embassy's front steps and then got into their waiting vehicle. Olu waved at them as the gates came open for them and then drove into the city's pestering traffic. Some minutes later the two officers reported to him at his office.

"It's done, sir," the most senior said.

"No one at the lobby asked any questions?" he asked.

"None, sir. We didn't announce our actual intention, and swore the Manager not to reveal anything."

"And you deposited the package where neither will find it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good." He opened one of his desk drawers and took out a bundle of money which he gave to the security men to divide amongst themselves. They smiled, saluted him, and then left his office. It was only then Olu allowed himself to lean his head back and laugh.

Everything was going exactly as planned. By this time tomorrow, he would have the couple feeding off from the palm of his hand. He couldn't wait for that moment to come through.

There was a Virgins-Nigeria local flight leaving at 10:00a.m the following morning from Abuja to Port Harcourt, which was Arnold's destination. At 8:35a.m that morning, he and Becca, his wife, checked out of their hotel suite and flagged a taxi to take them to the airport. Olu had called him the previous evening to reassure him that his working papers would be made ready for him by the following week, that it would be mailed to his company's Port Harcourt office signed and delivered, and Arnold had nothing more to worry about.

His worries actually began than morning at 9:22a.m, right after he and Becca had checked in their bags and were strolling towards the boarding ramp. They got stopped by two security officials, the same officers whom Olu had sent the previous day to do his dirty work, though the couple were unaware of who they were. Both men this time were dressed officiously in gabardine uniform, both sporting stern, no-nonsense outlook on their faces. One of them presented the stunned couple with their state security badges and informed them that one of their bags had sounded a red flag just as it was being cleared through the Customs section. As they were talking, several patrol officers swarmed into the lounge; one of them trailing a hungry-looking German Shepard while another held an automatic rifle in both hands. Other commuters who stood were there to make other impending flights suddenly started making themselves scare from the vicinity. The unlucky foreign couple were unaware of how state security officials this part of the world tended to operate; when it involved hard drugs or anything illegal, they seldom fuck around.

"We will have to check through the contents of your bag," one of the security men stated to the still dumb-looking couple. "Hope it's all right with both of you."

Becca turned a fearful look at her husband. "My God, Arnold, what could they possibly want¬—"

"It's okay, darling. Let's just let the fine officers do their job. I'm sure it's just some false alarm or something," her husband tried calming her, though he too was just as nervous and worried as she.

Their bags were laid out on the floor unopened, and the dog began sniffing its nose one at a time. By now a murmuring crowd was drawing towards the plight of the white couple, both of whom stood between the two security men, observing with numbing surprise what level of mistreatment was being enacted upon their luggage.

One of the patrol men turned over one of the large bags on its side to enable the Shepard dog to run its nose down the bag's side pockets. It was at that moment the dog retreated and made first a growling sound, followed by a string of wild barks. The sound of its barks unnerved the couple and Arnold had to ask one of the security men what the dog's barking signified. The security men indicated for two other patrol men to pick up the bag and then they led the way towards a back doorway with the couple in tow.

The door gave way to a narrow corridor and immediately as the door from which they'd entered closed behind them, the harsh sounds of the airport virtually died away. Becca was about enquiring where they were being taken to, or rather what was happening, when they made a left turn, and then one of the security men pushed open a door and indicated for both of them to step inside. The square-foot room was small, the walls were painted light brown, and except for a window that was enclosed behind a mesh, all the room boasted of was a table that took up nearly half the room's space, with two chairs on one side and a single one positioned at the other. The scene looked like something that had been well rehearsed time and time again, though aside from the two security men, the couples have always been different. But they, along with their boss, knew already how this scene usually always played out. Not once had the plot failed.

The couple sat on the two chairs just as the patrol officers dropped the bag on the table and then took their leave. One of the security men positioned himself by the door, having turned the lock, while the couple watched apprehensively as his colleague wore on a pair of surgical hand gloves. Above their heads, a CCTV camera watched the live action, transmitting the feed to a video monitor in a room located down the corridor from where they were. Olu sat with a video technician whose duty it was to record the proceedings. Both their eyes were trained on the TV screen in front of them which was filming the security official as he opened the suspected luggage and began unearthing its contents on the table while Arnold and his wife watched on in silence.

The security man was meticulous and patient with the way he emptied the bag of every item that was inside. It was part of the plan to keep the couple of edge was they watched what was ongoing, though they wished he would hurry as Arnold kept glancing at his wristwatch and dismally noting how near the time for their flight boarding was approaching. When he was done with the inner contents, the security man turned his focus to the side pockets of which the content inside the dog had been barking about. There were few items there: dispensable razors, a pack of handkerchiefs, two ball-points pen ... and then there was a small black pouch bag. The couple's eyes both set on this as the security man dropped it carefully on the table before them as if it contained an explosive.

Quickly the husband was the first to declare: "Whatever that is, it's not mine. I've never seen that before."

"Nor I," Becca too stated.

The security man didn't bother taking notice of their words as he gently opened the pouch bag and emptied its contents on the table in front of them. The couple's eyes both seemed to grow wide at the same time and their lips uttered gasps of surprise as they took in the little mountain hill of white power that was cocaine pouring out of the bag.

"Does this," the state security man waved his hand at the mountain of pure cocaine displayed on the table, though his eyes switched back and forth to either couple, "belong to either of you?"

"That's not mine!" Arnold was now in a rage, having noted that they'd missed their flight, and raised his voice at him, and then slapped his palm in frustration on the table's edge. "I don't know where you got that fucking thing from, but that shit wasn't in my bag when he got here!"

"That's true, officer," his wife said in support.

"You both ought to know, neither of you are the first caught bringing in this stuff into the country," the officer went on, totally impervious to Arnold's diatribe. Both officers have seen it before and knew how to handle it whenever such instances arose; it was all part of the scripted plot: first to arouse anger, and then to break their will totally.

"This is some serious crime you both are into," he politely continued. "The chances of either of you coming out of this clean are very slim, and damaging. However, my colleague and I can turn a blind eye, as you both are new to the country, though we'd very much like for your co-operation in this¬—"

"Listen to me, you stupid fucker," Arnold pushed his chair back, rose to his feet and leaned his now red face towards the security officer. "I've had just about bloody enough of you and your bullshit. I've already told you, that fucking coke ain't mine, or my wife's. We don't use that crap! And that's all there is I'm going to say. Now, I want you and your friend over there to let us the fuck out of here and let me talk to someone that's got more brains that yo¬¬—"

He was aiming a finger at the officer's chest while he spat his anger. Olu, watching what was happening through the TV screen, shook his head and smiled. Big mistake, Arnold, he said to himself.

It was here the plot turned serious. The security officer grabbed hold of Arnold's pointing finger and gave it a sharp twist. Arnold's brow concocted into a mask of pain a second before he let go a screeching wail. The officer held his palm upside down and slammed it hard on the table next to the small mountain of cocaine; Arnold let forth another high scream. His wife got up, wanting to cry out too, but the officer gave her a severe look and yelled at her to shut up. Becca did that instantly; her lips trembled with fear.

The officer leaned his face towards Arnold's and said to him: "Don't you ever raise your voice at me, mister. And don't you ever in your life point your finger at me, or I'll get a machete and cut this hand of your off and feed it to our security dogs outside. Do you understand me?"

For emphasis, he gave his hand another deft twist; Arnold got the message and immediately apologized.

Olu knew that was his cue. He took with him a file folder and exited the video room and strolled down to where the interrogation was taking place. The officer standing by the door knew he was the one from the light tap he gave the door and the man unlocked the door, saluted, and then stepped aside for him to make his entrance. Olu returned the officer's salute and then turned an angry eye towards the scene before him. Arnold returned to his chair, hugging his hand, still muttering his hurt from the pain, even as his wife showed some relief at Olu's arrival. The other officer quickly let go of Arnold's hand and saluted his boss—this was the next phase of the plot.

"Exactly what has been going on in here, officer?" he blazed with feigned anger at the officer and began hurling abuses at him in Yoruba language. "I gave instructions that neither of them was to be touched until I got here..." he went on chiding the officer before instructing both of them to vanish from his sight. "I'll deal with the both of you later," he said to them as they walked out of the room, closing the door behind them.

"I'm so terribly sorry for what that officer did to you," the look on his face suggested to the couple that he sincerely meant that. "Please accept my apologies."

"Those men are nothing but filthy animals," said Becca, still tending to her husband's hand.

"Without a doubt," Olu replied. "And I'll make sure they get absolutely what's coming to them. However, this changes a lot of things." He unbuttoned his suit as he sat down on the chair across from the couple. He related to them how he'd hurried all the way down here after receiving a call from one of his colleagues down at the airport of the white couple who'd just been arrested. And now with this business of cocaine," he shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that things have suddenly turned ugly for the both of you."

For the next thirty-plus minutes they argued, harangued, and counter-argued with him, but all to no avail. Olu was well aware of Nigeria's current policy regarding cocaine smuggling, and was happy to make them aware of the enormousness of their problems.

"I'm going to be as totally honest as I can. You're both looking at five-seven years for possession with possible intent to distribute. It doesn't matter how well or how much you plead the case," he told them matter-of-factly. "The fact that the drug was found in your bag, in your possession, makes it even more incriminating. I'm not here trying to point fingers, mind you. I don't know if the drug is yours or not, just letting you know the facts, and right now, the facts speak a lot that isn't good. That's just about all that's required for the judge to make a conviction, and even your embassy people too will go along with it, no matter how much you try to appeal. I'm sorry, but that's just how it is."

The news shocked and devastated the couple almost at once; the fiery anger had left Arnold's eyes and all that was there was a crestfallen sigh. Olu waited for them to say something. If neither of them did, then he would have to be the one to ask the question. Fortunately for him, the wife did just that.

"But please, isn't there something ... anything that you can do to help us?" she looked at him pleadingly. She reached over for his arm. "Please, Olu. If there's anything we can do to ..."

Olu felt like congratulating himself at that moment, though his face remained concerned to their plight. This is just too easy, he thought to himself.

"Well ... there possibly is something ..." he paused when he saw the light returning to the couple's eyes.

"Yes, what? Please tell us," the wife urged him.

"I really don't know if you'll both agree to it. But right now I can say it's the only thing that will help. It's nothing illegal, and it doesn't involve money on anyone's part. Still, I don't know if I should—"

"Please, tell us," said Arnold, now a cowered and humble man. "Whatever it is, Becca and I will try to agree with it."

Olu gave them a curious look. "You both willing to try? Absolutely willing to hear what it is I have to say?"

They nodded their heads almost simultaneously. "Yes, absolutely," said Becca.

Olu fell silent for a moment, then smiled and said: "Alright. Don't worry, I know it's something you'll both thank me for afterwards." He opened the file folder he'd brought along with him and took out a sheath of paper that was inside it. "First, I'll need both of you to look through this agreement. After which I'd like for you, Arnold, to sign it."

Olu sat there patiently and watched the movement of their eyes as husband and wife read through the contents of the document. He played with his silk tie, glanced at his fingernails and drummed them lightly on the table's surface, playing a familiar tune in the back of his mind while they went on reading. This was the climax of the plot—the moment he'd been so much waiting for. He noticed the gleaming look in the couple's eyes as both of them paused in their reading to look at each other, then turn their eyes to look at him as if surprised he was still seated there in their midst. Olu flashed them a grin and indicated for them to continue reading, which they very much did.

The husband was the first to react, pushing himself away from the document and shaking his head emphatically like a child. "No. no ... I won't ... I won't sign for this. No way!"

Becca went on reading through the fine-print before looking up at Olu with surprise in her eyes. "You can't be serious?"

"Oh. But I am serious," Olu adjusted himself in his chair, resting his arms on the table. "I'm very, very serious. And I think both you and Arnold should take my offer quite seriously, as this is the only offer you're both going to get from staying away from our prison."

Becca seemed to jump at the mention of the word 'prison'. Arnold was becoming defiant once more.

"What exactly are you, Mr. Sango¬?" he asked. You a slave merchant or something?"

Olu couldn't help but laugh. "Please, Arnold, it's Olu. And in answer to your question, no, I'm no slave merchant. I do however have an eye for your lovely wife here, and I would like very much to keep her company while you'll be on your way to Port Harcourt. She will be my sex slave for the duration of your time spent within my country, to fuck and to get fucked in whichever way that I so well please. The document in your hand is merely a contract bind just to make sure the three of us have an equal understanding of what's at stake here."