Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  “So, what?” Baako asked. He wasn’t smiling. At that moment, he looked exactly like Afua. Emotionless, yet lethal.

  Kara told him, “I don’t see any reason to kill you right now. Matter of fact, I think it would be a tragic mistake to kill you. You see, Baako—” Kara said, taking the bottle out of his hands and helping herself to a drink. “—I think you will be a good leader for the Boko Haram. I think you could do good things and make up for all the horrible things your brother did.”

  Kara handed the water back to Baako, and she watched him closely for a moment.

  Baako was contemplating what she said, but Kara didn’t understand what there was to think about. If he said no, she would call in Kornev’s plane to pick them all up. If he made the wrong decision, she had all sorts of options of what to do with the brother of a Top Ten Terrorist. The CIA could probably get some great intel out of him, and he could be used in trade for the kidnapped girls. He would be used as a pawn in the international game of look what I got. There were so many bad possibilities for Baako if he made a poor decision.

  Kara kept her eyes on the man.

  “OK,” he finally said.

  “OK, what?” Kara asked.

  “OK, I will do good. I will make sure that the girls are released.”

  “And, I won’t tell any of your buddies that you are not Afua. But I don’t expect to hear any reports of bad things going on in Nigeria at the hands of the Boko Haram. You saw how easy it was to get to your brother. Well, it would be just as easy for us to get to you and your family.”

  Kara immediately regretted she had thrown his family in on the threat. It probably wasn’t necessary, and it was a level of provocation that could have been avoided. Nevertheless, the man across from her jerked in reaction to her comment, followed immediately by saying, “It’s a deal.”

  Baako held out his huge black hand.

  Kara transferred the gun to her left hand. She kept it loosely trained on the man as she placed her small white hand into his and shook on the agreement.

  “Cut me loose,” Baako requested.

  “Soon,” Kara said.

  Getting back to her feet, Kara walked over to the window of the SUV.

  She handed Baako’s cellphone to Kornev and told him, “Call the airport and have them radio your pilots to come back and pick us up.”

  “Do you know the number?” Kornev asked.

  “Do I look like your personal secretary? Google it, dumb-ass.”

  Kornev began fumbling with the phone.

  Kara turned, so she could keep an eye on Baako, in addition to his men, who were still waiting patiently at the end of the runway.

  Above Diambu’s men, she saw Foreigner angling down for a landing. A minute later, the drone flared and touched down gently on the tarmac. It took less than thirty additional seconds for the drone to slow to a full stop in front of the SUV.

  There was a mechanical hum of electric motors, followed by a small clinking sound. Kara saw four small metal hooks beneath the aircraft.

  Kara stuffed the gun into the back of her pants’ waistband. She retrieved Foo Fighters from its awkward position on the ground. It was wide, bulky and difficult to handle. It was relatively light, for which Kara was grateful. It would have been heavy if it hadn’t already spent most of its ammo.

  Kara knelt and slid Foo Fighters under the belly of Foreigner. Locating the mating clips on the top of the smaller drone, she pushed the drone upward snapping it into place under Foreigner’s belly. She pulled down on Foo Fighters and was satisfied it was securely locked into place.

  She stood up and walked back to the SUV. Seagulls was lying in a feathery heap next to the driver’s door. It had seen better days. Many of the drone’s white feathers were scattered around the area. The bird’s head was craned to one side, like it had broken its neck in attempt to save Kara’s life. Both of its wings were fully extended. Kara gently picked up the drone and pressed the bird’s wings back up against its body. She felt locking clips snap into place. With Seagulls’ wings secured, she returned to Foreigner, and located the next set of hooks behind Foo Fighters. She felt along the back of Seagulls and found the indentations in the bird’s spine that would match up with the hooks on Foreigner. Seagulls was smaller and easier to snap into place.

  Upon her return to the vehicle, she heard Foreigner’s jet engine begin to spin up. Baako had not moved from his sitting position next to the SUV. Kornev still looked green sitting inside the SUV. Kara looked down the runway to verify the soldiers were keeping their distance.

  In a whoosh, she watched Foreigner use a small amount of the runway before taking flight. Now, there was nothing left to do but wait for Kornev’s plane to pick them up.

  She turned back to Baako. He looked somewhat happy when Kara cut his hands free from the cuffs.

  “Do good,” she told him upon releasing him from his restraints. Baako had nodded his understanding, turned and walked toward his men at the end of the runway. Minutes later, he had climbed into one of their Land Rovers and had disappeared back into the jungle. It had taken another fifteen minutes for Kornev’s pilots to turn around and land on the runway. Kara was glad to see the plane. She had had enough of Snake Island. She hoped she never had a reason to see it again. But that was up to Baako.

  ROND POINT PORT—ABOARD THE HAIL PROTON

  T here was a celebratory dinner on the Hail Proton that night. Since none of the restaurants on the ship were big enough to accommodate Hail Proton’s entire crew, dinner was held in the ship’s gymnasium. Tables had been set with linen tablecloths, real silver and crystal glassware. Everyone, except for a skeleton crew, was in attendance.

  The ship’s music teacher had assembled a band, consisting of the crew’s younger members. They started off softly with some light dinner music and then they transitioned to some jazzy tunes. By the time Hail had popped the cork on the fake champagne—for the minors—and the real champagne for the adults, the young man playing the electric guitar had cranked up his amp, and the drummer had started pounding on the skins. The band churned out the song, I Am the Fire, by the group Halestorm. Hail had no idea Sarah Starling was such a great singer. She belted out line after line as the band continued to blast out the verse.

  Am I brave enough?

  Am I strong enough?

  To follow the desire

  That burns from within

  To push away my fear

  To stand where I'm afraid

  I am through with this

  'Cuz I am more than this

  I promise to myself

  Alone and no one else

  My flame is rising higher

  Hail found himself listening to each phrase, and the song was meaningful to him. What he was doing—what his life had become—was nothing that he could have foreseen or imagined. Was he strong enough to continue along the path he had set for himself? For the time being, at least, the answer was yes. As each of the Top Ten Terrorists fell like dominoes, he found himself getting stronger. He knew he would continue to follow his desire—and revenge was a dish best served cold.

  Starling transitioned into the chorus. The chords were filled with power and emotion.

  I am the fire

  I am burning brighter

  Roaring like a storm

  And I am the one I've been waiting for

  Screaming like a siren

  Alive and burning brighter

  I am the fire

  Hail was burning brighter. His crew—his kids—were radiating life, celebrating their first successful mission. There had lots of many moving pieces and they had risen to the occasion. Hail recognized how much talent they possessed, and his chest burst with pride. In their young lives, they had overcome so much trauma and loss, yet they had accomplished much. Marshall wistfully wished their parents could have been there to revel in their infectious happiness. Simultaneously, he ached. He wished he could have shared this occasion with his wife and twin daughters. There was all this life around
him, yet Hail felt amazingly empty.

  It was getting late and most of the teens, and many of the adults, were out on the dance floor shaking, twerking and jumping up and down.

  “Can I have this dance?” asked a female voice behind him.

  Hail’s spirits soared—the voice was that of Kara—Hail turned ready to pull her into a warm embrace. However, it was not Kara. Sarah Starling had left the stage to request a dance with Hail. He tried not to let his disappointment show—instead he exchanged a smile with her, and said, “I would be honored to have this dance with you, Sarah.”

  Hail arose from his chair and he took Sarah’s hand. He went to the dance floor and made a fool out of himself.

  WHITE HOUSE OVAL OFFICE—WASHINGTON, D.C.

  A ll the principal players assembled to discuss the various covert operations currently underway. Some of these operations were known to the president. The more nefarious ones she could claim plausible deniability.

  The CIA and NIA had a lot of irons in the fire. Operation Hail Warning had been relegated as an interesting development, but it did not top the list of significance when compared to war, hostile engagements, interdictions into sovereign countries and teams of black ops specialists—both U.S. branded as well as other countries. There were a lot of chess pieces on the board and they were in continuous motion.

  After discussing the more fluid covert ops in play, the group of Washington’s power players finally circled back to Operation Hail Warning. By this time, the president’s nerves were wearing thin and she had very little patience.

  “Good news,” said the director of the CIA. He began debriefing everyone regarding the status of Operation Hail Warning. Pepper checked his notes and continued, “It appears that we have successfully turned Victor Kornev.”

  The president looked happy or maybe she was relieved to hear some good news. She smiled pleasantly. Addressing Pepper, “Please, tell us all about it.”

  Pepper pretended to look at more notes on his iPad, but he wasn’t interested in the situation report that Kara had called in—he didn’t have it available on his tablet. She had ignored protocol—she hadn’t typed it up or entered it into the CIA database. Pepper was just winging it.

  “My operator, Ramey, was successful in not only turning Victor Kornev into a CIA asset, but also she was able to immediately put him to work. She penetrated the heavily secured compound of Afua Diambu. He was #2 in rank on our Top Ten Terrorists list. It was reported that following a firefight, Ramey was able to kill Diambu.”

  The president neither looked shocked or angry that Kara—and, in extension, the CIA—had acted without first obtaining her permission. The president didn’t immediately say anything, so Pepper quickly added, “It was Ramey’s call. She saw an opportunity and she took it.”

  “Has there been any fallout?” President Weston asked Pepper.

  “Nothing we have been able to discern,” Pepper said. He turned to his counterpart in the NIA, Eric Spearman.

  “Everything is quiet on our end,” Spearman confirmed.

  “Where is Ramey?” the president asked. “Is she still in Nigeria?”

  Pepper winced. He was hoping that the whereabouts of his CIA operative would not come up in this briefing.

  “Well, we don’t know where Ramey is, currently.”

  The present narrowed her gaze at Pepper.

  “What do you mean, we don’t know where she is? She has a cellphone and a compact with a communication device attached. She has a laptop, iPad and access to a SAT phone. Hell, the only thing Ramey doesn’t have is a satellite dish sticking out of her ear. Yet, you are telling me you don’t know where she is. That’s unacceptable. Isn’t it your job requirement, as her handler, to know her whereabouts at all times?”

  “We are sure it’s just a situational communication issue. Probably a proximity issue with where she is located. I’m sure she’ll check in soon.”

  Seeing his answer hadn’t satisfied the president, Pepper added, “Hail reported that drones spotted Kornev’s cargo plane land in Termez, Uzbekistan. Kara was tracked to Kornev’s home.”

  That additional information seemed to appease the president.

  She flashed a that’s OK for now smile and told Pepper. “Sounds like your team did some good work, Jarret. But how is our friend, Marshall Hail and his merry team of assassins?”

  Pepper didn’t like the question, but then he didn’t like Hail.

  “I think he’s happy that Ramey was able to take out Diambu. After all, that’s what gets him up in the morning. The whole ‘seeking vengeance for The Five’ thing.”

  Weston asked, “I guess that means we don’t have to pay another bounty to Mr. Hail?”

  “I don’t think so,” Pepper said, hoping that no one else had anything to add.

  Trevor Rodgers had been listening to all the bull that Pepper had been spouting. He could no longer tolerate Pepper’s lies.

  “That is not the impression Hail left me in the e-mail that he sent me this morning. He asked when he could pick up his check for killing Diambu. He also requested the whereabouts of the next terrorist on our Top Ten Terrorists list. That is, if we have good current intel to share with him.”

  The president looked warily at Pepper.

  “Jarret, did you tell me everything I needed to know about Operation Hail Warning?”

  “I told you all the information I had. Ramey said she was literally right next to Afua Diambu when he was taken out, but Hail was hundreds of miles away.”

  “Then why would Hail request the bounty we had on Afua Diambu?”

  Pepper simply shook his head as if didn’t understand Hail’s insistence either.

  Rodgers added, “Hail asked to meet with you as soon as your schedule would permit, Madam President.”

  The president looked annoyed. “I’ll see what my schedule looks like, but at least now the Rose Garden is covered, I don’t have to worry about Mr. Hail flying some gizmo onto my table again. For that, we can be thankful.”

  TERMEZ, UZBEKISTAN

  T he return flight to Termez had been boring and uneventful. Kara had gotten very little sleep at Diambu’s compound, but she was still unable to turn off her brain to relax. She had been wide-eyed and wired with adrenaline the entire trip aboard Kornev’s plane. Inversely, Kornev slept like a baby. He had done a faceplant into a bunk that folded out from the wall of his plane. Kara was grateful for not having to deal with him. Her relationship with Kornev, at this point, was very confusing. If she had fallen asleep, and Kornev had remained awake, would he have tried to disarm her? And if so, why? His cards had already been dealt, and he had accepted his hand. If there were any more cards to be dealt, those would be given to Kornev by either the CIA or Hail. But maybe Kornev would like to mess with her on a personal level as payback for the belittlement he was forced to endure over the last few days. And, indeed he had been humiliated.

  First, Hail slapped him around in the desert, and shortly thereafter Hail pulverized the Russian with airsoft pellets. Kara, a woman, had taken him to task. Most likely his ego was bruised and feeling betrayed by Tonya. Thus, she feared he might do something tragically stupid without considering the consequences would be death by drone. The Russian was so hard to read, but it no longer mattered. He was but a means to an end—a tool which Hail and the CIA would use.

  Once Kornev’s plane had touched down in Termez, Kara roused Kornev, using the tip of Baako’s pistol to poke him in the ribs to get him moving. When Kornev had gotten his act together, they collected their carry-ons and had exited the aircraft. They climbed into Kornev’s Hummer, still parked at the airport. Initially, Kornev had climbed into the driver’s seat. However, his injuries had proven to be too painful. Reluctantly, Kornev had asked Kara to drive. They exchanged places, and she had driven them to his fortress.

  Kornev provided Kara directions after she turned down one confusing street after another. She finally recognized the garage they had departed a mere two days earlier—although
it seemed a lifetime ago. She pressed the garage door button, and it began to climb on its track.

  Easing the big machine into its designated spot, Kara shut down the engine and closed her eyes. Funny, her body was now begging she succumb to sleep. Her eyes had been so dry that she thought the sensation of being waterboarded might be a relief. She laughed to herself at the silly thought while opening her car door.

  She followed Kornev down the stairs that led to the tunnels below. Kornev had decided to leave his bag in the car, figuring there was nothing he needed badly

  enough to drag it through the entire tunnel. Kara left hers in the vehicle as well, but she had no intention of staying at Victor’s any longer than necessary.

  Once inside the tunnel, Kara fell into step behind the battered and broken Russian. He was walking like Herman Munster from a TV show she remembered watching as a kid. Kornev was not walking. It looked more like a staggered shuffle as if his legs were set in plaster casts. That cadence changed when Kara implemented what Nolan had referred to as the rear naked choke. She jumped onto his back and threw her right forearm around the front of his neck. In a flash, she hooked both of her heels around his belly, now locked in her right arm, and she began choking Kornev using her left arm. Kara locked in the choke, awaiting the inevitable. Kornev was a big man, so it took all she had to lock the choke down.

  At first, Victor was taken aback. He didn’t know what the hell had happened. He thought Kara was being inappropriately playful. But a second later, he was incapable of breathing. He tried to dislodge her arms, but they felt like two concrete pythons locked around his throat. He tried to go for her face and gouge out her eyes, but his arm wounds sent waves of pain that registered in his brain. He groped for Kara’s eyes, ears, hair—basically anything he could get his hands on. But Kara had tucked her head down low on his back. After wasting too much time trying to get his hands on the CIA operative, Kornev realized he could use the walls of the cave to dislodge her firm hold on him. He turned his back to one of the walls, attempting to determine how many steps it would take to slam Kara up against the rock when the world became fuzzy. The lack of oxygen to his brain caused his central nervous system to shut down. While Kornev began to pass out, he thought to himself, “Why didn’t she just shoot me? It would have been a helluva lot easier.” The Russian went down slow, like a stick of butter standing on its end in the middle of a hot pan. His arms went limp, and Kara stayed with him, riding him to the ground, ensuring it was truly lights out for Kornev.