He pulled out his Austrian-made Glock 17S pistol and cocked it. Then he stepped a bit harder on the accelerator, sending his car surging forward with a burst of extra speed. The speedometer went from 100 to 140. However, the car behind him was still gaining in on him.
“They are driving at a crazy speed. They must be trying to catch up with me,” Lt. Clottey thought.
Soon, the other car was right behind him. He tried to see what car it was but suddenly, the car zoomed to his side. It was a 2017 Porsche 918 Spyder convertible. Four youths, three boys and one girl were in it, holding aloft bottles of drink and screaming their heads off. One of the youths, bare-chested, sprinkled the contents of the bottle in his hand on the soldier’s car, this sent the rest roaring with laughter. Then suddenly, they zoomed away, still screaming.
“I hope they make it home in one piece,” Lt. Clottey said loudly to himself as he sighed in relief. For a brief moment, he had thought it was the three gunmen responsible for the massacre at the police station.
He put the gun away and continued home, reducing considerably the speed of his car but constantly checking his rear view mirrors until he got home.
All was quiet in his neighbourhood when he arrived there. He grabbed his gun when he got down, opening the gate. Ordinarily, he would have phoned his sister, Helen J. Clottey, whom he lived with to open the gate for him but on this occasion, he did not want her to see him in blood-soaked clothes. Therefore, he opened the gate himself, returned to his car, got in, drove into the garage and parked. Then he got out, returned to the gate, closed and locked them before making his way indoors through the back door.
Once inside his bedroom, he went over to the bathroom to stand in front of the giant mirror. What he saw of himself unnerved him. It was not only his suit, which was drenched in blood; his entire face was smeared with blood as well. He looked like somebody from a horror movie. He went back to the bedroom, picked his phone and took a selfie. Then he undressed.
He stripped to his skin. The blood had reached both his white singlet and pant. He gathered the blood soaked uniform, singlet and pant, folded them and placed them in a rubber. Then he stepped into his bathtub and turned on the red tap. Hot water started flowing out of the shower. He stayed underneath it, allowing the water to wash off all the blood on him. When he was satisfied that there was no longer any blood on him, he reached for his sponge and soap and began to bath.
As he bathed, he went over what took place at the police station – the motive for the mass killing was clear to him – to kill Nii Kotey and any other person who knew about the assassination plot against the Vice-President. The inmates of the police cell had to be gunned down because they may have seen the gunmen while the shooting was going on; they would be able to identify them to the police later on.
Lt. Clottey soon finished bathing. He stepped out of the bath, grabbed his big white towel, cleaned the water off his body and then wrapped the towel around his waist as he headed for the bedroom.
It was a very spacious room which could contain six king-size beds. He sat on the only bed in the room, wondering what to do next. His wall clock indicated it was almost 5:00am. It was a miracle that he survived the massacre. He was aware that he was the only one who knew about the plot to assassinate the Vice-President. The good thing was that the plotters did not know that one of the persons who knew of the plot had survived their massacre.
He re-collected the narration by the Sergeant on duty. The Sergeant had said the plotters said somebody at the presidency who was close to the Vice-President as well as another at the National Security secretariat were part of the plot.
“It means I have to be careful…I cannot and must not trust anyone. But, I need to get this information to the Vice-President,” he said to himself.
He tried to figure out who it was at the Presidency, close to the Vice-President, that was part of the plot to assassinate her. Try as he did, he could not place a finger on the likely suspect.
He knew that until he is able to identify those who have plotted to assassinate the Vice President, he has to play safe and to play safe means keeping quiet; not trusting anybody.