Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  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.”

  9

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  Ross felt like a helpless heel. Waves lapped at his ankles as he talked to his wife.

  “Izzy wanted to get in the ocean first thing,” he said. “Hang on a sec Maddie.” He lowered the phone away from his mouth. “Don’t go out too far sweets,” he yelled.

  Izzy waved in reply.

  “She’s got her lazy river t
ube out there and she’s paddling around.”

  “Char-monster is chewing on my sleeve and watching some d-bag on CNN named Zain Axelrod. We’re both having a ball, you and I.”

  Ross was happy to hear she was still capable of cracking a joke. It meant all the bad hadn’t gotten her down.

  “So, what’s your plan?” he asked.

  “Gonna wait here another hour or so. Eat a few muffins and down my third cup of coffee. Then go stand in the cold with your baby wrapped in so many layers you won’t be able to see her. And then… I’m gonna pray.”

  Ross laughed. “You? Praying? A first time for everything I guess.”

  “Never had a need before.”

  “Izzy wants to go see Kavita and the kids for lunch,” Ross said.

  “She remembers them?”

  “Yup. Didn’t remember their names but she was like, you remember those girls whose mommy makes the smelly food? Can we go see them? I told her we could and she said, ok, but I only have to eat a cheese quesadilla right Daddy? Not the smelly stuff… and turned up her nose.”

  “That’s too much. She’s growing like a weed that one. Tell Kavita I’ve got my eyes on some spicy goat curry this time around.”

  Kavita and Geert Velden lived on the eastern part of Aruba in the town of San Nicolas. They operated Kavita’s Café, an east Indian eatery that served unique dishes with unmatched hospitality. Maddie and Ross had come to meet the restaurateurs like so many other tourists—lost on their way to the remote but very popular Baby Beach.

  Kavita’s love for children was unrivaled. She had two of her own and a litter of unofficial adoptees. Izzy was just a baby when they met. Kavita was the first stranger that handled her without a tear. The Günther family was known to visit two and even three times a week when they were on the island. Maddie and Ross visited the Café in Aruba more than any restaurant back home.

  When the Velden’s were between restaurants, Kavita cooked up food at her house and served it in the backyard. Her landlord got greedy, so she walked out and constructed her own building on the other side of the intersection that made her famous. The couple and their children had become close friends that only added to Maddie and Ross’s love for the island.

  “I’ll tell her. She’ll get a kick out of the story,” Ross said. “Hey listen Maddie. Thanks again. It is nice being here with Izzy but it’s hard hearing what you’re going through.”

  “Really baby? It doesn’t sound all that hard to me.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Maddie laughed. “No problem honey. A trashy novel by the adult pool and Cold Balashi. That’s my motivation.”

  “And trips on the wazy river with your daughters?”

  “No doubt.”

  “Just remember, this timeshare thing was your idea,” Ross said. “You talked me into it.”

  “Uh huh. And it’s suddenly more expensive than they told me. Lying bastards. You spend that kind of money, it ought to come with passports.”

  They both laughed.

  “But seriously…” Ross said, hesitating. “Just don’t forget the black bikini.” As he said it, his mind drafted a picture of her stretched out on a lounge chair under one of the palapas. He loved the black bikini. Always had. The black bikini topped off with her sun hat and a cold Balashi in her hand.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I got one of those one piece mom suits with a skirt.”

  “Hell no!” he yelled back. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m hanging up now. Love you Mad.”

  10

  The Yacht Contagious

  Island lights were visible for nearly an hour before the word searching was replaced with bars on Fazul’s phone. ‘We have service. Proceed according to plan.’ Fazul pecked at the keypad with his thumbs, punching each letter of the text message carefully. ‘Estimate GO 40 minutes.’

  Thirty-Two minutes later, the Contagious drifted gently into the dock. The tide was ebbing and lights along the walkway illuminated the glossy blue of her hull as she was tied up.

  This was it. The time had come to take the fateful step. The time of bullets was upon them. The question now rested in whether the team had the resolve to become implements of war. Each of them were chess pieces on the table and all knew that some would be lost in the battle for ultimate victory.

  Fazul stopped for a moment to watch his brother. Anas was looking back across the water from where they had come. A slice of moon drifted between wisps of Caribbean clouds. It danced in the distance on tranquil waters. Behind them, palms dotting the beach rustled in the breeze, shushing the resort as it slept. No turning back now brother, he thought.

  The pier serviced the Surfside and the neighboring Holiday Inn. Snorkeling tours, scuba charters, parasailing boats and jet ski operators all used it to service vacationers along the albino sand strip. During the day, a look down the beach and a person could see that the docks repeated occasionally in the distance where other resorts lined Aruba’s popular leeward coast.

  Shaped like a T with two lines of dock at the top, most of the boats pulled alongside early to pick up passengers for their morning runs. Two tours boats tied up on the inside of the t-top, opposite the Contagious, were the only boats that remained overnight.

  Forty yards of sand separated the men from their target. Fazul grabbed Anas by the shoulder. “Stand with me.” They took up a position at the gate as the men gathered.

  “Actions louder than words my brothers.” It was a mantra Fazul had started. A rally cry.

  With the men crowding up toward the gate, Anas was forced behind his brother. Fazul could feel him looking over his shoulder, watching him encourage the men with a pat as he repeated the mantra. “Actions louder than words.”

  Anas wanted to lead with words, but he hadn’t the stomach for leadership in battle. He would get an education in true leadership from Fazul, as the operation unfolded.

  The men poured from the port side gate like ants evacuating a compromised hill. In the dim light, they formed up into four single file lines along the edges of the dock. Four squads, each with eight men, took their positions as practiced. Squads one and two were on the left, three and four to the right.

  Fazul jumped down behind the last man. Anas followed. Fazul strode up through the ranks. Anas slowed, watching from the back.

  “Are there any final questions? This is our time brothers.” Fazul patted shoulders as he moved forward. “Remember, attention to detail is key.” As he neared the front of the lines he turned and walked backwards slowly. “Any questions? Ask them now. Uncertainty is not good.” As he passed the two men in front he stopped and stared at his army, the paw of silence palpable in the night.

  “We meet in Paradise brothers.” Fazul pulled the cell phone from his pocket and initiated the invasion. “GO!” It was 3:57 am.

  The lines reached out like a caterpillar on the move, the front extending and then the back-half surging to catch-up. Stomping desert boots shook the dock to life as the men moved at double time, the noise falling to faintness as they hit the sand of Palm Beach.

  Squads one and four drove hard left and right respectively. They were tasked with wrapping the complex in a sixteen-man phalanx. Their goal was to prevent anyone from coming in or out while the buildings themselves were secured. Squads two and three would sweep the center areas. They’d take control of the stairwells and secure the elevator shafts in each of the buildings as they made their way forward.

  Fazul stood at the edge of the dock watching them go. His eyes followed squad one as they crossed the widest part of the beach. The man in the rear took up a position under a palapa half way up the sand. As the column rounded the building’s edge, the next to last peeled-off at the corner. He leaned into the concrete pillar and swept his field of fire with the suppressed submachine gun.

  Squad two fanned into a tactical V formation like a flight of Canada geese. They headed up the beach to the left of the center walkway that branched out and around the pool promenade. They’d swe
ep the adult pool first and then continue down the left side of the main pool.

  Squads three and four bore right off the dock. Led by Ilan, squad three swarmed into the resort’s beachside restaurant and bar. Squad four rounded the outside corner of the same building and made their way up the right-hand perimeter of the complex.

  **Squad Three**

  Ilan’s point man was moving so quickly he nearly missed the young couple. They were making out in the dark of the open-air bar, the woman sitting on a stool with her shirt up and breasts exposed.

  The point-man leveled his weapon at the couple. He side-stepped to his left, slowing to give Ilan time to move up and assess the situation.

  “What the hell?” The man shot up straight, lifting his head from the woman’s chest.

  Ilan toggled the button on the side of his ear piece to activate the microphone. “Two in the beach bar. Intoxicated… Eliminating.” The words rushed out. Ilan breathed deep, knowing he needed to slow down. He stilled his body as he exhaled and focused the reticule of his sight on the man’s forehead. The diamond pattern of the weapons grip dimpled his palm. He drew in on his index finger, increasing the pressure on the thin strip of steel. The trigger fall felt heavier than he remembered.

  P-ewww.

  The silenced round knocked the man backwards, out of the woman’s embrace. Ilan was unprepared for the shot and lifted his cheek off the weapon in surprise. The woman was frozen by confusion for an instant then whimpered in fear just loud enough to bring Ilan back to his senses. He shifted the sights down and squeezed off a second fatal round. The impact knocked the life out of her scream. She toppled forward, her face landing in the dead man’s lap as the stool followed her to the ground in a clatter.

  The first two deadly shots stung the ears of all thirty-eight men. The sounds erupted as deafening static. After the shots, Ilan’s breath was heavy in their ears. Ilan looked down at the motionless couple. He coughed away the nausea building at the top of his stomach.