Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  “You do know that Kara had hand-to-hand combat training in the CIA,” Hail told him.

  “Yeah, I’m scared,” Nolan responded in a dry monotone.

  Hail smiled at Kara and whispered to her, “When I say go.”

  Hail turned back toward Nolan and he yelled, “Go!”

  Kara got to Nolan before Hail had taken his first step. She reached for Nolan’s neck and, with a quick upstroke of his arm, Nolan batted her hands up into the air and ducked beneath. By that time, Hail had reached Nolan, but there was no Nolan to be had. He was on his hands and knees. When Hail looked down, he saw Nolan shoot his leg out to the side, hitting Hail’s ankles and blasting his feet out from beneath him. Hail went down and he landed on his side with a grunt. Kara had regained her balance and turned back toward Nolan, just in time to experience her feet being kicked out from under her. By the time she hit the floor, Nolan had wrapped his arm around Hail’s neck and had used his other arm to lock it up. Before Kara had a chance to do anything but roll, Nolan scissored his legs around her neck and began choking her.

  It all happened so fast. The total exchange had taken less than ten seconds, and now Nolan was simultaneously strangling both Hail and Kara. Hail made some choking sounds and began tapping on Nolan’s arm. Kara couldn’t make any sound at all, and she began tapping on Nolan’s leg a tap out, as it was called in mixed martial arts, indicating, “I give up, now stop choking me.”

  Nolan let both Ramey and Hail go, and he rolled over onto his back. The lieutenant commander did a front leg kick, arched his back and bounded back on his feet - all in one swift motion.

  Hail and Kara looked stunned. Kara more than Hail, since she had formal training in hand-to-hand combat.

  “What was that?” Kara asked incredulously as she sat up on the mat.

  “It’s called Brazilian Jujitsu.”

  “That was amazing,” Kara said, making no attempt to stand.

  “That was painful,” Hail said, still lying on his back.

  Renner was laughing. “I’m just glad it was you guys. Thank you, Foster, for using them and not me.”

  “No problem,” the lieutenant commander said, reaching out to give Renner a high five. Renner slapped his hand hard. Nolan closed his hand tightly around Renner’s hand. Before he could protest, Nolan said, “And, down you go.” With his free hand, Nolan grabbed the thick part of his arm, dug his hip into Renner’s gut, flipped Gage over his body and slammed him down on the mat.

  Renner began to yell in protest, but before he could get any words out, Nolan had collapsed on him and placed his forearm across Gage’s throat. Renner’s eyes bulged, and he made little choking and coughing sounds.

  “Tap out!” Hail yelled to his friend. “Tap out!”

  Renner had no idea what that meant, but Nolan was not about to let Renner die there. He waited one more additional second for effect, and then he eased the pressure on Renner’s reddened neck.

  “That sucked,” Renner croaked out. Hail and Kara laughed.

  “That’s Judo,” Nolan replied with a smile.

  “That was great!” Hail said. He made it back to a standing position. All three were looking down at Renner while he tried to regain his composure and what was left of his dignity.

  “Is that what you wanted to show us?” Kara asked. She was smiling and massaging her throat.

  “I just wanted you to know I can teach you guys some stuff. I’m not just a jet jockey. I have a few other skills I can share with you and your crew.”

  “I like the idea,” Hail said. “It’s good to know how to defend oneself. And it looks like the grappling will be a good workout as well.”

  “I agree,” Kara said. “Sign me up for some lessons.”

  “Get me and Gage on the list as well,” Hail said.

  “I don’t want to be on the list,” Renner said. “I like all my body parts right where they are.”

  “Come on, Gage. We’re still young. We need to get in better shape. Really, wouldn’t you want the opportunity to choke the hell out of me?”

  “Well, when you put it that way—” Renner smiled.

  “OK, then,” Hail said. “I’ll get it posted and let the crew know they can sign up for Jujitsu lessons.”

  Hail held up his hand like he was the karate kid. He then assumed what he thought was a karate stance, a sideways crouch with his legs far apart. “OK, what’s the first thing we need to learn?” Hail asked.

  “You already learned the most important lesson. Tap out before you pass out,” Nolan said. “The second thing I’m going to teach you is called the rear naked choke.”

  Renner raised his hand.

  “Yes, Gage?” Nolan asked.

  “Does that mean Kara has to get naked?”

  THE WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE—WASHINGTON, D.C.

  P resident Joanna Weston had called a meeting with the head of White House security. Patrick West was also the head of the United States Secret Service. West had been the head honcho in charge of the USSS for twenty years. During that time, he had dealt with all sorts of new and challenging threats, from those who could do harm to those the Secret Service was responsible for protecting. He expected today’s meeting with the president would be simple and straightforward.

  Weeks earlier, West had assured her all the signals essential for operating a drone had been jammed and tested on White House grounds. During a three-week period, between the hours of 1:00 a.m. to 4:00 a.m., the CIA had flown small drones over the White House property. Each drone had fallen from the sky the moment it entered the invisible jamming net. This tactic had proven effective. The downside of the technology was that it also jammed all the other signals on the property, such as the radio and cellphones the Secret Service used to communicate with one another. So, although it worked, it was inconvenient. West was advocating finding another method to immobilize the drones, or perhaps switch his security team to another mode of communication.

  Prior to the president’s first sentence, West thought she looked quite confrontational. Her typical gracious greeting had not been offered this morning. Instead, when West had walked into the Oval Office, other than gesturing for him to sit down across from her desk, he was met with a wall of silence.

  He understood from her demeanor that he was in trouble. The entire Secret Service was in trouble. Hell, the entire country was in trouble. Drones had become a big problem. And it wasn’t the drones that the public could buy in a store that were the issue. All the store-bought drones had already been preprogrammed at the factory not to fly within fifteen miles of the White House.

  The real problem was that kids, terrorists or terrorist’s kids could print the drone’s parts on a 3D printer, purchase just the motors separately, and build their own aircraft. There were many open-source flight software apps and navigation apps able to be loaded into the memory of the drone’s firmware. And, just like that, they had a fully functioning drone. The little drones were not a major concern to West. Instead, it was the larger drones, those that could carry weapons, that caused him to lose sleep at night. The large drones had the ability to fly onto the White House property and start taking potshots at anyone outside. For that matter, the drones could simply fly up to a window and take out targets through the glass. The glass was bulletproof. But was anything entirely bulletproof? Bullet resistant, maybe. But how many bullets would it take to punch a hole in the glass? A dozen full-jacketed, high-velocity rounds? Maybe less. Maybe more. And how many rounds could a drone carry? All those factors made West’s job untenable at times.

  There were sharpshooters on the roof of the White House, and guards surrounding the perimeter, but they couldn’t see everything or be everywhere always. At night, a drone could potentially fly onto the property under the cover of darkness, and if it wasn’t for the fact that all the radio and cell signals were jammed on the property, it could result in a disastrous outcome.

  But Marshall Hail had flown a drone onto White House property and had set his drone on the t
able right in front of the president. Because of that single action, West knew why he had been summoned to the Oval Office.

  The president began by saying, “Pat, I want to be frank with you. I don’t feel safe.”

  West let the commander-in-chief’s words marinate in the air for a moment, but timing was critical. He wanted to leave enough space before he responded, so the president understood that her concerns warranted some thought and contemplation. Yet, he didn’t want to wait long before he responded, giving her the impression that he was either inattentive or didn’t take the threat seriously.

  “I completely understand your concerns,” West responded.

  The president waited as if she expected him to elaborate. When it became apparent West was done talking, the president said, “Let me be a little more specific. I don’t feel safe when I’m outside on the White House grounds.”

  The problem West had was he lacked any responses that would help the president feel safe.

  He decided to go into a stall tactic.

  “Madam President, we are currently working on a security solution that will prevent what happened with Marshall Hail from ever happening again.”

  The president offered a constricted smile. It flashed across her face like a snake strike and vanished.

  “And, in the meantime, while you’re working on the problem, what am I supposed to do? Never leave the confines of these white walls?”

  The president was drilling down to the heart of the problem, and she was putting West into a box. He realized that there was no way to get out of it without stating the obvious.

  “I regret to say that I think that is the best option, for the time being.”

  “You’re kidding me?!” Weston asked.

  West didn’t look like he was kidding. He looked deadpan.

  “I wish I was,” he responded, looking the president square in her eyes.

  He continued, “Until we can determine a way to keep laser-connected drones from communicating with one another, then there really isn’t much we can do to stop them from penetrating the White House grounds. I’m sure we will come up with a solution, but it will take some time. In the meantime, we request you don’t walk outside without guards at your side. But, we would prefer you don’t walk outside at all.”

  The president appeared anxious and angry.

  “It is unacceptable to be a prisoner in the land of the free. I refuse to spend the remainder of my term indoors.”

  West nodded his head in understanding, but he knew that this was a new level of protocol that would be enforced, not only for this president, but also for presidents to follow. It was like Kennedy being shot in his convertible-style limousine. Never again did a president ride in a limo without its top up. West liked to look at the positive side of things. Hail had pointed out a major flaw in White House security. And he had done so before the president’s life or anyone else under Secret Service protection was jeopardized.

  West was upset that Hail had put him in this objectionable situation, but he was grateful that it happened with Hail and not an armed drone flown by a terrorist.

  Frustrated, the president told West, “That will be all,” and the man stood and exited the room without further comment.

  PHILIPPINE SEA—ABOARD THE HAIL NUCLEUS

  I n the conference room of the Hail Nucleus, the video conference began. The three video screens showed three young faces. The Committee consisted of senior pilots from four of Hail’s cargo vessels to discuss requests from those living and working for him. In attendance for The Committee meeting was Jason Wilson, a nineteen-year-old from the Hail Proton; Lillianna Cordova from the Hail Atom and Ross Knight from the Hail Electron. Sitting in front of the screens was Marshall Hail as well as Alex Knox representing the Hail Nucleus.

  For more than a year, this group had been meeting each quarter to discuss the needs, wants, and requests from Hail’s younger crew members. Prior to the formation of this forum, e-mails were sent requesting things (new activity, sport, store) which Hail would then personally respond to because he received only a handful of suggestions or requests per week. As more of the young adults were offered sanctuary and opportunities aboard Hail’s fleet, he soon became overwhelmed when the handful of requests transitioned to hundreds of requests per month Yet, he still wanted all voices heard. Thus, The Committee was created to bring forth the suggestions and requests to the forum.

  Each year those under twenty years of age voted The Committee chair to represent their ship. That chosen person brought forth, on a quarterly basis, requests, complaints and suggestions to The Committee.

  “Let’s bring this meeting to order,” Hail told The Committee members.

  Each of the committee member’s eyes glanced down at notes they had prepared.

  Hail asked Wilson, a good-looking black kid, “What do you have for us today, Jason?”

  On the video screen, Jason consulted his notes said, “I don’t know if this is possible, but many of the crew members on my ship are interested in having a garden.”

  Hail was surprised by the request, but then he had become accustomed by some of the stuff the kids on his ships requested.

  Wilson continued, “As you know, most of our young crew never leave the ship, and to be honest, they never get to see stuff grow. A few of them became entranced with a potato they discovered in the galley. The potato had fallen behind some boxes and began growing roots. Just about everyone on our ship had to visit

  the potato; you would have thought it was a pet. A few of the youngest crew members became depressed when the potato turned into mush and died.”

  Hail’s mind had already begun to process the request. “Would it even be possible to designate an area on each of the cargo ships where tons of dirt could be hauled aboard to make a garden?“ It certainly couldn’t be laid right on the deck without rusting out what lay beneath it. But maybe they could lay down a protective barrier of some sort.

  Hail said, “OK, let me discuss this with Renner and see what we can come up with.”

  On the screen next to Wilson, Lillianna Cordova spoke up.

  “I have kind of a similar request.”

  Lillianna was of Spanish descent with dark brown eyes, a thin face and long jet-black hair. “I know this sounds kind of crazy, but I’m just going to put it out there because Hail Atom’s crew really wants it.”

  Hail was afraid of the request, but he asked, “And, what would that be?”

  “They want a horse.”

  Hail started laughing and The Committee members joined in, except for Lillianna. She looked embarrassed.

  Lillianna responded, “Well, they want a horse, but I think they would be happy with some sort of pet. A dog or a cat maybe.”

  Hail was still laughing and said, “Well, I’m glad they didn’t request an elephant, so we are going in the right direction.”

  Still uncomfortable, Lillianna said, “So, I guess a horse is a no-go?”

  Hail calmed down a little and told her, “I didn’t say that. But a horse is a big responsibility. A horse needs to be shoed and combed and cleaned and fed and watered. Off the top of my head, I don’t know where they would ride it.”

  Lillianna said, “The crew thought it could be ridden on the running track that loops around the perimeter of the top deck.”

  As a matter of meeting protocol, Hail never shot down a request during the meeting. He felt it might impede his young crew from bringing up things he would never have considered, let alone thought about. There was a lot of time to say no in the future, so Hail said, “Well, let me think about the horse. I don’t see any reason why the crew can’t have a dog and a cat. Heck, maybe they can have a few of them.”

  On the other end of the video stream, Lillianna smiled, and the meeting continued.

  He asked Hail Electron’s committee chair, Ross Knight, “What do you have for us today, Ross?”

  Instead of answering, Ross started laughing. The rest of The Committee members started laughing, u
nderstanding the request about to be asked was going to be a doozy.

  Ross composed himself, and with a smile still on his face, he asked, “Well, I don’t suppose there would be an area on the ship large enough where we could drive a car.”

  TWO YEARS AGO

  CARIBBEAN SEA—ON THE JETTY NEAR CARACAS, VENEZUELA

  T he plane was lined up and positioned dead center in the surface-to-air missile’s sights. The launcher was resting comfortably on Afua’s shoulder. The plane was getting increasingly closer to him, and he hadn’t counted on this strange, yet fortunate, situation. He was positioned on the other side of the bay and directly in line with the runway. However, the plane was rapidly gaining altitude. It was getting closer to him. That nuance caused Afua to hesitate on pulling the trigger. “Wasn’t closer better?” he thought to himself. The jihadi waited until the plane was almost directly overhead. This was the closest the plane was ever going to get. Afua arched backward until his position was uncomfortable. He then mumbled two words under his breath, “Don’t miss,” and he pulled the trigger.

  There was a hiss behind his right ear that sounded like a piece of red-hot metal being thrown into a bucket of cold water. That sound was followed by a violent whooshing sound of the missile igniting and leaving the launch tube. Afua held very still, as if he were a tree and the launch tube had been screwed into his limbs. A moment later, he watched the missile climb toward the aircraft. Now that the missile was on its way, it didn’t matter what he did with the launcher. The missile’s computer and code would guide the projectile to its target. The projectile would automatically seek the plane’s hot exhaust fumes, making automatic flight corrections until it found its mark. Nevertheless, Afua diligently tracked the plane inside the launcher’s iron sites, willing the rocket to fly toward the jet.

  It happened surprisingly fast. The missile flew at Mach 2.4, which was about 2000 miles per hour. With the plane less than a mile above Afua’s head, in real time, it took the missile less than one second to make a small arc and impact the left engine of the plane.