The bleeding country Nigeria

Previously

…He reached for his phone, his fingers steady. He knew who to call first. Inspector Bello. It was time to force her hand, to make her see beyond the confines of her system. It was time to ignite the spark that would either illuminate the darkness or consume them all. He took a deep breath, the scent of the orchid a faint, mocking perfume in the air. The choice was made. Nigeria’s bleeding soul was about to face its reckoning. The consequences, whatever they might be, were a price he was now willing to pay. He dialed the number, the weight of his decision a heavy, but strangely liberating, burden. The phone rang. The battle had begun.