In the silence of a soundproof Tel Aviv bunker, Michael Ogunlade stood over a holographic projection of the Middle East. Red lines ran across it like veins — drone paths, energy pipelines, submarine cables, arms routes, and covert ops cells. Every pulse in the region could be felt here, and Nigeria, through him, had fingers on the arteries.
But for all the shadows he moved in, the world outside was anything but still.
Iran was boiling.
The Israeli lobby, grateful but insatiable, pushed harder. Michael had disrupted key Iranian assets in Syria and foiled missile transfers near the Gulf — operations that had once been the sole dominion of Mossad and the CIA. But that wasn't enough for the Israelis. They wanted Tehran's capabilities crippled. Permanently.
Behind closed doors, they dangled deals. Influence. Technology. Women. Access. Michael played the game, smiling, flattering, even sharing toasts with billionaires and generals whose wives often lingered near him longer than protocol required.
Yet Michael wasn't theirs.
To them, he was useful. To him, they were convenient.
He knew their secrets — the real reasons for airstrikes, the factional infighting in Shin Bet, the corruption in their defense procurement. He'd even learned that a Mossad general had asked Cohen privately if Michael could be "brought under control." She had laughed. Because even she, in her more candid moments, admitted he was unlike anything Israel had faced.
At night, he lay in his apartment high above Rothschild Boulevard, watching the city lights pulse like Morse code. The women who visited came in silence and left with trembling hearts and sealed lips. Some were powerful, others curious, all changed. Michael was building an empire, and intimacy — emotional, strategic, and sensual — was part of his arsenal.
But geopolitics did not pause for passion.
The Houthis were hammering shipping lanes. Iranian cyber units had breached a UAE bank. The Americans, distracted by Pacific tensions, whispered for allies to "handle the region." The Saudis and Qataris smiled politely but moved pieces behind the scenes.
Then came the meeting.
A video call across secure lines. Chiefs of station from Riyadh, Amman, Baghdad, Muscat, Beirut, and even Tehran itself — watching, listening. Michael at the head of the digital table, flanked by his trusted deputy, a multilingual Fulani analyst with nerves of steel.
"We are not here to serve old powers," Michael began. "We are here to shift the balance."
It was no longer just Nigeria watching the region.
It was Nigeria shaping it.