Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  ARUBA MAD GÜNTHER

  T.L. Yeager

  Also by T.L. Yeager

  THE PARAGON TRILOGY

  Science-Based Thrillers

  set in a

  Post-Apocalyptic Pandemic

  Caribbean

  TLYeager.com

  For my TEAM.

  A story in every adventure.

  I love you girls.

  Published by Blue Zenith Press

  Copyright © 2020 by TL Yeager.

  TLYeager.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  ARUBA MAD GÜNTHER is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  I. Invade

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  II. Overwhelm

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  III. Rout

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  IV. Conquer

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Start Reading

  Paragon Tide - Chapter 1

  Part I

  Invade

  1

  Maracaibo, Venezuela

  Fazul leapt from the van, his shoes landing on a bed of damp stone. He paused outside the door, blocking the rest of the team from exiting. With a deep breath, he focused his attention on the bolus of anxiety that had spun up beneath his sternum. He rode the air out of his chest with patience, praying for the tightness to follow. Then he turned to the rest of the six-man boarding party, each perched on the edge of their seat.

  “Our time has arrived. Remember our motto… Actions louder than words.”

  Fazul’s words were punctuated by a bellow of thunder that crackled in the distance. Above them, the tail end of a coastal storm was marked by wide contrails. Towering cumulus clouds in the distance danced with light from within and the smell of wet clay drifted between the dented buildings. It reminded Fazul of a pottery-making plant he had once visited.

  He brushed the silk lapel of his custom suit—his fingers noting the slim line from the strap of the shoulder holster cradling the suppressed Makarov pistol beneath his left arm. “Let us go.” He offered the path forward like a restaurant maître d’.

  Seconds later, the team was around the corner and heading for the entrance. The van departed, splashing through puddles behind them. Even from a distance, Fazul could see sleep creeping over the rumpled hump of a guard manning the security post. A structure barely bigger than an outhouse, it was nothing more than thin sheet metal tacked together. It struggled to provide security from the wind.

  Surveillance of the marina had been established for nearly three weeks. It was enough time to learn that the darkening sky and drone of the roof-mounted air conditioner always got to the guard.

  He was startled awake as the team closed in. Fazul watched him struggle to focus, leaning forward to improve the sight picture. Most of his shifts passed quietly, and visitors were rare. Six men in suits took even longer to comprehend.

  As the group drew within speaking range, the guard rose from his chair and slid the window open in preparation to greet them. Fazul studied his every move. The stacked silhouette of his fat folds were clearly defined by the fluorescent light above him. Any movement toward the phone and Fazul would have to act. The guard had no authority to make decisions. He always placed a call before admitting anyone. Venezuela had developed a reputation for armed piracy in recent years.

  Fazul had fabricated a story to stall an attempt to place the call. As they approached, it was clear the guard was relaxed and the diversion would not be needed. His adrenaline surged. Fazul felt excitement bubbling at the prospect of ending the guard’s slovenly life.

  “Good evening,” said Fazul, reaching inside his jacket. Of Middle Eastern descent, Fazul had learned enough Spanish to get him through this conversation.

  He pulled the trigger and sent the lethal shot spiraling toward the guard’s forehead before the man’s jaw had time to fully drop open. A dark circle carved by the sub-sonic bullet was visible for an instant above his left eye. The impact sent him backwards, rumbling the sheet metal to life. Then he folded with a grunt and fell to the ground headfirst next to his chair.

  “Gate. Ten seconds.” Fazul pointed to the chain securing the wide gate that served as the only entrance to the boatyard.

  The young Assad stepped up, producing the bolt cutters from his backpack. Two others held the chain taut and looked away as he bore down on a link with the pincers.

  “Get the body out of sight.” One of Fazul’s men had to climb through the open window to unlock the door from inside. Another soldier joined him, and the two struggled to drag the enormous corpse from the shack.

  Fazul activated his mic and spoke softly. “Guard down. We’re inside and moving into position.”

  2

  Ashton, Maryland

  Madeline Günther fat-fingered the landline twice before selecting the proper number for her husband. He answered even before the first ring ended.

  “Ross… Tell me we didn’t forget a passport for Charlotte.” It came out more condescending than she intended.

  Maddie walked to the window and stared across the front yard of her suburban Washington, D.C. home. The leafless skeletons of the Bradford pears lining their idyllic street swayed in a frozen February gale. There was a long pause on the phone as Ross Günther considered the question. Neither of them realized that it would live on in infamy.

  “Shit, Maddie.”

  A pause.

  “We created a freakin’ spreadsheet for the baby formula, but we forgot the passport?” Maddie could hear him slap something. They had indeed calculated the amount of formula powder they’d need f
or a week away, and then added twenty percent.

  “Don’t make a scene. We’ll figure it out,” she said.

  Madeline had set an alarm on her phone for Saturday morning to remind herself to check in for the flight from Baltimore-Washington International to Aruba. The flight departed in less than twenty-four hours.

  Part of the check-in process included entering passport information for her husband and two kids. She entered the information for herself, Ross and their eldest daughter, Isabelle. Then she got to the lap child at the bottom of the list. Her stomach had twisted.

  “I was going to wait for you to get home, but I felt like I needed to get on it,” Madeline continued. Ross was on a train headed south from Manhattan. He’d been out of town on a business trip since Tuesday.

  “Maddie, I’m so sorry. We’re moving so fast lately.”

  “No apologies. We did this one together. Here’s the deal, Ross. You take Isabelle and head down on schedule tomorrow.”

  “What? You’re nuts. I’m not doing that. We go together, or we stay together.” He couldn’t help but manage the situation.

  “Ross, you’ve been working nonstop for months. If you stay home, you’ll be on the damn computer. It’ll be good for you and Izzy to have some time together… she wants her dad back.” Ross had started his own business just a year prior. He left an executive job at a hospital, along with its stable hours and salary, to strike out on his own.

  “Ross, I need a break from princesses and glitter. Plus, Izzy needs some daddy time. She’s been missing you, she’s been sad when you leave on these trips. More than I’ve been letting on. Plus, it’ll be relaxing – Daddy and his big girl together again.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  “You don’t have to agree. Will you go anyway? Give it a try and let me handle this mess. I’ve been digging around the last couple hours, and it looks like I can go to D.C. and get Charlotte a passport on Monday.”

  She could still see the first line on the agency website, the best strategy for expedited service is not to need it at all. That snarky statement just pissed her off.

  The website included sections on acquiring a passport in life-or-death emergencies and expedited service by mail. Then, at the bottom, there was a section titled Expedited Service at a Passport Agency. The twenty-eight agencies around the country provided in-person service. The one at the top of the list was only thirty miles away, in the heart of D.C.

  The second bullet point said you needed an appointment and proof of immediate travel. Maddie dialed the number and an automated message said the next available appointment was two days after they were scheduled to return.

  Chin in hand, she’d looked back at her computer screen and spotted a hyperlink that said, More. She’d clicked it. There, hidden below the virtual fold, was the line of hope. Will Call service is offered for life/death emergencies and immediate travel. The passport agency had deliberately hidden the fine print.

  Maddie searched, passport will call. She found a stream of posts that said she could go in person and request same day service in situations like theirs, where they had travel in less than two weeks.

  That’s some bullshit, she thought to herself. The agency hid the fact because they wanted people to rely on the longer process that required no face-to-face interaction. Gotta love the government. For Maddie, it meant she’d only be marooned in cold rain for two days.

  “You’re a crazy woman. You know that?”

  “If they give me any flak, I’ll call Chuckles over at the Pentagon and see if he can make a call and help a girl out.” Chuckles was a lifer. He loved being a Marine and stayed on when Maddie decided not to re-up. “You and Izzy just have to remember to pick us up from the airport Tuesday morning.”

  “I can’t imagine how you’re going to take our baby to the heart of D.C. where, by the way, you always get lost despite GPS… And then the next day you want to fly five hours alone on a plane with her. You needed a mission, didn’t ya?”

  He was right, although she’d never admit it. For all of her experience navigating over land, she never failed to make a wrong turn or three in Washington, D.C.

  “Maybe, but mostly I want you to have a chance to relax. We’ll be alright. It’s no big deal. Just have a cold one ready in the car when we get there.” She imagined the Balashi in her mind, the famous Divi Divi tree on the label sweating in the heat. “Ain’t the beer cold.” It was a saying she remembered a baseball announcer using when she was a kid. Her dad loved to listen to the games.

  “You won’t need an airplane; you can fly in using your super-Mom cape.”

  Maddie laughed. “Why you have to go and make me sound like a dork?”

  “Thanks, Maddie. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “Yeah… you could do it without me. No doubt about that. But either way, you’re welcome. You’ve had my back for years, Ross. It’s only fair I get yours now and then.”

  Winter rain had been falling for days. On Sunday morning, miniature balls of slush thwacked off the windshield as Maddie drove Ross and Izzy to the airport.

  “What if it doesn’t work out in D.C.?” Ross asked.

  “Then Charlotte and I— we’ll see if we can find one of those inflatable palm trees and get a load of sand delivered into the family room. Put on our bikinis, build some sandcastles, drink a pile of Coronas. Maybe throw a beach scene on the TV.” Maddie turned and smiled.

  Maddie found an opening along the departure curb. She cinched the straps tight on Izzy’s backpack while Ross pulled bags from the back.

  “You’re my hero. Always will be,” Ross said, hugging her. He laid a kiss on her cheek as he broke away.

  “Mommy, will you go down the waterslide with me when you come?” Izzy’s expression reminded Maddie of a sad puppy dog.

  “You know I will. A hundred slides. Deal?” Maddie squatted down in front of her daughter, a hand on each shoulder.

  “Deal, Mommy. But we have to save some time for the wazy river, too,” the five-year-old pointed, bouncing her finger with youthful conviction.

  “A hundred trips around the wazy river, baby. Promise.” She pulled Izzy tight to her chest, the hint of tears welling in the corner of her eyes. With a kiss on the forehead and a pat on the backpack, they turned for the airport entrance, Izzy tripping over her own feet as she looked back, waving.

  “You two be good! Ya hear? Don’t have too much fun without us!”

  As she climbed back into the car she looked in the mirror. “Just you and me, sweets.” Maddie could see Charlotte through two mirrors. The rearview caught the reflection from the one hanging on the headrest in front of her. She was chewing on a set of plastic keys.

  People called her Ross’s clone. They pointed, peering back and forth. Look at the cheeks, the nose, the lips… Their forehead is the same. Her smile is just like his. Ross had trouble seeing how Charlotte’s beauty bore any resemblance to his aging countenance. Her skin was the porcelain epitome of a baby. Maddie had taken a picture in a dress where she honest-to-god could have passed for one of those American Girl dolls that Izzy used to have.

  Yeah, but it’s the eyes more than anything. Those deep blue eyes, they would say.

  Maddie saw it, especially in the eyes. Not just the color, but the shape and depth. It was amazing how you could see a person in their child. Ross was 6’3”, two-hundred and twenty odd pounds with a red beard and shaved head. If he wore a flannel and a hat to cover the baldness, people thought he was Paul Bunyan’s doppelgänger. And still, he was there in Charlotte’s face. Every time.

  Maddie put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. She shook her head and smiled. They’d gotten two girls, and each one resembled just one of their parents. Isabelle was her mini-me, an exact replica of her mother. Straight black hair with flecks of red and features that were stamped from identical molds. They both caught a tan walking past a window. Charlotte and Ross, on the other hand, would get burnt just thinking about the beach without sunscreen.


  On the way home, Maddie hit the Starbucks drive-thru for the caffeine she needed to prepare for her own, less exotic trip—a visit to the Washington Passport Agency on a Monday morning, with a baby.

  Once they were home and Charlotte was down for the morning, Maddie assembled all the requisite forms on the table. Outside her dining room window the rain popped on the taut pool cover in the backyard. The news was forecasting the rain to freeze overnight. In the past, this meteorological tidbit would have been the proverbial straw on the camel’s back—the extra push that sent the whole situation to red on the FUBAR meter. But these days, she knew better than to take things for granted. It was time with her girl. Time and a bullet she was inches away from never having.

  Charlotte did her part, cooperating with a rare long morning nap. By noon, Maddie had the DS-11 passport document assembled in triplicate. One blank copy, one partial and another complete form. Having three sets was insurance against being turned away from a bureaucratic window because you filled in one too many boxes. She’d worked for the government for fifteen years. She knew how the system worked.