Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  The video went viral on base, originating automatically from an email handle that began with Eatingshitbefore5am. It hit everyone’s email inbox at 5:01 that morning and the fog of death was lifted.

  Maddie put on her robe and went to the baby’s room. She noted the time on her watch as 5:28 before she lifted Charlotte from her crib.

  “Two minutes ahead of schedule.” It was barely a whisper as she pulled the baby close. Charlotte’s head fell into the crook of her neck, fitting perfectly like the last piece in a puzzle. She bounced gently in the middle of the room, giving her time to wake up. As she bounced, Maddie gazed through the louvered blinds to the icy hell that awaited them. “Gonna have to suit you up with some crampons, Char-monster.”

  After her bottle, Maddie killed the lights and sent the upstairs back into darkness. The pair when downstairs and Maddie finished preparations to leave.

  While Charlotte played in the pack-and-play, Maddie remote started the Grand Cherokee and went out to survey the situation. With the garage door open, she stuck her right foot out on the ice to confirm the reports.

  “Only a tenth of an inch? You’re right, Marty, you smug bastard, it’s a fucking mess.” Using a bucket filled with salt that Ross kept in the corner, she cast it in front of her and made her way out the tractor-trailer length driveway to the road.

  County crews had pretreated surfaces before the rain fell and froze. There’s enough traction to give it a shot, she thought.

  With Charlotte secure in her five-point harness and a bevy of toys hanging above her, Maddie crept from the garage and out to the road. The rubber was making contact with the asphalt and by the time she made it to the edge of the neighborhood, her fear of having an accident waned.

  The main roads were mostly clear. The new thing across the state was to spray them with a saltwater solution the day before the storm. It dried on the road and when the rain or snow fell it mixed with the salt and lowered the freezing point by ten degrees.

  The cloud deck was solid. Highlighted by the lights of suburban sprawl, it added a margin of visibility to an otherwise black morning. Maddie opted to take the inter-county connector, a toll road that had lighter traffic and received better attention from road crews.

  By the time she passed the toll booth, the GPS indicated that she was only thirty miles from the agency. With traffic, weather, the chaos of D.C. streets and the likelihood of getting lost, she figured it would take a solid hour and a half, not counting time needed to find a parking spot.

  7

  Maracaibo, Venezuela

  Anas stood awestruck before the Contagious. “Absolutely majestic.” He lifted his hands high above his head. “A privileged ride that we most certainly deserve.” He was speaking to no one in particular, but several of the team heard him as they milled about. “Can you imagine owning something so bourgeois?” Only one man heard the third comment and he’d probably never heard the word before.

  By dark of night, the NJF boarding party, with help from Captain Timmin, had moved the Contagious from the boatyard to a man-made armlet next to the defunct seafood sorting warehouse. Back when the warehouse was built, the shot of water was cut from the earth and walled with concrete before the bay was let in. It ran the length of the warehouse and was wide enough to accommodate two medium-sized fishing boats or one large yacht.

  Years of rust and crumble had played on the facility since fishing boats pulled alongside to offload the day’s catch. A roof jutted out from the warehouse. The front was partially collapsed, but most the structure was sound and high enough to accommodate the full height of the Contagious. The roof blocked prying eyes from above and to prevent it being spotted on the water, the team erected an aluminum curtain that they pulled into place across the opening.

  Garaged in a cocoon of rusted sheet metal, the Contagious was a stark contrast of modern technological sculpture. Anyone who encountered her would have immediately recognized the planning and effort required to conceal the vessel.

  Anas had slept on the yacht. Fazul had refused. Anas believed that leadership had its privileges. Fazul believed it was important to make a show of being a soldier’s soldier. He bunked with the men and even if he’d had an inkling of desire to sleep on the yacht, it would have been washed away when Anas suggested the idea.

  Before he settled beneath the goose down comforter in the Owners Suite, Anas had walked the corridors and decks. It was his only opportunity to enjoy it before the men filled it with the equipment and dirt of war. He ran his hand along the rich varnish of the mahogany cap rails. He pulled off his shoes and socks and felt the silky chill of the natural teak decks. The Contagious smelled of money. She exuded an aura of privilege and aristocracy.

  Anas was inspecting a scratch in the lush flag blue hull of the yacht.

  “Good morning, brother.” Anas jumped at the sound of Fazul’s voice.

  He turned to face his brother. “Fazul…”

  “It is a great day!” Fazul’s eyes were charged, trembling at the edges with anticipation. “You’re very jumpy. And your eyes… They look tired. Did you not sleep well?”

  Anas didn’t acknowledge the quip.

  “I slept like a champion,” said Fazul. He had a habit of announcing the superior quality of his sleep to anyone who would listen.

  “No doubt,” said Anas. He took a sip of his coffee and squinted at the bitterness. They served better in prison.

  “Next time we’ll plan the operation somewhere with a Starbucks,” Fazul said. He pointed to Anas’s stainless steel mug imprinted with the company logo.

  “Anything would be better than this.”

  “When you’re done admiring the boat, we’ll need you to move out of the way. It’s time to start loading.” Anas had noticed a significant uptick in the condescending comments in recent days. He’d attributed it to nerves, but it was still wearing him thin.

  “You may proceed. I’ll keep clear of the men. Thank you for framing it that way, though.” Anas turned to leave. After a couple of steps, he stopped and turned back, intent on making peace. “Working together will be important, Fazul. Mutual respect is critical for this to happen.”

  Fazul said nothing. He kept his back to his brother and stepped aboard.

  The truth was, Anas hadn’t slept well. His mind was alight with thought. He’d read that a soldier must accept the inevitability of their death to realize their true potential in war. He wasn’t there yet. The night had been long, his circling mind keeping sleep at arm’s length.

  Anas watched as the men set to work. Fazul busied himself orchestrating the logistical operation. Furniture was removed from the main salon and dining compartment to make room for men and material. The teak table and chairs on her foredeck were removed as well.

  Once the removal step was complete, Fazul did a final inspection. He emerged onto the deck and proclaimed that they were ready. “Begin loading pod number seven!” He’d insisted on precise groupings that organized the equipment based on his deployment schedule.

  “Remember, number seven goes in the galley!” Fazul yelled.

  Pod seven consisted of the lowest priority materials. There were spare weapons, wooden boxes with additional rounds of ammunition, bags of tools, spare parts and equipment. Stacked on top were 38 gym bags with a change of clothes for each of the men.

  Anas had enough of watching. He joined the soldiers as they hustled between the warehouse and the yacht. The galley could have served as the heart of a five-star restaurant. Now it was being consumed. Aisles were filled with crates, stainless steel tables stacked with boxes. Bags were stuffed close together on the counters around the perimeter of the galley. Pod number seven was aboard.

  Pod number six went in next. Two gasoline-powered electric generators were wheel up to the doors of the galley. They would power the command post in the unfortunate event that the local authorities decided to shut down the electric to the resort. There were fuel cans and miles of extension cords still neatly wrapped.


  Pod five was the oddity. It was Anas’s baby—the one set of equipment that wouldn’t have shown up on most terrorist prep lists. It included eight, military-grade, quad-propeller-driven drones, and all the communication equipment required to get the aerial surveillance net aloft and keep it there. The drones themselves were housed in eight separate hard cases the size of a horse trunk. Eight other cases, half the size of the mains, contained the flight batteries and served as charging units. Eight radio frequency transmitters, eight signal relay routers, cases of spare part kits and a specialized table used to maintain the systems, rounded out the lot. In total, the grouping consisted of over 40 hard-sided black cases.

  Pod four consisted of heavy machine guns, plastic explosives, spools of detonation cord and wiring. The boxes and crates were aligned to the left in the main salon. They were stacked from front to back, moving ever closer to the aft door.

  Pod three included cases of blockade bars they’d use to secure the exits. There were cases of zip ties, shotguns for breaching doors and boxes filled with empty sandbags.

  By the time pod two was loaded, the elegant salon look more like the inside of a packed moving truck. They were out of room. Fazul ordered the men to stack things higher to free up space by the rear door.

  Finally, pod number one was loaded into the reclaimed area. It was the assault pod, and included everything the team would need in the opening hours of the action. Pistols, submachine guns, knives, zip ties and enough ammunition to tag each man, woman and child several times.

  They were ready before lunch. Hurry up and wait, Anas thought. He feared this part of the plan. They would now wait for sundown to come before leaving for the island. Anas had tried to convince Fazul that the loading would only take a couple of hours. He’d recommended they leave the same night the boat was captured. Even though no one was expecting to hear from the crew of the Contagious until after the landing, if anyone went looking, it would have been a very big problem. Fazul had argued that it would take hours. He felt they would need time to get things in order, that rushing would only lead to mistakes.

  Anas stared at his brother, wanting to say I told you so with his eyes. Fazul kept his focus off Anas.

  “I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if this plan falls apart and someone discovers the boat.” Anas turned for the stairs. An instant of remorse struck him—he’d stooped to Fazul’s level. After a beat, he continued up to the office, hoping the thin mattress on the floor would bring him the sleep he’d been robbed of the night before.

  8 Washington, D.C.

  Maddie made a left on 16th St. NW. Despite the darkness and blur of the rain, the Welcome to Washington DC sign was visible. She clicked the radio on as she crossed into the district.

  “Carroll Country Day School is closed, Christian Hope School is closed, Charles County schools are closed…” Jerry’s monotone droned on through the growing list.

  The timing of the traffic lights along 16th street sucked. The programmer clearly had not considered parents with sleeping children. Tiny humans caught in the fog of sleep benefit from the hum of the open road, not stops and starts with intervals of only a block or two. Maddie hit red at every light. With each one, she checked the mirror, watching Charlotte squirm from the stillness, hoping the twilight nap would hold on long enough for green.

  “The Federal Government is opening three hours late.” Maddie felt a jolt and stared at the radio.

  Come again. Did they say the government was three hours late? What did that mean? God dammit, she was almost there. She had everything ready. She had a dream about the cold Balashi. Was she screwed?

  “Fuck!” Holding the phone against the top of the steering wheel she waited for a red light and tapped ‘federal gov’ into the browser. The main government website confirmed the bad news.

  It could be four or five hours of waiting instead of one or two, she thought. Should she still wait in line? It was a damp, crusty cold that bore to the bone in seconds. Everything she’d read said that the pre-opening line ran along the front of the building. There was an overhang but nothing to block the wind and cold. Babies can’t be outside in the damp and crusty fucking ice for four or five hours.

  Besides that, she doubted there was any hope of getting the passport now. Could government workers arriving three hours late still be capable of producing something as significant as a passport same day?

  But what was she going to do? Turn around and head home? Quit? She didn’t have a choice.

  “We’re sticking to the plan Char-monster,” Maddie whispered.

  With eyes darting between the phone and the road, Maddie pecked out a message to Chuckles. ‘Call me once u lazy ass out o—’ A tone sounded from the dash and the Jeep’s brakes applied automatically.

  “Son of a bitch,” she hissed as the phone bounced its way to the floor. Red glowed above her and what felt like fractions of an inch separated her bumper from the car in front.

  At the top of a deep breath meant to calm her nerves, Maddie could feel a pile of anxiety in her chest. She laid her forehead on the steering wheel and counted in her mind. Then she reached down, retrieved the phone and finished the text. ‘I’m in the district. Could use a hand.’

  By quarter after seven she was circling a two-block section of real estate at the heart of the nation’s capital. It housed the passport agency, headquarters for the international monetary fund, a café and a book store with dark windows.

  There was no parking in front of the agency. It took three passes to recon the entrance. A few vagrants were curled under blankets in front of the book store. Twenty yards up, the lobby of the agency was lit. Glass, thirty or forty feet tall, gave it a stately look. Five huddled forms were lined up to the right of the door. Inside, two uniformed guards manned a desk in the lobby.

  Maddie reached the end of the block and turned right. A high windowless wall protected the south side of the complex. The only break in the concrete led to an underground garage for employees only. A capital police officer stood in the freezing rain that was clicking at Maddie’s windshield. The man was wearing a full-length parka and brimmed uniform hat with a plastic cover.

  Now that’s a shit job, Maddie thought. She wondered if the guard noticed this was her third time around.

  Maddie pulled to a stop along a red section of curb short of the guard. With the Jeep set to park and the engine still running, she popped the door. Ice danced down the back of her neck as she got out. She drew up her shoulders, tucking her head as if to hide and was just about to close the door when she remembered Old Mr. Murphy and his law of chaos. There was no doubt he was out and about and hell bent on spoiling Maddie’s party. She reached back inside and cracked the window. “Wait here Char-monster,” she said as she closed the door.

  The guard stared straight ahead as Maddie approached. Ice skittered off the plastic condom that protected the felt top of his hat.

  “You gotta stand in this shit even when they call a three-hour delay?” Maddie asked.

  The man’s black skin was invisible in the morning light. Only the whites of his eyes told Maddie she was being inspected. “Yes ma’am. Twenty-four by three-sixty-five. Comes with the job.“

  “When you think this place will actually get going today? With the delay and all?”

  The guard bounced on his toes. “They’ll wait until they have enough people make it in to man the windows. Critical mass and all… It’ll take a while. Eleven thirty maybe. Hard to say though.”

  “Is there anywhere I can get inside and wait it out?” Maddie asked.

  The guard pointed. “The Café is usually open by now but they’re late this morning. There’s a Marriott Courtyard around the corner. Underground garage.”

  “That’ll work. Thanks,” Maddie said. She was about to turn and leave. “Appreciate your service. Keep up the good work.”

  “Yes ma’am. Keep warm.”

  Charlotte was beginning to cry when Maddie got back in. The entrance to the hotel garage was only a
block away. They descended out of the weather and into a forty-dollar parking fee. With a choice of spaces to pick from, it only took a few minutes to park and load up the stroller. A few more passed and they were riding the elevator bound for the lobby.

  A couple of baristas were stirring behind the Starbucks counter in the lobby. One was filling the case with muffins. The front desk attendant barely noticed Maddie as she claimed a spot on a lobby sofa fronting a television running CNN.

  She’d barely sat down when her phone rang. It was Chuckles.

  “Why are you sending me cryptic messages all early in the morning on an ice day?” Chuckles asked when Maddie answered the phone.

  “Good morning to you too Master Sargent,” Maddie said.

  “How you in the District? Ross posted pictures of the kids in the pool on Facebook last night.”

  “Ross and Izzy are in Aruba. Charlotte and I are at the freakin’ passport agency.”

  The pause was long enough that Maddie had time to pull Charlotte from the stroller and sit her up on a knee. There was a laugh of realization.

  “No… you didn’t?”

  “Yeah, sucks to be me.”

  “When’d they leave?”

  “Yesterday morning. I didn’t realize we’d forgot to get one for the baby until the day before. I’ve got all the passport paperwork ready to roll. Only thing in my way now is this fucking ice storm.”

  Chuckles let out a long, exaggerated laugh. “About time somebody got your ass back. Karma sister. Karma.”

  “Yeah, fuck you,” Maddie said. “How about you help me get a passport? I read online you can get them same day but with the late opening…”

  “Oh, that’s true. Yeah, they’re gonna be slow coming in. Give a gov’ie three hours off and they take four, maybe five,” Chuckles said.

  “You know anybody over here now that you’re a D.C. insider snob?”

  “I’ll ask around but it’s not ringing any bells for me Gunt. You might be on a solo mission. But listen, I’ll come keep you company. Hold the baby for a bit if your arms are getting tired and what-not.”