A blue Mercedes Benz car drove into the Caledonia Defence Academy (CDA), passing through the huge colored gate. It was a mighty military campus. It comprised several buildings and many military facilities. This was the birthplace of Caledonia's military force, built before the nation’s independence. In front of the four stories administrative building, was a statue of a soldier raising an art-made AK-47. A Mercedes drove past the administrative block and went to the right. The lanes were smooth and neat, and red flowers on both sides. There were well-maintained green grasses on the empty land. The whole place was calm and beautiful and it was on a Friday morning.

The Benz stopped in front of a three storey building. The car parked on the last parking space at the left. A few seconds later, the engine of the car stopped working. A man with polished black shoes stepped out of the car. He was putting on well-ironed white sleeves and black trousers. This was Jackson, a retired General. He was tall and huge, he had a wide forehead, a long face that tapped down to his protruding chin. He was hairy, his hooded eyes and his dark hair made him a bit handsome. He walked straight to his office. He had parked his car proportional to his office and through his single window, he could peep his car. The office had a fancy glass table. A stationary computer and dozens of files on both sides. The first thing he did was to turn on the office air conditioner and the fluorescent light and he sat down. He opened the top drawer and brought out a blue file. As he opened the file, his mobile phone rang. Seeing the name of the caller, he widened his eyes and his two lips parted. It was Charles calling. He allowed the call to end and placed the phone on the table. Seconds later, the same number called again. He watched the call, till the call ended. He waited for a while, looking at the phone to see if it would ring again, but the phone did not ring. He took the file and stood up and put the phone in his pocket. As he was about to open the door and go out, his phone beeped. He brought out the phone. It was a voice message from the same phone number that called. Reluctantly, he tapped it and heard the following words:

“Code 121 on the run, code 121 on the run.” It was a male voice. The file he was holding almost fell from his hands. He entered the office, placed the file on the table, and rushed out. He quickly locked the office door.

This was a secret term. It was all about the drug deal Jackson involved himself twenty-two years ago.

“Bullshit”

He quickly went to his car and drove away. He left the campus at a high speed. He was driving home. On his way, his phone rang again. It was his colleague, a lecturer at the school. He saw the way Jackson drove out. Jackson picked the call.

“Good morning Sir.”

“Good morning.”

“I hope all is well. I saw the way you drove out.”

“Yea, yeah. All is well. I forgot an important file at home. I want to collect it.”

“Ok, Sir.” The call ended. Jackson’s home was a fifteen-minute cm drive from the school. When he got home, he did not blow the horn for the mini gate of his house to be opened. He rushed down and opened the gate himself. He went back to his car and drove in and locked the gate. His house was a semi-luxury Villa. It has a spacious compound, surrounded by a dwarf fence and flowers, on the left side of the building. Jackson saw Tracy trimming the flowers with a black handle pruning shear. She was putting on a brown maxi gown.

“Welcome Sir,” she genuflected. Jackson could not wait to answer her greetings. He rushed inside and climbed the tiled stairs. He went to his room and opened his second wardrobe and brought out his rifle. From outside, Tracy heard the sound of a loading gun. She looked towards Jackson’s room and before she could turn her head and continue trimming, she saw Jackson coming out. Her eyes followed him into the car and he held the gun with his right hand. The starting of the car made Tracy throw the shear to the ground and run to open the gate. She watched the car going out and looked at it in shock until the car was out of sight. She sighed and went back to her work. She was the only one at home.

Jackson drove back to the campus, this time, at a moderate speed. He parked the car at the same place and left the gun inside the car. This time, he did not go to his office again, he went to the classroom. He was having a class that morning. Jackson was a master of history. He was a historian. Well acquainted with all types of historical wars and troops. Their strength, their weaknesses, and how they fell.

He entered the classroom and the thirty-nine students greeted at once. They were putting on their white cadet uniform. He took the black marker and turned to the whiteboard and wrote:

“The Soviet army; who formed it? What year? When were they strong? How did they fall? When were they called the Red army?”

He turned and faced them. Two days ago, he had told them about these questions. This class was meant to be a discussion class. As he rested his back against the table at the front, watching their eyes, his phone beeped. At first, he ignored it and continued.

“The Soviet army, who are they?”

Few cadets raised their hands and the phone beeped again. He also ignored it and pointed at one of the cadets sitting in the row.

“Please, tell us.”

When the young cadet was answering the question, Jackson’s phone beeped for the third time and distracted his mind. Though he was looking at the student, his heart and mind weren’t there. The cadet finished answering the question and waited for his reply. Some seconds were lost, and everywhere was quiet. He brought out his phone and saw three text messages. He tapped the message icon on his phone and saw:

“Please, code 121 on the run. Please.”

He pocketed the phone and said to the class.

“Bring out your notebook. This,” he pointed at the whiteboard, “will be your assignment. Submit it on Monday. He took his file and left the class. Away from the door of the class, he brought out his phone and dialed the number.