The late-night reporters and TV crew had covered some ground. The missing link was the motive behind the raid, who the raiders were and who ordered the raid.
Finding out that required a journalist with good, trusted and reliable contacts within the secretive security machinery. That's why Mr Odindo badly needed me in the newsroom.
Parallel raid
Nation TV (NTV) was airing raw clips of the breaking story of the dramatic raid by hooded men on the Standard Group's iconic I&M Building offices, which housed The Standard newspaper and Kenya Television Network (KTN) studios, and which was just a few yards from Nation Centre. A parallel raid was happening at the newspaper company's printing press on Likoni Road in Industrial Area.
Mr Odindo, together with Training Editor Frank Whaley and Editorial Director Wangethi Mwangi looked nervous. This was one of those very rare occasions when Kenyan media found a common voice and united to fight a common enemy. They united when one of their own was under attack by the state but remained bitter rivals in all other aspects of news gathering and hunting for valuable advertisements.
"We are working on a special edition and we want as much details as possible on who the hooded men are and why they have raided The Standard," Mr Odindo growled when I walked to where they were standing. He yelled: "Call the Police Commissioner, the CID Director and other senior officers now!"
I knew that the Commissioner of Police, Major General Hussein Ali, was to travel to Seychelles on the early morning of March 2, 2006, for a scheduled meeting of regional police chiefs. Nevertheless, I called his cell phone - just in case - but it was off. He later flew out to Seychelles as scheduled without commenting on the incident.
I called the CID chief Joseph Kamau and his phone was also off. Kamau would later mysteriously vanish from his office for the whole day. Why did he disappear after the barbaric police raid on a media house?
I only managed to get through to the Nairobi Provincial Police Officer, King'ori Mwangi, who had been promoted from police spokesman, and his CID counterpart, Sammy Githui, who had been elevated to the position from the Flying Squad. Both picked up my phones but genuinely sounded sleepy.
"I am sleeping and I'm not aware of any raid at The Standard," King'ori told me in a croaky voice. Githui offered a similar response.
I worked Mondays to Fridays, taking the weekends off. February 27 fell on a Monday but I had taken the day off to compensate for a Sunday that I had worked.
Even when off-duty, I kept my ears on the ground, often calling my police contacts to know what was happening in the underworld and security circles. I didn't want my media house to miss a major scoop.
After breakfast that Monday, I called my police contact from my house landline in Nairobi's Kasarani estate for our routine morning briefs. In the course of discussing different issues, the officer sensationally dropped the bombshell about a raid planned on an undisclosed media house.
"We are working on a major security operation that will shock the entire world," he disclosed.
He went on to say that some powerful forces were unhappy with the "dangerous" line the media had taken in reporting issues on the First Family, President Mwai Kibaki's, and police had been tasked to cut them down to size.
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Instantly, I warned the police chief that he and the government were literally throwing a stone on a beehive by contemplating raiding a media house.
I warned him that the entire media, backed by the international community, would gang up against the police and the government like a provoked swarm of bees under the scorching sun.
"You are arguing like that because you don't know the magnitude and seriousness of the matter and what motivated what we are planning to do," he responded.
I couldn't let the juicy story slip away from my fingers. I felt that the police chief was reluctant to discuss the matter on the phone. I understood why. Just like my telephone lines, those of police chiefs and prominent people were regularly monitored by spy agents.
I was curious to know the finer details of the plot and which media was targeted. We agreed I pay him a visit in his office. Without wasting any time, I immediately drove to his office.
When I arrived, the police chief was still reluctant to disclose the full nature of what he termed "a major security operation".
Although he trusted me not to leak confidential information, he told me that he wouldn't discuss the nature of what they were planning to do because the matter was still a "top government secret" and any slight leakage would ruin everything and it could be traced back to him.
He didn't want to lose his job or antagonise the powerful people in government behind the plot.
After nagging him, the officer only disclosed that powerful people in government were unhappy with the media, particularly The Standard. He declined to disclose the date or the nature of their intended raid.
I repeated my warning that police officers involved in the raid would be used as scapegoats should the raid draw too much heat from the political leadership.
But he appeared excited that the operation had the backing of big political shots. He saw it as a golden opportunity to further endear himself to Kenya's top power brokers.
Although he didn't reveal much, I knew something terrible was going to happen and it would explode into a major international story. But as I had pledged, I kept my mouth shut and waited for the news to unfold.
Moreover, the details I had been given were too sketchy. Suppose I reported what I had been told but the police backed off? I could be arrested and charged with filing an alarming report. I decided to keep my mouth shut.
Missing CID director
When the raid happened on the night of March 1 and 2, it only confirmed what the police chief had told me. As Kenyans remained glued to their TV sets watching the movie-like drama, the CID director didn't report to his office the whole day. His cell phone was surprisingly permanently switched off.
At around 10am on March 3, a Friday, I called my police contact's office for the umpteenth time. His secretary told me he had just arrived.
I quickly drove to his office before he could leave. Having developed a good rapport with most of the senior cadre in security circles, I required no appointment to see them.
I was ushered in by the secretary. The confidence the police chief had exuded on February 27, 2006, had melted away and he looked like a chicken drenched in rain. I reminded him what I'd told him earlier.
"I wish I'd listened to you," he said. "I regret taking part in the raid. The heat is too much to handle."
Unlike February 27 when he was tight-lipped on the raid and the motive, the police chief opened up on this day. To justify himself, the officer went on to explain who ordered the raid and why.