The dining hall of the Utopia Hotel was a masterpiece of understated luxury. In the midst of it stood a long and elegantly set table, adorned with floral centerpieces and extravagant candelabras. That evening, the table was nicely set with a wide range of local delicacies. A delightful display of Ghanaian food for the international delegation.

Fidelis sat at the center of the table, a glass of red wine in hand, looking composed and approachable. To the left were Jacob and Thelma, their easy smiles and light chatter helping to set a casual tone for the evening. The international delegation filled the other seats, their laughter and clinking glasses punctuating the hum of conversation.

Thelma, always the perfect host, leaned forward with a bright smile. “Well, I hope everyone is enjoying the food! We’ve taken great care to showcase the very best of Ghanaian cuisine.”

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” Mr. Farber replied, raising his glass in a toast. “The jollof is particularly excellent. You might have a contender for the ‘best in Africa’ title.”

The group laughed.

“Oh, it most certainly is,” Thelma insisted playfully. “Once it’s Ghanaian jollof, it’s the best in Africa.”

“No two ways about that,” Jacob agreed.

Ms. Kaiyne Kay leaned forward. “So we should ignore the Nigerians who say their jollof is better?”

“Oh, forget them!” Fidelis joined in, snickering while he used the moment to take another sip of his wine. “You can see it for yourself, Miss Kay. Ghanaian jollof is superior.”

“Far, far superior,” Jacob agreed.

The mood was light and hearty, and everyone was in high spirits, chatting excitedly about the day’s tour of the twin cities. The visit had been a success, and everyone could not wait for the next couple of days, with trips to Elmina Castle and Kakum National Park all lined up.

As the chatter died down a bit, Ms. Francisca Martinez, who had a thoughtful look on her face, turned to Fidelis. “Mr. Peprah,” she began, her tone polite but firm, “hope you don’t mind, but I just remembered I have a question to ask.”

Fidelis nodded enthusiastically. “Of course, Ms. Martinez. Ask away.”

“Very well, thank you. So, I couldn’t help but notice something trending on Twitter, or should I say X, about a month or two ago. There were allegations about state security harassing journalists and activists. Some even claimed your office has delayed investigations into these matters. What’s your take on that?”

The table grew noticeably quieter. Fidelis lowered his glass, setting it down carefully before responding, his voice sounding smooth and well-practiced.

“Well, I appreciate the question,” he began, his face softening into a faint smile. “And I appreciate that as an advocate for human rights, this is of concern to you. I know such reports may worry you a lot. But let me assure you, Ghana is a nation that values its freedoms deeply, especially freedom of the press. These allegations are not uncommon, especially in an election season when certain groups—and let’s be honest, the opposition party—are desperate to discredit the government.”

He gestured lightly with his hand, as if brushing away the claims. “It’s a political strategy we’ve seen time and time again—take isolated incidents, exaggerate them, and paint a picture of chaos. But I can tell you with full confidence that the government has no interest in suppressing voices. Quite the opposite, in fact. We welcome constructive criticism and work diligently to uphold justice for all.”

Ms. Martinez nodded slowly. “Mmm, I see. So those tweets I saw should be ignored?”

“Definitely. Discard them. They’re not to be taken seriously. Trust me,” Fidelis replied confidently.

“Mr. Peprah, if I may also pip in: what’s your honest opinion of the president’s term of office so far?” Mr. Joevin Joseph asked. “From the outside, it appears opinions are… let’s just say, mixed.”

Fidelis chuckled, shaking his head as though amused by the question. “Honest opinion? It’s simple: this administration has been the best Ghana has ever had in its history. The president’s leadership has brought about transformational change—educational reform, healthcare improvements, and infrastructure development on a scale we’ve never seen before. Not to mention the economic policies that have attracted significant foreign investment.”

He paused for effect, glancing around the table. “Of course, every leader faces challenges, especially in these turbulent times. And you’ll have a few people complain about it and act like the government’s performance is below par. But history will remember this president as a visionary and a titan, someone who didn’t just lead Ghana but elevated it to greater heights.”

Thelma beamed. “And we can attest to that. The stability this administration has brought has allowed businesses like ours to thrive. We’ve seen a significant increase in international guests in the last few years.”

“Indeed,” Jacob agreed. “His Excellency Kodwo Ansa-Obiaka certainly has been a great president. He made a lot of promises, and as far as we’re concerned, he’s fulfilled virtually all of them. Those with mixed opinions… well, like Mr. Peprah just said, they’re just… should I say, haters who just love their political parties more than they do the nation.”

“And let us not forget,” Fidelis added, his voice rich with pride, “the strides we’ve made in renewable energy. In just two years, solar energy projects have quadrupled in capacity, providing electricity to remote areas that had been in darkness for decades. The president’s vision is not just for today but for the generations to come.”

Some of the delegates nodded politely. Mr. Theo De France looked like he had a question to ask.

He opened his mouth to begin…

… only to be cut short by a sudden, piercing scream from outside.

The table fell silent. Glasses froze mid-air, conversations cut short. Everyone exchanged nervous glances, the warm, convivial atmosphere suddenly replaced by a creeping dread.

“What was that?” Ms. Kay whispered, her voice trembling.

Jacob shot to his feet, his face pale. “D-d-don’t worry. Perhaps…perhaps someone slipped or got hurt. I’ll check with the staff—”

Another scream rang out, louder this time, followed by the distant sound of glass shattering and gunshots.

The tension became palpable in an instant. Everyone rose from their seats, looking very scared.

Had armed robbers invaded the hotel? That couldn’t be possible; the security was airtight. What was going on?

“Everyone, stay calm,” Jacob urged, though his own voice wavered. “Let’s move out of here and get to safety as quickly as possible. Follow me!”

He moved toward the dining hall’s grand double doors, but as he reached for the handle, his hand froze.

The handle refused to budge.

“The doors…they’re-they’re locked,” he gasped, a note of panic creeping into his voice.

Thelma ,standing right beside him, clutched his arm, her eyes wide with shock. “Locked? What do you mean locked? They’re never locked.”

The air of gladness and excitement was well and truly gone at this point, and in its place now reigned an air of terror and apprehension.

“What the bloody hell is going on?” Mr. Max Abu wondered aloud. “This is not what I expected at all.”

Jacob swallowed hard as he yanked at the door once again. “I have no idea, Mr. Abu. This has never happened…”

Another sound came—this time, the heavy thud of boots, growing louder and closer. A new wave of dread washed over the room as everyone, including Jacob, stepped back from the doors in trepidation.

A few seconds later, and the doors suddenly swung open with a violent crash, slamming against the walls.

Four masked figures stormed in, each clad in dark, nondescript clothing and armed with rifles. They moved with an almost military precision, their voices sharp and commanding.

“GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR! NOW!”

“GET DOWN! GET DOWN!”

The delegates obeyed in terrified silence, dropping to the ground as instructed. Thelma whimpered, clutching her husband, who had raised his hands in a futile attempt to calm the intruders.

“Hey! Don’t look at us!” another masked figure shouted, kicking over a chair for emphasis. Jacob quickly obeyed, lying prostrate on the ground.

Fidelis, his face frozen in shock, had remained seated for a moment too long. One of the intruders noticed and stormed toward him, grabbing him roughly by the collar.

“Kwasia! You think we’re playing? Get up!” the figure snarled, dragging Fidelis to his feet.

“W-what is this?” Fidelis stammered, his earlier composure completely shattered. “Where are you taking me?”

The masked figure didn’t answer. Instead, they yanked Fidelis toward the doors, ignoring his struggles and protests.

“W-w-w-wait!” Jacob cried, rising slightly from the floor. “Where are you taking him? What’s going on?”

“You get the fuck back on the floor, or your brains are gonna be scattered all across it!” another intruder warned, aiming their weapon toward him.

Mr. Wilson dropped back to his face on the floor, a total heap of helplessness.

Three of the masked figures began retreating toward the doors with Fidelis in tow. The Chief State Attorney’s pleas grew more desperate as they dragged him away.

“Wait! Please! This is a mistake! You don’t have to do this!” Fidelis shouted, his voice cracking.

“Quiet!” one of the captors snapped, shoving an elbow into his chest and silencing him.

The doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in stunned silence. The delegates and the Wilsons remained frozen on the floor, their breaths shallow, their minds racing with terror and confusion.

“What…what just happened?” Ms. Kaiyne Kay whispered, her voice barely audible. “What do they want with us?”

Before anyone could answer, the harsh voice of the remaining masked man rang above their heads.

“Pull out your fucking phones and leave them on the floor! Now!”

Everyone quickly obeyed, trembling as he went around and kicked every phone out of reach.

In no time, what was meant to be a lovely dinner and conversation had suddenly turned into a nightmare hostage situation.

Damn! That’s an insane turn of events! Who are these guys, and what do they want?