by T L Yeager
“Hot damn!” Maddie yelled when the wireless connection accepted the password. “Didn’t even need PTang’s software.”
She called up her email and typed out a message. ‘Antenna in place and connected to my machine. The Wi-Fi password was listed right on the router. Didn’t even need your software. You’re free to take it away. Let me know what else you need from me.’
She hit send.
43
Surfside Resort, Aruba
Anas had never remembered vomiting before. As he stood looking down the hall through the small window in the door, he fought back the rancid taste of bile stewing at the back of his throat. Seven billion people – why should he be concerned if only a few were killed? It had sounded reasonable over tea in India. Now he saw it for what it was—murder.
He turned down the stairs. As he descended, the sounds of suffering seeped through the door. They echoed in the concrete encasement like ghosts circling before an attack on some poor soul.
He made the same mistakes time and again. It was Anas who asked for Fazul to be included on this operation. His brother wouldn’t have had the muster to make the request himself. It would have been stooping to ask instead of waiting for a bid.
Anas now saw it for the huge mistake that it was. Over the years, he’d repeatedly gone in search of acceptance from his brother. Every time, he’d come away defeated.
Fazul had called him a coward as he descended the stairs. He mumbled it, but like so many times before, the volume and enunciation was enough that Anas got the message.
Even as he reeled him into the NJF, there had been tension Anas should have distanced himself from. Since their youth, Anas had always been the golden child. Fazul’s resentment was like an eternal flame. When the Cyberlock revenue started flowing in, everyone had shone the light of praise on Anas. When he’d detailed the plan that became this operation, the leadership was apparently impressed by his ingenuity.
Anas was outside of the stairwell and under the building now. Dry, whistling wind and swaying palms replaced the smell of cordite and the gory sight that filled the hallway above him.
He could see Fazul in the lobby. I should have stayed in the office, Anas thought. I should have read through Fazul’s words. “We’ll let you do some real work.” Murder was easy. Turning this game into an enterprise was hard. Anas knew now that the longer they stayed, the more his plan would be undone by Fazul. He needed to end it as soon as possible.
They’d already received the fifteen million from Wincopia. The plan was to release the hostages immediately once the ransoms were confirmed. Here again, Fazul had changed the plan. Germany, Italy, the Netherlands and Sweden had all publicly stated that they planned to pay. They’d sent a joint request asking that their hostages be massed for release before the bitcoins were transmitted.
Fazul had decided to wait before replying. “Let them simmer and worry. Let them know we make the decisions. They’ll pay if we bring them out or not.”
Even with the United States and the UK not paying, they’d still net over eighty million. Once the countries that paid had their people freed, the plan was to go in a completely new direction. It called for a phalanx of American and British hostages to be connected together to encircle the resort. No one was dumb enough to think those two countries would allow the buildings to be brought down without flexing their military muscle. They lived for the opportunity.
The phalanx had been Anas’s idea—another way of changing the game and minimizing casualties. Fazul, of course, was skeptical of the plan, but only because it was Anas’s idea. Others saw the merit and Fazul was silenced into agreement.
They’d brought cases of the zip tie handcuffs. By connecting one person’s wrists to the next, a literal human shield would be strung around the resort. They’d set a new deadline for the executions of the British and American hostages. Anas even suggested a decrease in the ransom amount in an appeal for public support of payment.
But regardless of that, his plan called for the threat of execution to be drawn out as long as possible. Anas wanted the weight of the decision to be on the US and British governments. Part of the reason for minimizing the casualties was to change public opinion of whether ransoms should be paid or not. Being ruthless made people more hard-lined against it. Showing compassion and following through on your promises changed minds.
Once they committed the executions, they were just like any other terrorist organization. It created hatred and anger and ratcheted up the potential for an attack.
His newest idea was to forgo the executions completely—threaten it again, lower the ransoms and try their best, but if push came to shove, they should take the British and American hostages and leave. Ross and Isabelle would come with them on the Contagious. The public knew their faces and would have difficulty accepting the justification of a strike aimed at the yacht. If they carried out the executions… Anas’s stomach quivered. If they executed them, then the hostages they took when they left would be unknown and the public wouldn’t suffer their deaths the same.
“Fazul! I need to speak with you.” His brother was standing at the back of the lobby, telling the story of what had happened when Anas came in from outside. Anas continued into the security suite, passing Fahd without a word.
Fazul took his time. “Place the video of the shooting on both sites. Everyone, inside and out, needs to see the repercussions of trying to undermine our plans.”
Anas stood and faced his brother. “Our plans?” He stepped closer until a mere foot separated them. “Our plans have been thrown out on more than one occasion. Our plan is being undermined by your emotions.” Anas poked his finger into Fazul’s chest.
“Get your cowardly finger off of me,” Fazul snarled.
“These fingers have done more to further the cause than anything you are capable of. Your pulling of the trigger takes us backwards.” His brother’s eyes were alive with fury. Fazul bit at his lip, his jaw muscles clenched so tightly they stood as bumps along the sides of his face.
“We’re going to get back to the plan, Fazul.” Anas paused for a beat. “Do you hear me? I’m not taking the insults and insubordination anymore.”
Fazul smiled and started shaking his head up and down. “Oh, yes sir. Your way. Always your way. Your way is best...” Anas could see that his brother had crossed over to a point of no return. “I say screw you.” Fazul pushed Anas backwards into his chair. Anas buckled when he felt it at the back of his legs. He’d hoped it would catch him but the arm of the chair came first. His center of gravity was high. The force of the push carried him over the chair and down to the floor. The back of his head hit first. It sent stars dancing through his vision.
“You’re lucky if I don’t kill you, Anas. Just post the fucking videos and stay out of my way.”
44
Mid-island, Aruba
Madeline and Geert hadn’t waited around. After PTang confirmed she had connected to the resort Wi-Fi, they prepared to leave. As they left the room, Maddie’s Mac flickered with activity on the nightstand beside the dish. PTang needed time to work her black magic.
Before departing, they’d both heard shots fired. It had come from the direction of the resort but they couldn’t see much activity. The base of the building that ran perpendicular to the road was obscured by palm trees and plants that separated the parking lot from the highway. The one lens binoculars couldn’t see through.
Geert started the truck and waited in the garage. Maddie hung upstairs in the front bedroom scanning the neighborhood for movement. It was still.
She ran down and jumped in. “Let’s go. I grabbed the garage door opener.” Maddie held up the gray remote control.
After they were out and confirmed the door was heading down, Geert sped from the neighborhood. He weaved through the back roads, their retreat from the hot zone marked by rising dust.
Maddie’s phone chimed as they passed through the town of Paradera. They’d come far enough to hit a cell tower that was f
unctional. The voice message was from Chuckles. “Give me a call. Got new intel.” His tone was dark.
She dialed him back.
“Bad news, Mad. They’re still holding on the ransom. There’s no official word yet, but rumor has it they plan to wait it out until the eleventh hour. Germany, Sweden, Italy… They’re all paying. Wincopia already transmitted their bitcoins.” Bitcoins were the ideal medium of payment for criminals because as an electronic currency it was easy to launder and almost impossible to track.
“Son of a bitch,” Maddie said. “They’re going to give the American public exactly what they want.”
“A show of force,” Chuckles finished.
“A bloodbath,” Maddie countered. “I just hope they bring the fucking buildings down, Chuck. I’ll completely lose my shit if I have to see Ross and Izzy…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
“I hear you, sister. I just… I got no words.”
After a second of hesitation, Chuckles launched into the intel. “The working plan is to infil Delta on commercial flights from Curacao. Tomorrow night sometime. They’re looking to hit it from all four sides. Delta is taking the three ground approaches and DEVGRU is being airlifted directly onto the beach by SOAR.”
The United States Army 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment was known by its nickname, The Night Stalkers, as much as by its acronym. The unit operated the bleeding edge in lethal helicopter technology and was stacked with the best pilots the Army had to offer.
“Overwhelming force.” Chuckles said, stating the obvious.
“Chuck, they do fucking realize these guys have operatives on the island, right? Someone took out the cell towers and the heads of the police and shit. They’re probably still prowling around. The goat-fuck police force doesn’t have a clue. They don’t even know where to start looking for bad guys.”
“The head shed knows. They’re counting on speed. The hostages are separated from the bad guys—Right? We got bad guys on the roof and around the ground perimeter. I think the plan is to hit ‘em hard and fast. They’re hoping that keeps the friendly casualties down. They want to be on ‘em before they have time to act.”
“It’s bullshit, Chuck. Chances of a sledgehammer working are a hundred to one. You know that.”
“Listen, you know I’m not calling the shots. Just the messenger. The bad guys have their HQ setup in the hotel lobby. There’s a security room in there with cameras and shit. Most of the activity comes and goes from there. Delta’s gonna hit it hard.”
“Why can’t they just pay? Sounds like a recipe to get a bunch of people killed. These terrorists gotta have eyes on the airport, Chuck. As soon as they see signs of military they’ll start taking heads off.”
45
US Consulate’s Office, Curacao
The office of the US Consulate General Curacao was once the main gathering room in the Roosevelt House. After it was gifted to the States for use as a foreign relations post, the space had been converted into an impressive office.
The desk stood along the far wall with a sitting area in the middle. Margaret Baker paced the perimeter of the Persian rug that framed the furniture. Every fourth turn, she caught a glimpse of herself in the massive mirror on the wall opposite her desk. She hadn’t slept for forty48 hours and had indulged in half as many cups of coffee. Purple bruises underlining her eyes looked like sagging Nike logo swooshes.
Once a week she closed the day with back-to-back 30-minute meetings. The heads of immigration on the islands that fell within her mission, each met with her separately.
“Commercial flights ceased yesterday afternoon. We’ve had empty airplanes landing all day to take people off the island. The airport is still busy, but the situation is better. You couldn’t move in there this morning.” Caya Tatonka headed the Department of Immigration and Naturalization in Aruba. She was young, four-foot-eleven and prone to getting overwhelmed.
“You’re doing an admirable job,” Margaret said. “What else?”
“Our scanners picked up a man trying to smuggle out a suitcase of cocaine. Apparently, he thought all the commotion would be a distraction.”
“An American?”
“Yes. He’s been in and out a few times over the last year. He’s gotten by us in the past. Got greedy this time,” said Caya.
Corruption and drug transit through Aruba had decreased significantly since the nineties. At one time a mafia clan had owned over 60 percent of the island’s businesses and all of its government officials.
Margaret waited to see if there was anything else. Her brain was tired; she was only half-listening.
“One other strange thing... We had an American woman walk out with her baby. The agent asked her to wait for a second interview. She claimed to be staying with nationals here on the island, but her husband and daughter arrived Sunday. They’re at the Surfside… We checked the video – she just walked out. Got in a white pick-up truck owned by the people she said she was going to see. Left her passport and her daughter’s. Little girl isn’t even two yet.” Caya’s tone made the situation sound as sad as it was. “We haven’t sent a car looking for her yet.”
“She got there and was cut off from the rest of her family?” Margaret asked.
“Looks that way. Can you imagine?”
“No. Jesus.” Margaret went to her desk. She picked up her pen and leaned down toward her portfolio. “What’s the name?”
“Madeline Günther.”
46
Kavita’s Café, Aruba
Maddie waved Geert outside. “Listen, you’ve done so much for me already. You have to be willing to check out if I take it too far. You understand what I’m saying?”
Geert laughed a laugh she hadn’t heard before.
“This is the most excitement I’ve had in years. Opwinding! As long as my family isn’t in danger, I’m here to help.” Geert felt like a true friend. There’s no quicker way to bring humans together than to give them a challenge to overcome.
“This next part just might change your mind.”
Geert stopped walking and put his hands on his hips. “Let’s hear it.”
“What are the chances we can get on the Dutch Marine base?”
Geert squinted at her. “That house was too tempting for a sniper? That it?”
“The US isn’t planning to pay, Geert. You heard my call. My friend in the Pentagon says they have full-scale assault in mind.”
Geert nodded.
“Izzy and Ross are at the front of the hitlist. As soon as these guys catch wind of it…”
“But what can you do alone?”
“I’ve got two options, Geert. I can sit on my hands and watch what happens. Based on what I know… That doesn’t bode well for my family. Or… I can get out there and do something. Right yet I’m not exactly sure what that is, but one way or another I’ve got to get myself on the property. I’ll make some noise. Find my family.”
Geert wasn’t convinced. “They’ll kill you. And then your baby, Charlotte, will be left alone. You risk the two already in gavaar, or risk all four. Three dead and one parentless child. Not saying you shouldn’t do it – just offering a different way of thinking.”
Maddie looked down. Geert was right.
“I can’t explain it, Geert. My gut says I need to do something more.”
“Intuitie,” said Geert. “Very powerful.” He paused and kicked at the dirt. “You’d have to get on the base and into the armory. You’d need keys and codes. The whole shebang.”
“Yeah. True. What do you know about the place? You ever been in there?”
“I have been in there, plenty. We’ve worked projects in just about every building. I’ve even been in the armory. It was empty at the time. They had it remodeled and brought us in on contract for the electrical work.”
Geert turned for the house. “Let’s have a beer and think this over. I’ll meet you on the patio.”
Geert’s outline strode like a stick figure across the yard, a Balashi in each
hand. He alternated between looking down at the ground and up at the sky.
“I’ve a friend who’s an officier in the militia,” he said, as he came under the cover of the roof. “Do you have pictures of your family?” Geert pointed at the phone on the table.
“Yeah. Of course.”
“He’s a family guy. Six kids, grandchildren, helps the ones in need. I think we should speak with him off the record. We put him in your shoes.”
Captain Cedrick Kimbar excused his wife Anna and the children after introductions were complete. He offered Geert and Maddie the armchairs and took up a spot on the loveseat adjacent.
“You’re lucky to have found me at home. I’ve been going non-stop since this started. I came home for a bit of rest this morning. Woke up...” He checked his watch. “Just an hour ago.”
“What do they have your men doing?” Geert asked.
“Protecting the base perimeter. Same as usual. We doubled the patrols, though. The murders have everyone on alert for another attack. The police are convinced that the ones who committed the murders folded in with the rest at the resort. There’s no basis for it. We’re keeping our guard up – at least until the Marines get back.”
“When are they due back?” Geert asked.
“Sometime tomorrow. Returning a week and a half early.”
Geert shook his head. “Cedrick, we need some help.”
“Anything for you and Kavita. So many meals on the house.” The captain looked at Maddie for the first time since they’d sat. “These folks are a pillar of the community.”
She nodded in agreement.
“Madeline’s daughter and husband are at the resort.”
The captain’s expression changed in an instant.
Geert reached up and put a hand on Maddie’s shoulder. “She came down two days after them. Landed before the flights were stopped but arrived after the resort was taken.”
