Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  Above them, the squad leader heard voices. He looked up and spotted silhouettes on a balcony, the red ember of a cigarette giving them away. He zip tied the guard’s wrists behind his back and then helped him onto his feet, walking him under the cover of the parking garage at the base of Building Four.

  “Squad four has made it to the front right corner. We’ve captured a guard and have a possible compromise. People on a balcony saw me tie him and walk him off.”

  “We copy squad four. All teams, move to protocol two. I repeat. Protocol two in effect,” said Fazul.

  Fazul had established three protocols of engagement. Protocol one called for taking prisoners alive whenever possible. Even this protocol allowed for a wide berth of interpretation as was evident in the execution of the couple in the beach bar. Protocol two stipulated that runners and any disobedient prisoners be shot. Protocol three instructed the team to shoot to kill any hostages not in their rooms or corralled in holding pens.

  ** Squad Three **

  Once the restaurant and bar were clear, Ilan and squad three continued up the right side of the main pool. Ilan was watching squad two through the trees in the center of the lazy river. Hassan’s team was ahead of them on the opposite side of the water.

  Ilan’s point man raised a hand and slowed again. He waved Ilan up, pointing to a fat shirtless man smoking a cigar on a lounge chair.

  Ilan approached him from behind. He considered shooting him right away as he stepped out in front but he’d felt a pang of guilt over the couple. “Get up.”

  The man said nothing. He stared at him and took a drag of the cigar.

  “Get up, now,” said Ilan, enunciating each syllable.

  The massive glowing ember on the end of the cigar again grew brighter.

  “Fuck it,” said Ilan. He lifted the barrel and shot the man in the temple at point blank range. His head lashed to the side from the impact of the bullet but the weight of his rotund body remained planted in the chair. The cigar dropped to his belly, the smell of burnt hair climbing instantaneously to Ilan’s nose.

  ** Squad Two **

  On the other side of the promenade, squad two continued forward, leading the charge toward the lobby where Anas could take control of the propaganda machine that would be the hallmark of the operation.

  Two more men from the squad were dispatched to secure the ocean side atrium of Building Two. The remaining four pressed up the outdoor walkway. They passed the windows of the empty gym and entered doors next to the concierge desk at the back of the main lobby.

  The last of the security guards emerged from the elevators as they came through the door. Hassan drew the butt of his weapon into his shoulder. He slowed, stepping toward the man in gray uniform. The guard tried to hide his confusion and then swallowed hard as Hassan drew closer. At ten yards, Hassan fired a shot through the man’s heart. It ricocheted off bone in his back and thudded into the elevator, dark blood peppering the stainless-steel doors as they closed.

  The men stopped, all four barrels tracking the body to the floor where they watched the final convulsions of life passing from the guard.

  “Let’s move,” said Hassan.

  A corridor linked the back lobby to the main. The men moved up it, the wall to the left concealed the hotel’s business office. A blend of voices grew louder as they stalked. They were young voices, bright with energy, couples maybe returning from a night on the town or the casino next door.

  “Police! Get on the ground! We’re police!” Hassan moved aggressively toward them— two women, two men. “For your safety, please get on the ground!”

  Seconds passed as the couples stared dumbstruck, unable to move. One of the women looked at the man to her right. He started for the floor and she dropped, beating him there. The man in back put his hand on the other woman’s shoulder and looked poised to turn and run. She was already beginning to crouch as he reached and her shoulder dropped away from his hand. Frozen a moment longer the others, he came to his senses and made his way down to the floor.

  Hassan ordered two of his men to secure them and the other to follow him. He hustled past the group and into the openness of the main lobby.

  His eyes were on the front doors as he entered the room but movement caught his attention to the left. A feather duster stirred, then beside it wide eyes—wide eyes that grew to an expression of pure fear as he turned his weapon.

  “Police! Come out from behind the desk!” Hassan moved toward the figure. “Come out,” he ordered.

  She turned for the door to the business office. In three steps, she reached it and pushed it wide on the free-swinging hinge. Hassan pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The first was short, piercing air where she had been half a second before and tearing into the wall. The second caught up, catching her in the shoulder. It spun her into the doorframe face first and then she dropped out of sight.

  Hassan rounded the desk and was above her. The door was propped wide by the wounded woman. He lifted the barrel and scanned the room inside. Two blank sets of eyes stared back.

  Hassan stepped inside, tripping slightly on the woman. “On the ground!” he screamed.

  Minutes later, the two couples, the manager and the operator had ankles and wrists bound. They were seated along the wall at the edge of the office. Hassan helped the injured woman to her feet and walked her out through the lobby and down the corridor to the guard.

  “Move closer,” he said. The woman was staring at the guard’s body framed by an ovoid of blood. Hassan finished her with a shot to the base of her skull. There was no time to treat the wounded and the bodies would be easier to collect later if they were together.

  Hassan activated his mic. “Building Two secure. Six prisoners. One guard and a cleaning woman are down. The path is clear to the security room.”

  Jamal followed Hassan’s transmission. “Entrance blocks in place. I’ll direct any traffic coming in to the garage below Building Three.”

  Squad one called next. “The left flank is secure, we’ve taken four hostages coming from the property next door.”

  Squad four followed in quick succession. “Right flank secure. We’re in position.”

  There was a pause before Fazul’s voice cracked over the radio. “Squad three. Status update?”

  “All of my two-man teams are in place,” Ilan reported. “Buildings three and four are secure.”

  “Excellent. Good work,” said Fazul. “All teams hold your positions. We’re moving up to establish the command post.”

  ** The Contagious **

  Fazul checked his watch. They were right on schedule. The rapid assault had established ground floor control and a solid perimeter in under twenty minutes. Cell phone service was severed by the thermite charges. Fahd had shut down the hotel’s phone and internet service before the building was surrounded. As far as Fazul was concerned, his plan to disconnect the hostages from the rest of the world, had gone off without a hitch. Sure, there was the possibility of someone with a satellite phone, but that wouldn’t matter. No one knew the magnitude of the force. Any probing police would be easily subdued.

  He had ordered Fahd to track activity on the resort over the course of several weeks. The data plotted a circadian rhythm that showed 4 A.M. as the quietest time and ideal start for the raid. There was a clear uptick in activity around 5:30. Vacationers set out for the gym or scurried down to secure the best chairs around the pools by laying out their towels. With just over an hour remaining, the team would need every minute to establish the framework of control that would prevent a blood bath.

  The next steps in the plan called for establishing a network of communication that would quell the hostages when they woke. The NJF team was outnumbered by more than 40 to 1. To keep hostages from monopolizing on this advantage, the plan called for fear-based communication that kept them in their rooms. The message... Stay in your rooms and you will be spared. Venture out and you will be killed.

  Communicating the dire repercussions of t
rying to escape was no easy task. The announcement needed to reach 1,821 registered guests. Four hundred and eighty apartments, each with two entrances, meant that almost a thousand pieces of paper needed to be delivered. And it needed to get to them before they opened their doors and fled in a panic. But if the plan worked – or rather, when the plan worked – victory would be theirs. A resort full of vacationers would wake with the world into a day of infinite history.

  Part II

  Overwhelm

  13

  Surfside Resort, Aruba: Room #1661

  A full bladder and one of Izzy’s feet pressing against his ribs woke Ross Günther. The room would have been pitch-black if not for the nightlight Maddie had packed. Being a water Nazi might keep your skin clear, but it also meant a trip or two to the toilet each night. He pulled his phone from the charging cord as he stood and then tiptoed around the bed and into the bathroom.

  Maddie’s message glowed on his lock screen, along with two Facebook update notifications and a junk email that had come in after he went to bed.

  Snuggling with Izzy was great, even if it meant a foot to the ribs when she turned sideways in the night, but he missed Maddie. It seemed like the two of them had spent so much time apart. Less than a year separated them from her retirement from the Marine Corps and his starting his own business. The simple life he had imagined would come from her leaving the military, had been put on hold by him, of all people. He’d preached the importance of keeping the family close while the girls were young. The cost of a thing is the amount of life you have to exchange for it. That was his argument when Maddie second-guessed her decision to leave the Corps.

  The hospital where he worked was one of the first in the country to implement a true population health strategy. He sold the management team on the concept and led it to profound success. His executive coach convinced him to join the speaking circuit, and in short order, requests for consulting engagements hit his inbox. Ross was a thought leader with street credibility. He suddenly found himself in high demand. One organization sent him a contract proposal and when Ross saw what they were willing to pay for his time, he and Maddie agreed it was an opportunity they couldn’t turn down.

  He enjoyed the success but a new fear preyed upon his mind each day. Would he miss out on his children’s youth the way his father had? He had spent so much time with Izzy while Maddie was away. Things had changed, though. He hadn’t made a dinner for his family in months. He hadn’t spent much time with Charlotte. Each time he came home from a trip she had grown an inch and was doing something new. These breaks to Aruba were even more important now, key markers in the year. He couldn’t wait to see Maddie and Charlotte.

  Ross made his way back into the bedroom. Izzy was breathing heavy, both hands squished up under her cheek. Ross repositioned her on the mattress. He pulled the blanket up to her chin then walked to the window and looked out. Dawn hadn’t broken yet.

  A large yacht, docked at the pier caught his attention. If things kept up and the business kept growing, he might be able to buy one of those for his family someday. But that wasn’t the simple life, either. Aruba was enough.

  He turned away from the window and sat on the edge of the bed. The phone was still open so he typed out a message. ‘Missing you. Can’t wait til you get here. Keep us posted on your flight.’

  14

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  Anas followed Fazul through the Surfside’s lavish pool promenade. A sense of dryness filled the wind blowing down between the buildings. Smells like a desert, he thought. Tropical vegetation rimming the oasis was thick but neatly trimmed. He hunched forward from the weight of the pack, the heavy machine gun banging at his knees with each step.

  As they passed the edge of the main pool, the view opened enough that Anas noticed the bar on the far side. A square pavilion that was sunken to the level of the pool, three of the four sides were surrounded by water. Vacationers could drink and soak at the same time.

  Anas had spent two weeks at the resort. He remembered sitting on the submerged stools sipping obnoxiously-colored frozen drinks. He’d analyzed them all, wondered which, if any, were wealthier than him. As women would pass, he’d eye them and assess from the arrogance of their stride if they’d leave their man for money and mystery. How could they resist a New Age entrepreneur living life on the edge of the razor? A millionaire riding an escalator to stardom.

  The thought was broken by the rustle of palms and bushes on the island at the heart of the lazy river. Anas looked down and forged ahead.

  As they moved toward the front of the property, the force of the wind grew. Anas leaned farther forward, trudging into the tunnel of concentrated air slipping through the gap between the buildings. It formed up like the branches of two strong rivers and raced through the opening between buildings two and three.

  Fazul was several paces ahead. He opened the door but didn’t bother to hold it for his brother. Anas pulled the right-hand side of the double door. He only had one free hand and realized immediately that he’d picked the wrong side. The driving wind resisted the attempt and knocked him back a step. He steadied himself and jammed the butt of the rifle into the glass. The window gonged from the impact, sending a vibration resonating through the atrium. A soldier who had been following Anas grabbed the door and held it open for him.

  Anas righted himself in the opening. A bead of sweat dropped from his brow. With his face drawn up in a grimace, the drop skipped off his cheek and landed at the corner of his mouth. The saltiness hit his taste buds as he looked up at his brother. Fazul had watched the struggle. He was shaking his head and smirking.

  “What?” asked Anas. “Mind your business, and I’ll mind mine.”

  Behind his brother, a soldier was standing in front of the elevators. Two bodies were splayed motionless on the floor near his feet, in what looked like a pool of dark wax.

  Fazul turned and stared down at the death. Anas and the soldier that held the door drew up alongside. All three stared down, everyone silent for a moment.

  “This is a bad spot for them,” Fazul said. He motioned for Khalid to join them. He was walking toward them from the main lobby. “Drag these out and dump them in the pool.” Fazul pointed at the bodies.

  The men had pushed the corpse of the cleaning woman up against the guard. The smear of blood was nearly as long as her body and had darkened to a gothic shade of lipstick on the cold floor.

  “Sir?” asked the soldier opposite.

  “They’re already starting to smell, and it’s a mess. Put them in the pool for effect. When the resort wakes up there’ll be no question if it’s true.”

  Anas turned his head and glared up at his brother. “For effect?” he asked.

  “Bodies in the pool at first light will remove any doubt of whether this is real or not,” repeated Fazul. He motioned his head toward to main lobby. “Go on and do your thing, Anas. Leave me to the operational decisions.” He turned his back to Anas and un-slung his weapon. “I’ll watch the elevators while you move the bodies.”

  Anas stepped around his brother and started to slink up the hall toward the front. Why Fazul felt he had the authority to reprimand him like a child, he would never know. He cleared a crick in his neck that had formed from the pressure of the pack straps. Then he stretched his jaw, noting the telltale fatigue that came from clenching in your sleep due to stress.

  Behind him, he heard Fazul say, “Take the woman first.”

  Anas stopped and turned. Khalid and the other soldier each took one of the cleaning woman’s feet. They pulled her away from the guard and spun her in place before sliding her leaking body to the door.

  They backed outside. The double doors were heavy on account of the wind. The inside edges pinched down on the small woman’s frame and got hung up under her arms. Fazul went to the doors. He straddled the corpse and held them open. Following the shortest path to the pool, the men crossed through a small perimeter garden bed at the edge of the lazy river. They pulled
the body up alongside and then dropped her legs. Khalid moved to her side and lifted her shoulders and hips. Her body disappeared from view with a splash.

  As Anas walked, he saw the splash of the water arching up into the night—dark drops illuminated by the garden accent lights. The bodies, he thought. How many bodies would it take? What would be their net per body? It was the biggest unknown of the mission, but one thing was certain, his actions over the next thirty minutes would have a major impact on the answers. He shook the thought away and knocked on the door labeled Security.

  15

  BWI Airport, Maryland

  Maddie stared ahead at the green ‘E’ on the pillar in front of her. Empty roads had cut the forty-minute drive to thirty. She wondered why she always left too early. Before leaving for the airport, there’s always a sense of urgency so one builds in extra time. But when one arrives early, they get to sit around for an hour and a half telling themselves how they’re going to leave later next time. Then next time comes, and we all do the same stupid shit.

  Charlotte was a gem of a baby and had made things easy for her. She’d been as quiet and pliable as a rag doll. Maddie expected a protest from the early morning wake-up, but instead she got a catatonic Char-monster.

  She was still asleep in the back and they had time to kill. Maddie fired up her phone. She checked the weather for Oranjestad. It was listed as a favorite in her weather app. Sunny. High of 88. Low of 79. The forecast repeated itself, varying only by a degree one way or the other for the full ten-day forecast.

  She tapped her email app and scanned the messages she’d avoided reading yesterday. One thing she hated about civilian work was the damn emails. Hordes of shit, she thought. It was no wonder people hated coming back from vacation in the real world. The whole time you’re gone, people shovel piles of shit on top of your virtual desk. When you get back, you sift through it by hand to find the nuggets of crap that actually matter.