Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  Without saying a word to Isaac, Afua left the wheelhouse, went down the stairs to the top deck and made his way toward the back of the ship. During that time, he had heard the engines come to life and could hear the anchor winch pulling in its heavy chain. As Afua reached the stern of the vessel, Isaac had already put the ship into reverse and was slowly tracking backwards towards the beacon.

  The phone in Afua’s pocket rang, and he answered it.

  Isaac said, “Let me know when you see the case so I can stop the engines.”

  “OK,” Afua replied.

  It didn’t take long, maybe only a minute or two, before the bright white triangular case bobbed over a wave and came into view.

  “I see it,” Afua said into his phone. “Kill the engines, and I think we will float right up to it.”

  A second later, the engine noise died, and Afua plucked a life saver pole from the deck’s gunwale. The long aluminum pole was used in emergencies to pull in a man who had fallen overboard, but could also be used to grab anything else

  out of the ocean. Now, with the case floating just meters behind the Nigerian Princess, Afua used the pole to guide the case in closer to the ship. He was standing on the stern’s deck launch, a small strip of fiberglass that jutted out past the railing, resting less than a foot above the water. It was used as a platform to attach cables to the launch, and for swimmers to get on and off the yacht. Using this platform, Afua could simply kneel and grab the case from the water. He tossed the pole back up onto the deck and used his free hand to get a good grip on the slippery case. Leaning out over the water, and being careful not to fall in, Afua slid the case up onto the deck launch. He was surprised how heavy the package was even though it had pumped out all its water ballast from inside.

  It was awkward trying to maintain balance while turning around and walking up the three stairs that led back up to the main deck. When he looked up, Isaac was there, holding out his hands, ready to receive the case from Afua. The jihadi handed Isaac the large awkward hull section and waited before releasing it, making sure that Isaac had a good grip on the slippery package.

  Isaac pulled it up and held the case until Afua made his way up to the main deck. When he reached Isaac, Afua held out his hands and Isaac placed the hull section into his arms.

  “Get the toolbox,” Afua commanded.

  He placed the case down on the deck and ran through the mental check list of things Kornev had taught him. Before they could reattach the case to the underside of the little boat, the ballast tanks would need to be refilled. On one of the three sides of the triangular-shaped case, the side that would be attached to the underside of the boat, was a small cap that could be loosened with a large screwdriver.

  Isaac arrived with a toolbox and set it down next to the case. Afua opened the toolbox, located the largest flathead screwdriver, and he placed its blade into the slot on the metal cap. Keeping in mind righty-tighty—lefty-loosey, Afua turned the screwdriver counterclockwise, and the cap began to loosen.

  “I need the water hose,” Afua told Isaac.

  Isaac left to retrieve the hose.

  Since it was the middle of the night, Mrs. Obano was asleep in the master stateroom, but her husband still tried to make as little noise as possible. Afua didn’t know if that meant that his wife didn’t have any idea what they were up to, but he really didn’t care. Isaac’s wife was not his problem, unless she interfered with his mission. Only then would she become Afua’s problem, and he only knew one way to handle such problems.

  Isaac arrived with a thin green hose. Clear water was running out one end. Afua placed the nozzle of the hose into the hole of the case and began to fill its

  ballast tank. Other than connecting the middle hull back to the bottom of the little boat, that was all that was required. Kornev had indicated that the batteries that ran the small computer and pumps would have enough charge to complete at least three full cycles of submerging and resurfacing, so topping off water was the only maintenance item required. After the tank had been filled and Afua had screwed the cap on, the men wasted little time affixing the case back to the underside of the little boat. Since it was in the launch position, hanging out over the ocean, they first had to operate the hydraulic controls to pull the boat back in above the deck. To reconnect the hull, Afua laid down and scooted himself under the boat, dragging the case with him. Once he felt he was in the best position, Afua grabbed the case and pulled it onto his chest. There were no marks or any other method to align the case with the hooks on the hull of the boat. It was more of a trial and error process. Each time Afua believed he had the case in the correct position, he yelled up at Isaac to plug the pin into the dead man’s switch. The first time that he heard the craft’s two electronic latches engage, he eased up from pushing on the underside of the case, only to realize that the latches hadn’t found their catch. The full weight of the case came to rest back on Afua’s chest. He then lifted it again but this time he positioned it more forward. Again, he asked Isaac to plug in the pin. The second try didn’t work any better than the first try. On the third attempt, the latches finally caught and their work was done. Afua wiggled out from under the launch, and Isaac ran the hydraulic lift back out over the water. To keep it from swaying, the men tied down the boat the best they could. Everything was as it had been before, and they were prepared once again if the Nigerian Princess were searched. But now time had become an issue. Afua had been told his mission had to be carried out within a precise five-minute time frame, and that would not happen if the case was on the bottom of the ocean for another twelve hours. Afua understood that if they were boarded again, he would have no choice except to leave the case on the underside of the tender and hope it was not discovered. Or, he would have to fight. He had very little chance of winning an armed confrontation against an entire ship of Venezuelan soldiers, but then he had faced great odds his entire life, and he was used to being the underdog.

  PHILIPPINE SEA—ABOARD THE HAIL NUCLEUS

  A fter the video link from the White House Situation Room to the Hail Nucleus had terminated, Hail turned to Kara and asked, “Did you know about this thing before the meeting?”

  Kara responded with an edge of ire in her tone.

  “Know about what thing?”

  “Know that they were going to do this turn Kornev into a spy for the USA thing?”

  Kara softened a little and responded, “No, I didn’t, but it makes good sense.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Hail shot back, his voice thick with sarcasm. “Just let the devil sell his weapons with the understanding that he will give the United States a little intel when it suits him. What a sweet deal that would be?”

  “It’s not a deal. It’s a new way of life for Kornev. He won’t like it one little bit. You can count on that.”

  “How can you trust him?” Hail asked

  “We won’t be able to trust him, initially. Trust is a thing that’s earned over time. Kind of like you and me and not something that is accepted with blind faith.”

  “You mean like how you trust me?” Hail asked.

  “If you are being facetious, then I would turn that around. I’ve been on this ship for months, and I still don’t think you trust me more than the first day I arrived.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” Hail said. “I simply don’t trust the CIA in general.”

  “Big diff,” Kara said, still bordering on having an all-out confrontation with Marshall Hail.

  Hail must have sensed that this topic was going nowhere but downhill, so he decided to change the subject.

  “Let’s just say, for the sake of argument, that we decided to try to turn Kornev into an obedient servant of the United States government. How do you think we would accomplish such a monumental task?”

  “Well, if I were to guess, you would perform the task thousands of miles away using your remote drones. But, in this case, that scenario will not work.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because me
n like Kornev aren’t afraid of weapons. Hell, his entire life revolves around weapons. Each time he walks into an arms deal, he runs the risk of not walking back out with his life. No, Kornev would not be afraid of your drones.”

  “OK, so what is he afraid of?”

  “He’s afraid of the men behind the weapons. The high-ranking terrorists who command the men who use the weapons. After all, guns don’t kill people. People kill people.”

  “That’s original,” Hail said, “so, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that I have an idea of how we can get Kornev to see things our way, but one thing I know for sure is it will involve you getting some skin in the game. You need to be there, face-to-face with Kornev. He needs to know you. He needs to respect you.”

  “Can I kill him?” Hail asked, sounding like a kid who was asking his parents if he could get a cotton candy at the fair.

  Kara rolled her eyes and said, “I’m serious. We can get him to roll over, but he needs to know who is behind the plan. He has to respect you or he won’t play ball.”

  Hail was quiet for a moment.

  Kara wondered what he was thinking.

  “Are you scared?” Kara asked.

  “Are you?” Hail responded.

  “I’m not scared of dying, if that’s what you’re asking.” Kara said honestly.

  “The only thing that scares me is letting people down,” Hail said. “There are a lot of people, a lot of kids who depend on me, and I’m not sure how all that would work out if someone like Kornev was able to get the drop on me.”

  “Well, then we can’t let that happen, can we?”

  “Nope,” Hail said. “So, what’s your plan?”

  “I don’t suppose you have two folding chairs and a card table on board, do you?”

  “Yes,” Hail told her, somewhat amused with Kara’s question.

  “Good, then all we need to do is send an e-mail to Kornev, and we’re ready to rock and roll.”

  TWO YEARS AGO

  CARIBBEAN SEA—ABOARD THE NIGERIAN PRINCESS

  T he following forty-eight hours aboard the Nigerian Princess passed without any further searches of the vessel. Both Afua and Isaac had watched the same Venezuelan Coast Guard ship that had previously boarded them pass several times within a quarter-mile of them. But it never made any turns in their direction. At this point, if it did turn toward their way, Afua would opt to leave the third hull segment attached to the little boat because they were out of time.

  Every plane that left the runways of the Simón Bolívar International Airport initially flew east over the port of Puerto de La Guairá. The port was a busy place, and it had taken Afua a long time to decide on the best place to fire the missile. On the map, he noted a thin jetty that poked out like a thin finger into the middle of the port. That strip of land created a seawall that protected the port. Looking at it from Google Earth, there appeared to be only one road that led to the jetty, and there were no buildings or anything else on it. The solitary dirt road had been worn down the middle of the seawall, and it appeared to be closed to the public. The port had its own set of roads inside a large fenced-in area, and this jetty appeared to be part of that infrastructure. Afua assumed fishermen may have trespassed on that spit of land. He decided fishing from the jetty would make for a good cover. If the jetty was restricted and patrolled, he could expect a visit from port officials, but Afua did not plan on being there for long.

  He would pull his little boat up along the shoreline, pull the plug on the dead man’s switch and retrieve the case. He felt it was critical to fire the missile from dry land. He couldn’t risk a wave or the recoil from the weapon to cause him to lose his balance which could make his shot to be less than perfect. He only had one shot so having solid ground under his feet only made sense. Afua considered the possibility of someone seeing him preparing to fire the large missile and try to intercede. But that’s what his Glock was for. If they got too close, his Glock would deter further encroachment. After he fired the missile, he would throw the launcher into the sea and hop back into his boat and make his way back to the yacht anchored five kilometers away.

  Afua had it all planned out. Isaac worked the winch to lower Afua and his small boat into the water. For the first time, Afua thought he had a real chance of pulling this off.

  When he had first met the tall Russian and the mission had been explained to him, Afua had thought the plan was pure lunacy. His boat touched down into the gentle surf of the Caribbean Sea, and the sun’s rays warmed his black skin. Afua began to think that this nasty job was as good as done.

  The cables were disconnected from his small boat with a few clicks of the carabiners that linked them to his boat’s cleats. Afua turned the ignition key and the boat’s small outboard engine puttered to life. Isaac waved to Afua, and Afua returned the gesture. He oriented himself with the shoreline and pressed the throttle forward. The bow of his boat came up. A few seconds later, his boat planed out, and the front came back down as his vessel picked up speed.

  The water in the Caribbean was a beautiful blue. Green had always been Afua’s favorite color, but as his boat skidded across the azure blue ocean, he thought blue might be his second favorite color. This blue expanse around filled him with a sense of independence he had never known. Going back to his childhood, Afua had never experienced this strange sensation of autonomy. He certainly hadn’t felt free when he had worked in the cassava fields, where he had been found and indoctrinated into the Boko Haram. But this blue stretch of water made him feel as though the world was boundless. With a single flip of his wrist, he could turn the wheel on this boat, and head off in any direction he chose. Afua had worked like a dog for every little thing he had received. But now he was alone, and there wasn’t anyone telling him what to do, and those who were dependent on him were thousands of miles away. Afua felt guilty at the thought of finding a quiet beach to vanish. He was Afua Diambu of Nigeria, but by the time his boat reached the nearest sandy cove, he could be anyone else, and he could forget his past. That thought was a fleeting one.

  Freedom from his commitments passed through his mind like a virtual bullet, and then the moist Caribbean wind had blown it away. He had never been this far away from home, from those he worked for, from those who depended on him or from the atrocities he had committed over the years. Thus, the feeling of freedom was a fleeting one. He was now approaching the Venezuelan shoreline, and his current life and its dastardly deeds came crashing back down on him like an immense psychological nuclear bomb. Afua composed himself and became the Afua the Boko Haram had created – a cold, calculating and deadly man.

  The jetty came into view, and Afua pointed his boat toward the outer tip of the breakwater. As he got closer to the wall of rock which had been raggedly dumped into the sea, the waves became choppy and the ride became bumpy. Afua pulled back on the throttle and began to survey the land ahead. So far, he didn’t see any people fishing from the rocks or working on the road that ran the entire length of the narrow jetty. A little farther down, where it became wider, there was

  an odd assortment of shipping containers that had either been stored or abandoned. Most of them looked to be rusty, oxidized iron boxes that had decayed over time due to salt and spray. The surf pounded against the seawall, as if insisting on being let in. There were no signs of life on the outside of the jetty, but Afua decided that pulling up on the outside of the breakwater would simply be too rough. He assumed that his boat would be smashed against the rocks and turned into Plexiglas crumbles in a matter of minutes. Keeping one hand on the throttle, Afua used his other hand to turn the wheel clockwise, as he guided his boat to the right. Now, the launch was pointing towards the heart of the harbor. Afua eased the throttle forward, and the boat lurched and surged forward. Keeping his eyes on the end of the jetty, Afua was pleased to discover that the jetty’s inner harbor was also unoccupied. There was no movement on the road or the rocks below. He hadn’t spotted any boats, fishing poles, scuba divers or w
orkmen. In fact; there wasn’t even a bird in sight.

  The waves on this protected side of the jetty were small ripples that lapped at the large jagged rocks on the shoreline. Reducing his boat’s speed to a slow idle, Afua steered toward an area that looked to have at least a small measure of sand, an area where he could disembark. A minute later, the bow of his boat rolled up onto the shoreline, and the tip of the bow touched one of the rocks. Holding a line that was tied to a cleat on the front of the boat, Afua jumped out and pulled the line taut. He then climbed atop the rock pile leading to the road above. He found a smaller rock to tie off his boat. Satisfied the boat was secure, he began to climb, scrambling from rock to rock until he crested the top of the incline.

  At first, Afua was careful not to expose himself until he was certain that the jetty was uninhabited. He stuck his head up over the top of the man-made plateau and looked left toward the tip of the jetty; there was no one within sight. He then looked right, toward the area that widened before making its way toward the main docks. There was no one in that direction either. If Afua believed in destiny, then he would have thought that this was a good omen. But God, destiny and all of that meant very little to him. He believed in the here and now. The rest was just stuff that people made up to give them strength to do what had to be done. Even though he believed in Jesus, he was certain that there would be little help from the son of God on this mission. If anything, Jesus would be appalled at what Afua (Jesus) was about to do.

  Confident he was alone, Afua carefully made his way back down the jumble of rocks to his boat. Checking the time, he realized he was running about forty-five minutes early. He would not release the third hull from his boat until ten minutes before it was needed. Since there were no people on the jetty, he could assume it may be restricted in some manner, and that could mean that it was patrolled, either by vehicles up top or by boats patrolling the harbor.