John Biko: Double Cross

The last time we met our man, he was preparing to enter the fray in the Syrian conflict. As Minister Zulu said, the fate of the world depends on his success or failure. Lets hope all goes well. – AQ


As light slowly seeped into his blurry vision, the man slumped over and strapped to the chair took in his surroundings.

The air was musty with the scent of sweat, cigarettes and cheap cologne. But it also smelled like blood and burnt wires. Judging by his own scent though, it had been weeks he had last washed. His unkempt beard, sticky with his blood, was a testament to that.

As he sat up gingerly, he could feel the damage his captors had inflicted on him. His ribs, and abs pained when he moved and his head was swimming in a sea of mist.

Judging by the height of the ceiling, he was in the middle of a large dark room. There was a dim light-bulb swinging ever so gently above him and no visible windows or doors.

Looking around him as his eyes adjusted, he could see the body of a man laying awkwardly in one corner. He was still wearing what looked like journalistic credentials around his neck and judging by the way his head was tilted, his neck had been broken.

On the other side of the room he could vaguely make out the shape of another man leaning against the wall. His silhouette was that of a muscular man. His posture was that of animal certainty. A creature that knew his power and exercised it quite often. This was a stone cold killer.

There seemed to be a dark cloud floating about him as he puffed out cigar smoke and it blended with the darkness. One could be mistaken for thinking that this was the devil himself, as he stood there and puffed on his Cohiba.

Yes, John Biko was in trouble and he knew it.

It had been 6 months since The Minister had sent him to retrieve the briefcase in Syria. Having left Hoedspruit with Squadron 19, he had flown 3700km to the MONUSCO base in the DRC where an aid from Governor Kimbuta’s office was waiting for him on the tarmac.

Her name was Fimi Kabongo, a tall dark skinned beauty that seemed to carry the weariness of an old politician on her smooth shoulders. 5 foot 9 with the body of a beauty queen. It was only her pained expression that gave away her fierce temperament.

She had taken him to a restricted facility where he had awaited a care package from his friends at SASS. In the few months stationed there he had learned from Fimi that an element in the MKV had been supplying the Syrian rebels with intel about the stolen nukes. They just couldn’t prove it. Eventually his package had come and Fimi had driven him to a small outpost on the banks of lake Tanganyika where a powerboat was waiting to ferry them across the great lake to Rwanda. After ejecting the driver of the boat, she had personally ferried him to the other side where he would make his own way.

“This is as far as I take you John Biko.” said the dark skinned beauty as she killed the engine. “Will you be alright?” John smiled as Fimi looked at him with genuine worry and took in her beauty one last time. Her breasts seemed to be in constant motion… Her thighs were so smooth… “Fimi. Yes. Yes I will, thank you.” “Good.” she said as she nodded. “Then I have one more thing for you.”

She took the elastic off her hand & tied her hair. Then she began to unbutton her blouse as she moved closer to him. It was damp with sweat and had long ago betrayed the details of her supple form. “Kiss me Biko.” she whispered. John put his hand around her hip and pulled her closer while his other hand was at the zip of her jeans. As the boat floated amongst the reeds on the banks of Rwanda, John & Fimi made passionate love while the sun set in the distance.

As he prepaired to get off the boat, Fimi had given Biko a black card with no defining markings. He examined it curiously while his lover squeezed herself back into her jeans. “What is this?” He asked as he raised an eyebrow. “That is a card. A very special one. If you ever need me” she smiled as she buttoned up her shirt, “you will find me Agent Biko.” John smiled, “I see. Then I thank you, Agent Kabongo.” “Dont get too far into trouble that I cant reach you John.” John Biko smiled, then noded. Turning on his heel, he then walked towards the bushes & disappeared.

He had then traveled by land to Kigali where he sneaked on to an MI6 C-17 plane where he knocked out the flight crew mid air, hacked the database to change the flight plan and deviated towards Iraq. From there he would be able to infiltrate Syria.

But he had not counted on the MI6 hijacking back their own plane.

As they flew over Jordanian air space and he prepared to jump out of the plane at the Iraqi border, the jet door had blown open. It had been a quick and desperate exchange. 3 agents breached the aircraft and attempted to subdue him. They had fought in almost no gravity as the plane rolled and descended at speed. Eventually one of the British agents had commandeered the plane and in the brief moment of transition, Agent Leo 36 had exited the plane.

But as he wing-suited towards the earth, a missile had flown past him, straight into the airplane above him. The force of the explosion had knocked him out and soon he was plummeting from the heavens like Icarus from antiquity.

15000, 10000, 5000 feet. As he opened his eyes he nearly passed out again. The torque was intense. But his training kicked in and after curling into a ball and rolling forward, he spread his wing-suit and recovered control of his momentum. At the last moment, he pulled the cord.

1500 feet.

The landing was rough, but he came out relatively unscathed as he landed on the banks of The River Jordan. Phase 2 complete. Or at least, it was supposed to be. But the Jordanian soldiers pointing their guns at him seemed to contradict that theory. They didn’t even give him a chance to explain.

And now here he was. 6 months later. In a bunker. Being tortured. It was a bit anti-climatic. But it was not a joke. No. The body of the Saudi man in the corner was proof of this. John spit blood. He was trying to recall how he got to be in the chair. There was something about the man in the dark, something familiar. He just needed to remember…

But then the door opened and in walked the last person he was expecting to see… Zinzile. Zinzile Khumalo.


John Biko will return and we will find out if he is saved… or if his frying pan is now on fire. Will Zinzi meet Fimi. Is it really Zinzi? Is she here to help him… I smell smoke.

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