Hail Warning

by Brett Arquette

  Once he was safely unconscious, Kara took the bag of plastic handcuffs from her front pants pocket, and she rolled Kornev over onto his back. Kara used the largest pair to lock his thick ankles to which she secured his wrists to his ankles with the next largest pair of cuffs. With one cuff remaining, she considered using it to provide him more distance between his wrists and his ankles. She decided against it, opting to keep Kornev extremely hobbled. She didn’t want him to free himself until it was time. And, she didn’t know when that time would be.

  Kara sat back against the tunnel’s stone wall, staring at the string of lights that ran down the wall. They were small, but this narrow place didn’t require much lighting. She wondered what it would be like to be down here in the dark, left here in the tunnel all alone for maybe forever. She shuddered at that thought.

  Kornev began to come around. He didn’t look much different than after emerging from the backseat of the SUV after it had rolled on Snake Island except now he didn’t look like he was going to throw up. He was still having a hard time breathing, and Kara considered that she may have broken his Adam’s apple. The Russian began to mumble something as he sat up very slowly. Kornev found himself in the middle of his compound’s tunnel, chained with plastic loops joining his hands to his feet.

  Like Baako, so many hours ago, Kornev tested his restraints. But Kornev was so much more messed up than Baako. His effort was nothing more than a mild tug. After verifying that he was indeed shackled, he did not exert any more effort to free himself.

  “Why?” Kornev asked, looking first at his cuffs and then at Kara sitting on the ground across from him.

  “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” she told Kornev. “But not as your fake girlfriend, CIA agent, or as one of Hail’s crew. I wanted to talk to you as Kara Ramey, daughter of Kadence Ramey and Camden Ramey, my mother and father.”

  Kornev looked away from Kara’s angry eyes. He decided that looking back down at his cuffs was easier than the fire flashing like lightning in her eyes.

  Kara continued, “But now I’m not the one who’s going to be doing the talking—you are.”

  Kara pressed the RECORD button on her cellphone she recovered from the plane, and said, “I want you to tell me who killed my parents.”

  “I don’t know who killed your parents,” Victor said defensively, as if the mere suggestion was beneath him.

  “Beeeeep, wrong answer,” Kara said, making a game show buzzer sound. “Two more wrong answers, or two more non-answers, and the game is over,” Kara told Kornev.

  “What are you going to do, kill me?” Kornev asked, fear lacing his voice.

  Kara thought he sounded more scared than angry.

  “Wait one second,” Kara said, getting to her feet. She began walking down the tunnel. It was a long tunnel, and it took her a little time to reach the end. She followed the light cord until it terminated where it was plugged into an outlet. She pulled the plug from the wall and immediately plunged the tunnel into complete blackness.

  Kornev was preparing to yell words of protest until he saw the flashlight from Kara’s cellphone snap on. She was walking back towards him. A moment later, she sat.

  “You know, I really don’t believe in Heaven,” she told Kornev in a matter-of-fact tone. “But I’m good with that because I don’t really believe in Hell either. But if I did believe in Hell, I wouldn’t really buy into the fire and brimstone version we have been told exists. You know, like the center of the earth, with hot molten lava and all that crap. Hell, to me is emptiness. Hell, to me is eternal complete darkness and eternal consciousness. Hell, to me is loneliness, like not having a family—like the family you stole from me. I think Hell would be a lot like this.”

  Kara turned off her cellphone’s light, and the tunnel eclipsed into total darkness…again.

  Speaking in the darkness, Kara asked Kornev, “What does your Hell look like, Victor?”

  Kornev said nothing.

  Kara said softly, “Being down here is almost like being buried alive. Remember when you told me that you could scream and scream or even shoot a gun down here, and no one would hear you? Well, I believe you. Being down here like this is like being buried alive, and no one knows you are here.”

  Kara stopped talking and just listened. Maybe she heard the faint rumble from a car passing on the street somewhere. She could feel a tiny vibration in the soil. It was almost nothing.

  Kara said, “You asked me if I was going to kill you. To answer your question, the answer is no. But if you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’m going to leave you down here.”

  Kara snapped back on her flashlight so she could see his reaction. It wasn’t pretty. Kornev looked as though he had seen a ghost—or very soon would see one.

  “You don’t like that idea, do you?” Kara smiled. “Yeah, this is your version of Hell, too. I can tell.”

  Kara pressed the RECORD button on her phone and said to Kornev, “So this is what I need from you. First, I know most of the locations of many of your safe houses and gun stashes and go-bags around the world. As you may not know, ever since I met you back at the hotel in Volna, I bugged your phone. The CIA has been getting a dump of your texts, phone calls, e-mails—basically all the business you’ve conducted on it for months. But, I want you to tell me all the locations and

  addresses just the same. If you miss any of the safe houses or go-bags I already know about, then it’s bye-bye, nighty-night for Victor.”

  Kara switched back off her phone’s light and waited. Kornev said nothing, so Kara made sounds like she was getting back to her feet.

  Kornev began to talk and provided a long stream of countries and cities and addresses. When he was done, he stopped talking, and Kara turned back on the light.

  She said, “Second, I want to know not only the group who was responsible for killing my parents, but I want to know the name of the person as well who pulled the trigger on the missile.”

  Kara waited patiently for Kornev to spill his guts.

  “I don’t know the name of the man who killed your parents,” Kornev said.

  Kara shut off the light again and moved her feet around on the dirty floor.

  “I don’t know the name of the man, but I know the name of the leader of the jihadi’s sect. And that man knows the name of the person you want.”

  “And what is the name of the sect and the name of their leader?”

  Kornev told her.

  “The last thing I need to know is the phone number of your friend. You know, the doctor that we visited here in Termez.”

  Kara got back to her feet, turning back on the light.

  “Why do you want that information?”

  “Well, someone has to let you out of here, don’t they?” Kara said with a smile.

  “How long are you going to leave me here?”

  “Wrong answer,” Kara said, turning off the light.

  Realizing that it was in his best interest to provide Kara with the information she requested, Kornev quickly recited his friend’s phone number. Kara pressed the button on her phone to stop the recording.

  She didn’t thank Kornev for the information. Instead, she requested his car keys, cellphone and wallet. Kornev awkwardly reached into his front and back pockets, producing the items. Kara took them from his cuffed hands. Kara put her phone up in front of her, so the light was shining on her face. She wanted to make sure that Kornev could clearly see her.

  “You’re a slimeball, Victor, and I wish I had the green light to kill you. And believe me, I would do it in a New York minute. You need to understand that Marshall Hail wants you dead, even more than I do, if that’s possible. If I give Hail the go-ahead some quiet night a flying mechanical mosquito would bite your arm. Within minutes, or maybe after days of suffering, you would die. I advise you to against trying to find me. Also, don’t tell the CIA or Hail what you know. As far as you know, I got back on the first plane out of this God-forsaken place. Do you understa
nd?”

  She couldn’t see Kornev nod in the semidarkness.

  She began to walk towards the end of the tunnel.

  “Wait!” Kornev called after her. “I told you what you wanted to know. Cut me loose.”

  Kara kept walking and yelled down the hall, “I’ve got the phone number of your doctor friend here in Termez. Once I’m safely out of the country, I’ll give him a ring and have him come get you. Until then, chill out.”

  At the end of the tunnel, Kara began climbing the stairs.

  She felt a wetness on her face and realized they were her own tears, and she didn’t understand why. She wasn’t particularly sad, but this deviation from the norm would not go unnoticed or unpunished by her boss. At this point, there was no going back to who she had been for the better part of her life. And Kara realized she was finally adapting to this new lifestyle. Before The Five, she had been a pampered daughter living in a loving and supportive family attending college. When that life had been erased by Kornev and his clientele, she had become a CIA loner. Now, she could scratch out the letters CIA, and she could simply be referred to as a loner. Being a loner was, well, lonely. Maybe the tears reflected an understanding she was now all alone and very well would live a solitary life from this point forth.

  Once Kara had reached the garage, she wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. She set both her cellphone and Kornev’s cellphone behind the Hummer’s back tires. She climbed into the Hummer, opened the garage door and backed out, crushing both cellphones. This removed the only link to anyone who still cared about her. Kara turned toward the airport, and she hit the gas in hopes she wouldn’t have to wait long for a plane destined for anywhere but Uzbekistan.

  ROND POINT PORT—ABOARD THE HAIL PROTON

  U sing the drone, Milky Way, named after a candy bar Kara enjoyed, Hail’s team tracked Kara to Kornev’s place. The Hummer had only been in the garage for about fifteen minutes before it exited. The drone, Milky Way, had landed on the roof across from Kornev’s house. It had an excellent vantage point of the property. It had an integrated solar array atop its carbon fiber cover to maintain its charge.

  “Kornev’s Hummer is leaving his garage,” Jason Wilson told Hail.

  Hail had relieved Captain Nichols in the mission control room and was sitting in the big chair, waiting, on the off-chance Kara needed him.

  “Follow him,” Hail told the pilot.

  “That’s a negative, Skipper,” the pilot told him. “I used up almost all the drone’s juice just flying from the airport to Kornev’s house. We need at least an hour to recharge before we can fly again—depending on cloud cover.”

  Hail already knew that Foreigner was low on fuel, and it had been recalled to the Hail Proton.

  “But we can’t lose the Hummer,” Hail complained although he realized it was out of the pilot’s hands.

  “You tell me what you want to do, Marshall. I will fly this thing until it dies and lands in the street if that’s what you want—it’s your drone.”

  Hail knew he couldn’t allow that because it would be a waste of a wonderful and expensive drone. And he didn’t want his technology to fall into the wrong hands.

  Hail said nothing. He was very frustrated. He had dozens of drones in his fleet, yet he had nothing available to follow the Hummer.

  “It’s my fault,” Hail told the pilot. “I should have sent Foghat there sooner. I just didn’t expect them to leave this quickly.”

  The drone’s camera began panning to the left, following the Hummer as it turned the corner and disappeared.

  “Did we see who was inside?” Hail asked hopefully.

  “That’s a negative, Skipper. The tint on the Hummer is too dark to see anything from the rear of the vehicle.”

  Hail shook his head and mumbled a single word to himself, “Dammit.”

  BOKO HARAM ENCLAVE—JUNGLE NEAR LAGOS, NIGERIA

  T here was no funeral for Afua Diambu because there was no physical body to bury—Baako hadn’t told anyone that Afua had died. That detail was unnecessary to share because the men on the beach who bore witness to Afua’s grisly death had been killed in the explosion. Thus, Baako could quietly assume his brother’s identity, life and role within the Boko Haram as leader.

  But, now things would be different with a true Christian leading the Boko Haram.

  The first thing Baako did was convene a meeting with his lieutenants. The new caliphate had traveled deep into the jungle to meet with his men in one of the Boko Haram camps. Baako had been shown to a large wooden chair positioned in front of a massive fire pit.

  Baako stood and addressed the men in English.

  “Beginning today, we will change how things are done.”

  Baako stared into the inquisitive looks on his hardened lieutenants’ faces. His hand rested on a 9mm handgun stuffed into a holster attached to his belt. It was his brother’s gun that he wore during his days leading the Boko Haram.

  “And we are going to start by freeing the women we had kidnapped from the school so many years ago.”

  A rumbling of dissension erupted from his men—some had married the girls Baako was referencing.

  “What if they are our women—our wives?” one of his senior lieutenants asked.

  “Each of the women will come before me. I will ask them if they would like to stay or if they would rather leave. If the answer is leave, they will be permitted to depart without fear of punishment of any type. Have I made myself clear?”

  The sounds of agitated men filled the forest.

  The same man asked a simple question.

  “Why?”

  “Because we have had them long enough,” Baako barked at him. “It’s time to move on to other business. We can’t let this one mission define us. We can’t let kidnapping women be what puts on the map—the only reason for which we are

  known. We are better than this, and it is time to move forward. These women will no longer define our organization. We will be known for far better things we will accomplish.”

  Baako’s words seemed to appease the men and put a damper on the open hostility that had flared up within the group.

  Baako watched the men talk amongst themselves. After a moment or two, he told the men, “Now, get the women out here. Let’s see who wants to stay and who wants to go.”

  SOMEWHERE ON THE CONTINENT OF ASIA

  K ara walked down the stairs of the Boeing 787 on the wide tarmac. She spotted a man who had been seated next to her on the airplane. Before they had even reached the terminal, Kara turned on the charm and asked the olive-skinned man, “I don’t have any currency, and I need to make a phone call.”

  It was a white lie. She had Kornev’s wallet stuffed with money, but she wanted to use a phone that could not be traced back to her. She reasoned borrowing a cellphone from a traveling stranger was optimal.

  As she walked toward the terminal building, she realized that she didn’t even know where she was. She had bought a ticket for the first plane out of Termez. The destination had been told to her by the pleasant woman working the ticket counter in Uzbekistan. But Kara had not taken it in. She knew where she wanted to end up, and all the places in the middle were just that, places on the way to her end destination. She recalled that the country ended in the phoneme -stan, but that meant it could have been any of several countries packed tightly into the same region.

  The man smiled back at Kara and began fumbling around in his pocket for his cellphone. His hand came back holding a small flip phone which Kara accepted with a gracious smile.

  “Thank you so much,” Kara said.

  “You are very welcome,” the man told her. “Are you going to be staying in town?” he asked, thinking this just might be his lucky day.

  “No, I wish I were,” Kara told him, making a pouty face. “I am flying out on the same plane once it is refueled.”

  The man looked unhappy. He shifted gears and told Kara, “Enjoy your very short time in our country.”

&nb
sp; “I will,” Kara told him. “And, thank you again. I will be a minute, I promise.”

  Inside the terminal, Kara walked to the nearest wall to provide privacy before dialing the number from memory. She gave her surroundings a quick 360-degree scan while she waited for an answer. The phone began to ring. It rang three more times before the answering machine engaged.

  The voice recording said, “Leave a message.”

  She recognized Dr. Nikita Sokolov’s voice, although it sounded a little younger. When at the doctor’s home, Kornev had joked with the doctor about never answering his phone.

  She left a message. “This is Victor’s friend, Tonya. Victor needs your help. He is in one of the tunnels that leads from one of his garages to his house. He told me you know about all his secret tunnels. He needs your help to get out of one of them. If you don’t help him, he will most certainly die in the tunnel.”

  Kara stopped talking for a moment to consider if there was anything left to tell the doctor. Satisfied with the message, she flipped the phone closed after erasing her call from the phone’s call history. She returned the phone to its owner, thanking him once again.

  TERMEZ, UZBEKISTAN

  V ictor’s friend, the doctor, had just sat down to eat a bowl of soup and to read his book when the phone began to ring. He hadn’t answered his phone in over twenty years, and he wasn’t going to start now. The only person to call him was Victor Kornev. There were a few other people he had cultivated loose friendships with over the years in Uzbekistan, such as his lawyer, his maid and a man who picked up and delivered groceries for him.