Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  The plane touched down at the airport on Snake Island with a bump and the screech of tires. Kara sat up straight in her seat and looked out the windows, trying to get a sense of the place. Looking around, she realized that the airport was nothing more than a flat piece of asphalt laid down in the middle of a thick jungle. Heavy vegetation sprung up on both sides of the runway. She could not see any buildings.

  “Give me your phone,” Kornev told Kara.

  “No,” Kara said bluntly.

  “You don’t understand. I was told to leave all communication devices on the plane. Afua Diambu is a very paranoid person and for good reason.”

  Kornev held out his hand and waited for Kara to give up her phone.

  “I don’t like this,” Kara said, handing over her phone.

  Kornev took her phone. He put it with his in a cubby next to his seat built into the fuselage of the plane.

  The plane continued to taxi forward, eventually coming to a stop in front of a small cinderblock building. The small structure looked like a gas station to fuel airplanes. Kornev unbuckled his seat belt, got up from his seat, and ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the top of the fuselage, he walked toward the cargo hold. He depressed the button to drop the back ramp.

  Kara unbuckled her seat belt and joined Kornev.

  Kornev made no attempt to collect the black cases. Instead, he slowly walked down to the end of the plane’s ramp and out onto the airstrip. Kara followed. Parked next to the brick building was a new and expensive black SUV. Its windows were tinted so heavily they appeared to match the paint color of the vehicle.

  A black man dressed in military fatigues climbed out of the driver’s seat and opened the passenger door. Kornev looked inside, smiled and said, “How are you, my friend?”

  Inside the SUV, Afua Diambu looked sternly back at the Russian and responded, “I’m doing well. It is good to see you.”

  Before Kornev was permitted entry into the vehicle, Diambu’s driver produced a metal detector wand.

  “Please raise your hands and turn slowly,” the driver instructed Kornev politely.

  Kornev complied, doing a full 360-degree turn while the driver ran the wand up and down his body. When nothing on Kornev set off the machine, the driver asked for Kara to repeat the security procedure. Kara did a prettier turn than Kornev.

  Kornev climbed into the vehicle, and Kara appeared in the doorway behind him.

  Victor motioned in Kara’s direction. He addressed Afua, “This is my special friend, Tonya Merkalov. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind that I had invited a friend to share your hospitality.”

  Kara looked the jihadi in the eye and smiled pleasantly at him. She saw the look of distrust flash across his face - a normal reaction for someone in his situation. She imagined the questions buzzing around in his brain, threat assessment calculations, as well as raw suspicion of this new and unknown entity. But a few seconds later, Afua flashed her a fake smile, saying, “Of course, I don’t mind. I am glad you brought someone special to enjoy my wonderful home. I think you’ll both have a very nice time.” And, just like that, the man’s smile dissolved.

  Afua looked uncomfortable. He asked, “Did you bring anything you need to take to the house?”

  Kornev responded, “Everything we need my pilots will collect, and I’m sure your men can deal with it.”

  “Yes, they can,” Afua agreed. “Let us go.”

  Kara slid into the seat next to Kornev, and the SUV turned onto a dirt road, disappearing into the dense African jungle.

  ROND POINT PORT—ABOARD THE HAIL PROTON

  H ail’s mood had darkened by the time his jet landed at Gnassingbe Eyadema Airport in Lomé, Togo. For some reason, he could not shake the feeling that he would never see Kara again. He feared the moments spent together prior to the mission would be their last.

  Hail Proton’s captain had sent a helicopter to the airport to pick up Marshall, Gage and Nolan. A pair of young pilots, who Hail had only known for a short time, were flying the chopper. They greeted Hail and his guys with the positive exuberance of youth, which also made Hail feel worn-out and ancient.

  It was an uneventful short flight to Rond Point Port where the Hail Proton was docked. No one felt like talking. They had done all the planning for any contingency they could imagine or foresee. However, a quote Hail’s father had shared with him, by none other than Mike Tyson, popped into his head. "Everybody has a plan 'til they get punched in the mouth.” Hail had thought it quite funny considering that he could only remember a handful of things his father told him that he would classify as a joke.

  The rest of the mission was up to Kara and Kornev, and that gave Hail indigestion. He was a control freak, and having major operations with the key elements that were out of his control drove him crazy. Gage understood his friend’s emotions because he knew what made Marshall tick. There was little Gage could do to reduce the tension that welled inside his friend other than to just be a sounding board. If Marshall wanted to talk it through with Gage, he would be there for him and sympathetic to his feelings. But Gage knew, at some basic level, he could only sympathize with Marshall. He could not empathize with him because Gage didn’t have any immediate family. He had no kids and had divorced his wife years ago. He couldn’t conceive how difficult it would be to move on after your wife and kids had been killed in such a ghastly manner. Hail could pour his heart out to his friend, but Gage could only do so much, or say so much, because he never had anyone, let alone lost anyone. And his friend, Marshall Hail, at one point in time had everything. A great business, great family, great health. And then he had lost it all in a single phone call that Gage had made to Marshall that fateful day. But as bad as Gage could imagine his friend felt daily, he suspected it was much worse.

  Using two orange signal flags, a man on the deck of the Hail Proton signaled in the helicopter. The young pilots set the chopper down softly and precisely on the X painted on the deck. As the turbofan engines spun down, Hail and his group

  stepped out of the helicopter and walked over to a bulkhead door. Hail spun the handle and the trio entered.

  The ship was identical to the Hail Nucleus, so navigating the vessel was not a challenge. Hail had to do two things right away. He had to pee, and he wanted an update on Kara and Kornev’s progress. Since a bathroom was connected to the mission center on the Hail Proton, Hail’s group walked down several decks and made their way quickly toward their destination.

  Waving his security badge in front of the scanner, Hail entered the mission center. Captain Nichols was sitting in the Captain Kirk chair. Upon seeing Hail enter the room, the captain immediately stood and walked over to greet Hail and his men. Hail gave Nichols a quick handshake and said, “Sorry, Mitch. Gotta pee.”

  “Understood,” the captain said, taking time to shake hands with both Gage and Nolan. The two analyst stations on the second tier were open, so Nolan and Gage plopped down, grateful to be in an air-conditioned room. Neither man realized how hot it was outside, until their perspiration-soaked clothes began to cling to them with a chill.

  “Did you have a good trip?” Nichols asked, making conversation.

  “Yes, we did,” Nolan responded. “It was fun flying the Gulfstream. That baby really screams it has been modified for civilian use.”

  Captain Nichols smiled and nodded his head.

  Renner began looking around the room, noting that several of the sixteen control stations were occupied. Over their heads, a few of the large monitors above the control stations were streaming bright and sharp video.

  From the back of the room, Hail emerged from the bathroom and stood next to Nichols.

  Giving the captain a quick pat on his back, Hail asked, “So, what do we have going on here, Mitch?”

  *_*_*

  Nichols pointed to one of the 80-inch screens above the control stations and reported, “That’s the video feed captured by the drone, Turtles, currently parked in the sand next to the path you indicated.”

/>   Hail looked at the video, which could have been a still photo if it wasn’t for the palm tree’s leaves waving in the background. The angle from the turtle drone was severe. From ground level, the camera angled hard to the left and upwards,

  pointing up the trail toward the compound. The camera was focused on anything that might pass in front of its lens. The compound in the background appeared nothing more than a large fuzzy block of white.

  After looking at the video for a moment, Hail asked, “Has there been any activity on the trail?”

  “Affirmative,” Captain Nichols said, “This morning, Diambu came down the trail and went for his morning swim.”

  “Good,” Hail smiled. “A creature of habit. Just what we need.”

  On the other large monitor, the video being displayed was shot by a flying drone whose current position was maybe twenty yards out over the water. The streaming image on the monitor gave Hail Proton’s crew a clear shot of the beach in front of the compound.

  “We refueled and redeployed Seagulls. The drone has been shooting and recording video for the last six hours.”

  Nichols stopped for a moment and called out to one of the pilots sitting in front of a control station.

  “Hey, Jason. Can you please pull up the video of the cargo plane landing?”

  “No problem, Skipper,” Jason replied.

  *_*_*

  Less than a minute later, a third big screen lit up and Hail saw Kornev’s cargo plane coming in for a landing. The video was moving from the left to the right, as if the drone, Seagulls, was flying over the runway in front of the plane. Hail could tell that the bird was making a sharp turn and beginning to shed altitude. The angle of the video turned sideways as the bird attempted to get closer to the plane that had now stopped on the runway below.

  The captain said, “We are assuming that SUV down there belongs to Afua Diambu. We don’t know for sure, because the vehicle pulled out from the garage of his compound. Therefore, we don’t know who is in it. Diambu has four identical SUVs and each time one of them pulls out, three other decoys pull out and head in different directions. We don’t know where the others went, because we focused on any vehicle heading down the road toward the airfield.”

  “Makes sense,” Hail offered.

  The playback of the recording continued. The drone, Seagulls, had dropped down to treetop level and was in a circling pattern. Hail watched as Kara and

  Kornev exited the cargo plane. Their hands were empty. The pair walked confidently over to the black SUV. The man driving the vehicle got out. Kornev had his hands in the air and was being searched by the driver. Kara was also searched using a wand. Then the passenger door was opened, and it appeared Kornev was having a conversation with someone inside the vehicle. Kornev and Kara climbed into the SUV, and the car drove away.

  Seagulls was flying over the jungle canopy. Every so often there was a break in the jungle foliage wide enough to see a glint of the SUV on the road that led back to the compound. Less than five minutes later, the car pulled back into a massive garage building and disappeared.

  “Well, they made it there,” Hail said. He tried to sound upbeat, but there was trepidation in his voice.

  Renner, Gage and Nichols said nothing. All they could do now was hope that their plans played out as designed.

  Hail added, “I didn’t see the missiles being unloaded from the plane. Can you fly back and see if they are being unloaded?”

  “No problem,” Captain Nichols said. “Jason, fly Seagulls back to the plane, and let’s see if it is being unloaded.”

  “Roger that,” the kid said.

  On the video monitor, the drone made another sharp turn and began flying back toward the landing strip.

  “What type of assets do you have near the compound?” Renner asked.

  “Not many,” Nichols responded, taking his eyes off the video screen to look at Renner. “After Foghat dropped off Seagulls, we splashed Foreigner down in a section of Badagry Creek next to Tin Can Island.”

  “Does Foreigner have any armaments attached?”

  “Yes. It’s outfitted with missiles and guns. It’s also there to pick up Seagulls when that drone has exhausted its rocket pellets.”

  Jason Wilson, who was flying Seagulls announced, “We are back over the airfield, and it looks like there is some activity down there.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look up at the big monitor. The video showed two men carrying the black cases over to some type of commercial van. The back doors of the van were open, and the cases were quickly deposited into the vehicle. Then both men got into the van and began to drive away.

  “Looks like they are taking the road that leads to the compound,” the pilot said.”

  “Good,” Hail commented.

  Renner said, “Best to keep those missiles where we know they are, because those are some dangerous devices.”

  “You got that right,” Hail agreed.

  As the drone flew over the jungle, keeping tabs on the van below, Hail’s mind began to wander.

  He thought of Kara and wondered what she was doing. What was it like inside the home of a notorious terrorist? What was she seeing at that exact moment? Hail couldn’t even venture to guess.

  SNAKE ISLAND, NIGERIA

  A fua picked them up at the airfield. After they had taken the elevator up, from the garage to the third floor of the compound, and they had walked into a luxurious living room, Kara saw Afua Diambu sitting on the couch watching TV. Kara was seeing double—everywhere she looked it appeared there were two of Afua. Kara looked closely at the second one seated on the couch, and then back to the Afua who was standing next to her. They were identical. Not just a close match, but identical. Afua walked across the room and introduced Kara to his “double.”

  “This is my brother, Baako,” Afua #1 said. The man sitting on the couch stood up, walked over and met Kornev and Kara in the middle of the room with a handshake and a wide smile. Kara was surprised when the second Afua shook her hand. In the Muslim community, it was frowned upon for a man to shake the hand of a woman. She had spent time learning Arabic, and she remembered a startling passage Hadith from Ma'qil ibn Yasar stated, “The Prophet (Peace and blessings be upon him); It is better for you to be stabbed in the head with an iron needle than to touch the hand of a woman who is not permissible to you." So far, the very first moments of her visit to the Diambu compound had been full of surprises.

  Afua said to his brother, “This is Victor and Tonya. They will be visiting us for a few days.”

  Two kids, with skin the darkest shade of black Kara had ever seen, ran through the room and down the hallway. A girl around the age of ten was chasing a younger boy who looked about eight years of age.

  Afua told his guests in a serious tone, “My family lives here with me. My brothers and sisters and their children.”

  “How nice,” said Kara said with an approving smile.

  Afua’s brother, Baako, said, “I hope you had a pleasant trip to Nigeria.”

  Kara felt like telling him that she had flown in on a loud and uncomfortable cargo plane, but instead, she just nodded her head and flashed a closed-mouth smile.

  The kids flew by again, but this time the girl was yelling something at the little boy she was chasing. The language sounded like Nigerian Hausa or Fulani. Kara did not speak either, but she didn’t feel bad about it. After all, there were more

  than twelve popular languages in Nigeria alone. Even though she possessed the ability to learn languages very quickly, there were simply too many in the world to learn them all.

  Kornev and the Diambu twins began to talk about Afua’s home, the beach locale and the multilevel design. Their conversation was in English. Kara took the opportunity to walk around the living room to look around and find out more about the occupant and his family. On one huge wall in the living room were dozens of photographs hung on the wall in expensive frames. Many were of young Nigerian children doing some sort of activity with adults. K
ara assumed these were the brothers and sisters Afua had mentioned with their kids.

  Except for the plush white leather furniture, the home was decorated in a style Kara would describe as industrial, or even military. Securely attached to thick beams above her, a massive wooden propeller hung from the towering ceiling by thick cables. Hanging beneath the center of the propeller was a colossal light fixture. Jutting out from the light fixture were dozens of outstretched thin aluminum arms. Each arm terminated in a pineapple-shaped hand grenade, and each of the dozens of the grenades were cut in half. Within each was a thin and pointy vanity light bulb which screwed into the light socket. With the light flooding in from the multiple sliding glass doors facing the intracoastal waterway, there was no need to have the light turned on in the middle of the day. Kara suspected the room was killer bright at night.

  The CIA operative had hoped to see more photographs of Afua, possibly posing with members of the Boko Haram. She looked at another wall that had even more photos, but saw none of the organization. Afua, or his twin brother, appeared in several of the photographs, but there were no other subjects in the pictures other than kids and innocent-looking people with indulgent smiles.

  Kara watched Afua from the corner of her eye. The only way she could distinguish Afua from his twin brother was by their choice of clothing. Afua was wearing a white button-up, short-sleeved shirt with chinos. In direct contrast, Baako was wearing a red muscle shirt with colorful swim trunks.