The heat around the Tema Port could roast the truth out of a man — but that day, it just smothered it deeper.
Brian stood with Kojo and Selorm on the rooftop of a logistics building across the port yard, binoculars in hand. Below them, containers shifted like bricks in a giant's puzzle. Cranes groaned. Forklifts hummed. Dozens of workers moved like ants — some in uniforms, others in street clothes.
"Nothing unusual yet," Kojo muttered.
Selorm checked his wristwatch. "He said noon sharp."
Brian grunted. "Trust is expensive. Especially here."
Their contact was a junior customs officer. Name: David Osei. Just two years into the service. Fresh out of training school. No prior connections. Clean background. But he had emailed Akosua's burner inbox using a strange subject line:
"I've seen things. I need to talk. I don't want to die."
Brian didn't reply directly. He sent a message with GPS coordinates and a time. If David showed, they'd know he was serious.
At 12:07, a slim young man in khakis and a faded blue vest walked into view, head down, holding a clipboard.
Selorm nodded. "That's him."
They met in an empty metal shed behind a warehouse tagged "Sekondi Express."
David looked like he hadn't slept in days. Sweat pooled at his temples. His hands trembled slightly.
"You alone?" he asked, eyes darting around.
Brian nodded. "You came to us."
David wiped his brow with a sleeve. "I don't want money. I don't want fame. I just… I need this to stop."
"Start talking," Selorm said.
David exhaled, voice low. "There are containers coming through our gate. No documentation. No scans. But we're told to clear them. I've seen this happen seven times in the last month alone. Some of them go straight to Volta. Others disappear after Takoradi."
"What's in them?" Brian asked.
David hesitated.
"Women. Young girls. Sometimes boys. Sometimes crates marked 'chemicals' that smell like bleach and ammonia. I saw one open by mistake. It had bricks. Not building bricks. Gray stuff. Strong smell. Like battery acid mixed with… something else."
Kojo muttered, "Meth."
Brian's tone sharpened. "Do you know who signs the clearance?"
David nodded. "Senior officer. Boadu. But he always says 'go-ahead came from upstairs.' No one questions."
"Have you told anyone?"
David laughed bitterly. "Told who? My supervisor? He drinks with Boadu every Friday. HR? They're in on it. I even tried writing an anonymous tip to the CID — no response."
Brian exchanged a look with Selorm.
"You're doing the right thing," he said carefully. "But now you're exposed."
David shook his head. "I didn't use my phone. I emailed you from a cafe in Ada, using a fake name."
"You're still exposed," Kojo said. "They can smell fear."
David leaned against a crate. "I don't want to be another Jude."
That caught Brian off guard.
"You know Jude Narku?"
David nodded. "He trained me. He warned me once: 'Don't get curious. Curiosity gets killed here.' Two weeks later, he vanished."
Brian's voice dropped. "You want protection?"
"I want to disappear. But not before I show you something."
He pulled out a flash drive. "Security footage. Four weeks' worth. Mostly dock cameras. But if you scrub through, there's one night — container YJ-557. Two men in suits met it. No uniforms. No scanning. The girl they pulled out wasn't breathing."
Kojo took it carefully, nodding. "We'll analyze it."
Brian gave David a burner phone. "Call this number if you feel watched. We'll get to you."
David hesitated, then nodded. "You think… you can stop them?"
Brian met his eyes. "We're going to try. But we'll need more. Can you stay where you are?"
David swallowed hard. "I'll try."
He slipped out the back door, merging with the shadows of the port.
Selorm looked uneasy. "That kid's dead if we don't act fast."
Kojo agreed. "He's a ghost the moment they smell something."
Brian didn't respond.
His eyes were on the drive.
And his mind on the containers.
Back at HQ, Akosua and Adjeley sat with headphones, scrubbing through the footage.
Most of it was noise — regular loading, shouting dock workers, oil-stained uniforms, salty wind.
Then at Timestamp 02:13:55, on the third day of footage, Akosua leaned in.
"There."
Container YJ-557.
Two men in white dress shirts and sunglasses, despite the night.
One held a tablet.
The container was cracked open.
A man stepped out with a limp girl in his arms — possibly 14, maybe 15. Her eyes were closed. No movement.
The man laid her gently into a black sedan. No license plate.
Kojo zoomed in on the man's face.
"Recognize him?"
Akosua stared.
Then blinked. "Wait. That's Inspector Amartey."
Adjeley looked up sharply. "P?"
"No," Akosua said. "His older brother."
Brian stepped in. "Kofi Amartey. Head of Port Security."
Kojo checked the system. "And former Army intelligence. He's never even had a traffic ticket."
Brian folded his arms. "They're not just smuggling drugs and children. They're using state networks."
Selorm added, "This is deeper than we thought."
The board grew messier.
More photos. More strings. New names.
David's info had given them a sliver of light — but it also confirmed their nightmare.
P wasn't working alone.
He had protection.
From the inside.
Brian circled Kofi Amartey's name.
"What do we know about his movements?"
Kojo replied, "He's quiet. Doesn't live with family. Uses a private driver. Two phones, both encrypted. No social media."
"Where does he relax?"
"Elite club in Cantonments. And once a month, he visits a girl in Labadi."
Brian leaned back.
"If we shake him, it has to be silent. No warning. No noise."
Akosua stood.
"Let me tail him."
Brian hesitated. "Alone?"
Adjeley stepped up. "She won't be alone."
Brian studied them.
Then nodded.
"Do it. But no direct contact. We don't know who's watching him — or you."
That night, as the B-Team dispersed and darkness rolled back over the city like a warning, a lone figure sat in a car near David's hostel in Community 9.
Engine off.
Window cracked.
Camera lens aimed.
The figure lit a cigarette.
Then dialed a number.
"He's talking to someone," the voice said. "Want me to end it?"
The answer was silence.
Then a smooth voice replied:
"No. Let him speak. Let them all speak."
A pause.
"Then we bury every last one of them."