The sun rose over Johannesburg in golden defiance of the shadows it cloaked. Dr. Michael Ogunlade sat at his modest kitchen table, black coffee steaming beside a disassembled burner phone. His eyes were fixed on a tablet screen displaying decrypted fragments of the cloned ledger. Names. Dates. Shipment routes. Bank accounts tied to offshore havens.
It was enough to cripple the syndicate.
James Effiong's voice cracked through the secure earpiece.
"You've done well, Michael. The brass is impressed."
Michael said nothing, still staring at the data.
"New directive," James continued. "We're greenlighting Phase Two. We want the head of the snake—Kabelo Motsepe. Eliminate him."
Kabelo.
The name echoed like a bullet casing in Michael's mind. Johannesburg's drug empire rested on the man's shoulders. Wealthy, invisible, untouchable. Even Mbali served under him. Taking him out wouldn't just cripple the network—it would trigger a war.
"How clean?" Michael asked.
"As clean as you can manage," Effiong replied. "But if it turns dirty, don't flinch. Collateral's acceptable. We need to send a message."
Michael ended the call and slipped the earpiece into his coffee, letting the circuit die in the heat.
He had seven days.
That night, Michael met Mbali in a high-rise suite overlooking the city skyline. Their dynamic had shifted—no longer a simple seduction but a volatile alliance wrapped in mutual need. She poured him a drink without speaking, her eyes searching his face for signs of betrayal.
"There's a storm coming," she finally said.
Michael tilted his head. "Isn't there always?"
"Kabelo's nervous," she whispered. "The last raid hit too close. He's relocating the product—offshore. Two nights from now. Private airfield. Heavy security."
Michael masked his reaction with a sip of whiskey. "You sound like you want him to fail."
Mbali leaned closer. "I want power. Kabelo doesn't share it."
Her confession hung in the air like smoke. She was ambitious—dangerously so. Michael saw his opening.
"Help me get close to him," he said. "You and I could run this city when the dust settles."
She looked at him, searching for deception. But Michael's mask was perfect.
Two days later, Michael stood at the edge of a remote airstrip, dressed as one of Kabelo's logistics coordinators. Mbali's credentials had gotten him in—his weapon was hidden beneath the grey vest. The hangar was bustling with men offloading crates into a Gulfstream G650.
Through tinted glass, he spotted Kabelo. Calm. Expensively dressed. Surrounded by bodyguards.
Michael checked his watch. He had a fifteen-second window when Kabelo would pass between hangars en route to the aircraft. Surveillance blind spots. Mbali had made sure.
He moved with precision, stepping into the corridor just as Kabelo emerged. There was no hesitation—just the soft hiss of a silenced shot. Kabelo dropped, blood pooling under his designer shoes.
Panic erupted. Shouts. Gunfire. But Michael was already moving, blending into the chaos. He sprinted across the tarmac, reached a black SUV, and peeled away into the dusty night.
He didn't stop until he reached a pre-arranged extraction point—an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts. Inside, he changed clothes, wiped the blood from his gloves, and burned the fake ID.
Effiong's voice came through a new channel.
"Confirmation just came in. Kabelo's dead. Operation Nyoka is a success."
Michael lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly.
"What now?"
"We're flying you out. You'll brief the Council in Abuja. Debrief. Then reassignment. Your star's rising, Michael."
But Michael didn't respond. His mind was still in that hangar, staring down the corpse of a man whose empire had collapsed in a heartbeat.
Back in Johannesburg, the news broke within hours. "Drug Lord Slain in Apparent Gangland Hit." Mbali's name was nowhere in the reports—but Michael knew she had just ascended.
He had helped her. Empowered her. And now she owed him.
But allies like her were vipers—useful until they weren't.
As his plane lifted off into the cold morning sky, Michael stared out at the city below. Johannesburg was behind him, but the game was only getting deeper.
He was no longer just infiltrating drug networks—he was altering the balance of power in Africa's underworld.
And as Nigeria's Imperial Intelligence Service watched his ascent, a new question emerged.
How long before Michael Ogunlade stopped following orders—and started giving them?
Author's Note
Enjoying Shadows of Authority? Got thoughts, theories, or just want to vibe with the author?
Hit me up on Snapchat – let's talk about Michael Ogunlade, espionage, or whatever's on your mind.
Snapchat: [matt227896]
Appreciate the 2k+ views — much love to everyone reading!