Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the captain said, reaching out to touch Maddie’s other shoulder.

  Maddie said nothing. She shook her head and looked down at the floor between her feet.

  “They’re still very much alive. We know that because… they are the Americans due to be killed if the US doesn’t pay.”

  “The father and daughter?” the captain asked.

  “Yes. This is the mother and daughter,” Geert said.

  “My god. I’m so sorry.” Kimbar patted Maddie’s shoulder. “I can only imagine.”

  Feeling that the time to pile on had arrived, Maddie pulled her phone from her pocket. The room was silent as she thumbed up a picture.

  “There’s my husband, and six-year-old Isabelle. They’re the ones at the resort. This here is Charlotte. She’s one. Charlotte and I are staying with Geert and Kavita—waiting and hoping for the best.” The captain’s face exuded physical pain.

  “I’ve got five of my own. So innocent, these children. They deal with anger and violence very young these days. Of course, we never imagined it would come so close to home, here on the island… How can I help?”

  Geert took his time explaining the situation. After laying it all out, he went into Madeline’s background as a decorated Marine Corps sniper.

  “First female sniper in the United States Marine Corps,” Geert continued. “First female in the history of the United State Military to see combat as a sniper.” He paused allowing the concept to cement and the suspense to build. “Came out of it one of the highest decorated snipers of all time. A very accomplished woman.”

  The captain stared on with a mix of confusion, as if he’d been dropped into a room with an Imperial lordess.

  “Where were you deployed?” the captain asked.

  “Two tours in Iraq. One in Afghanistan.”

  His eyes doubled in size now, as the man conceptualized the fact. Maddie had seen it before. Men, even other soldiers, had a difficult time adjusting once they knew her background. It left them uncomfortable and at a loss.

  “The ultimate force multiplier,” the captain said, having taken on a look of reverence.

  “It certainly can be,” Maddie said, going with it. “Here’s the thing, Captain – they’ll kill my husband and daughter as soon as the raid starts.”

  The captain moved to the edge of his seat, the mix of expressions now converging to one of resolve. “Tell me how I can help.”

  “I could really use a weapon,” Maddie said. “Something with long-range capability.”

  For a second, the captain’s resolute expression remained unchanged. Then he cocked his head and spoke. “You’re going to take this into your own hands? You could jeopardize lives beyond those of your family. They’ve been clear on how they’ll handle attacks.”

  The captain had more to say but Maddie cut him off.

  “They’ve talked about the repercussions of an attack by a nation, or the police. I’m going to let them know it’s just one person. I’m going to challenge them. Tell them that executions are a waste of time. I want to provoke them into a fight.”

  “I see,” said the captain. His face was a chameleon of expression. It morphed into a quizzical look, angled at the edges. He looked away and scratched the back of his neck. “Your situation is terrible, but I am not able to provide you with a weapon. Even though you were an American soldier, a sniper, they would lock me up.”

  “And I’m not asking you to do that,” Maddie said. “I don’t want blood on anyone’s hands besides mine. I need to find a way to get a weapon without bringing harm to any of the good guys… Like you.”

  “The Dutch Marines do maintain a full complement of weapons here on the island. They issue us our pistols and assault rifles, but they keep everything else for themselves.” Captain Kimbar looked down and rubbed his forehead. “They have sniper rifles. I’ve seen them up close on training missions. Whether they took them to Camp Lejeune or not, I have no idea.”

  There was silence for a handful of seconds then the captain continued. “There’s one junior officer left behind with a squad of men. Only eight men in all. They run in two shifts. They patrol the interior of the base and we cover the perimeter. Our buildings are fenced separate from theirs. We’re all in the same general complex, but fences separate the perimeter and the interior and we are expected to stay in our area.” The segregation was clearly a sticking point for the captain. “The officer is the only person who would have access to the armory.”

  Cedrick stopped talking and another silence fell across the room. The faint voices of his family drifted down the stairs from the second floor.

  “Koning is young. Promoted to Captain little more than a month ago. He has a baby back in Amsterdam.” Captain Kimbar hesitated. “He operates by the book. I don’t think—”

  Bing-bong. The phone in Maddie’s pocket chimed and audibly vibrated in her pocket.

  “Excuse me,” she said pulling it from her shorts. She stepped out onto the front porch and answered. “What’s up, PTang?”

  “I’m on the host machine. Not much to see so far. It’s just a static PC that’s not connected to the net. Very little activity. Looks like data is being downloaded to it from a different machine.”

  “Okay, so what do you recommend?”

  “I can take control of it. I can update the webpage if you want. But this is not the machine controlling the VPNs and disseminating data to the web. They’ve kept it separate.”

  “Alright,” Maddie said. She was trying to manage two thoughts at once.

  “I’m going to keep an eye on it,” PTang continued. “I wrote a piece of code that will tell me if a port connection is established. Then I can see about getting into the adjacent machine.”

  “Okay, sounds good. Let me ask you something else. Let’s say I wanted to get on a military base. You’ve worked on Department of Defense networks. What would you need?”

  There was a sigh on the other end of the call. “This very big job. You need an inside man. You need credentials and a machine that has access to the network.”

  Maddie’s mind began to triangulate a route onto the base and into the Armory. It was a very low probability move, but if Geert could get them on the base and Maddie could get a hold of the officer Kimbar mentioned, she just might be able to get what she needed.

  “Let me work on it. I’ll keep you posted.”

  “I do the same.”

  Maddie slipped the phone back in her pocket and rejoined Geert and the captain.

  “Captain Kimbar, what’s Koning’s first name?” Maddie asked.

  “Ruben Koning. His wife’s name is Anna. Same as my wife.”

  Maddie shook her head. “Good to know. Thank you, Captain Kimbar. Maybe once the Marines return, things will be different.”

  “Yes,” Kimbar said, standing and proffering his hand. “I can tell the commanding officer your story. See if they might help.”

  “That’d be great. I can’t thank you enough.”

  47

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  Ross heard the commotion in Anas’s office. The voices were muffled through the wall but not enough to mask that an argument had broken out. Something banged against the wall adjoining.

  A door slammed and things went quiet.

  The rest of the afternoon Ross had weighed his next move. He and Izzy had done their best to make the most of the situation. They’d taken turns trying to draw landscapes from memory. The beach, their backyard at home, the school playground. They played tic-tac-toe for close to an hour and then made a deck of math flashcards which was Izzy’s spring break assignment for kindergarten.

  They’d taken a break from the games. Ross was reading a young adult fantasy novel from the same bag where he’d found the iPad.

  Anas came in quietly. Movement in the room caught Ross’s attention. He had a stack of coloring books and several boxes of crayons in his hands.

  “For you, Isabelle.” His demeanor was that of a
caring uncle. Ross sensed that he’d not spent much time with children.

  Izzy’s eyes lit up. “Thank you.” She said as she took them. After a jump of excitement she hopped back to the cubicle she’d claimed as her own.

  “You doing okay?” Ross asked.

  Anas shot a quick thumbs up from his waist. “How about you and Isabelle?”

  “We’re fine. Lots of games and things to bide our time.” Ross pointed to the mattress. He’d pushed it up against the wall to get it out of the way. Sheets of paper marked with games of tic-tac-toe were strewn on top.

  Ross looked him over. He’d come to talk. He’d fallen into their previous conversations but this time was different. The peace offering, the how are you. Ross sensed that he’d come seeking counsel. He needed to cease the opportunity.

  “So what’s up? Is the money coming in?” he asked.

  “What’s interesting to me is that when I work alone… my plans often play out as I imagine. But when I work with others…”

  Ross nodded in agreement.

  “Everyone says they’re onboard with the plan. The problem is, when we arrive at that step in the process, they take it in a direction we hadn’t discussed. Usually the opposite direction.”

  “When you say ‘they,’ who are you referring to? From our earlier conversation, it sounded like you and your brother were in charge.” Ross’s gut told him their infighting was not new. Indeed, most sibling relationships were built on rivalry.

  “My brother,” Anas said, shaking his head in resignation.

  “It’s always hard working with family,” Ross added. He wanted to laugh at the conversation. He was talking to a terrorist and it felt more like a counseling session for some small business owner whose operation was flagging due to family conflict.

  “The thing you have to look at is whether the direction being taken… What you say is usually opposite of the plan… Is that a conscious choice? Is he going in that direction just because it’s the opposite?” Ross was having trouble accepting the fact that this conversation was even happening. He watched Anas’s face closely. He didn’t want to go too far too fast.

  Anas was quick to respond. He raised his eyebrows and said, “That’s why I’m worried. It does seem premeditated. A sort of, I’ll show you vendetta.”

  Ross shook his head and looked on, encouraging him to continue. Anas fell into thought. As he waited, Ross dug in his mind for the term. Stockholm Syndrome was when a hostage takes to their captors. For Ross, this was all acting.

  “He’s always been this way,” Anas continued. “Since we were boys… this back and forth… it’s been a part of our life. That’s fine for boys. Expected. But in business you must put that aside.” With that he stopped and looked Ross in the eyes.

  Lima Syndrome, the thought popped in Ross’s mind as they looked at one another. The name came from terrorists that took over an ambassador’s residence in Lima, Peru. They ended up letting the hostages go after a time. They developed sympathy for their captives. But Anas didn’t quite fit the mold. His was less sympathy and more loneliness, like he was jonesing for a friend to shoot the shit with. He was in over his head, and had no one to talk to about it.

  “You’re right,” Ross said. “That behavior needs to end for cooperation to succeed.” A counselor would have gone a different direction. They would have led Anas to see that sibling rivalry is deep-seated and that it takes time and effort to deconstruct the barriers. But patients often played to stops in counseling situations. They seek encouragement and Ross was happy to oblige.

  Anas was clearly happy with the agreement. “So my problem then...” He patted the pinky side of one hand into the palm of the other. “My problem is... I laid out the strategy which we used to script the operation and the procedures, but Fazul heads the operation. In this configuration, I lose control of whether the tactical plan plays out in accordance with the strategy.”

  “And that’s a significant problem. You’re right.”

  “A big problem.” Anas agreed. He was looking down at the floor now. “My problem.”

  Anas was about the speak again when a tone rang from his office. Without speaking he turned from the room and pulled the door to the office wide.

  Ross rose and followed him. He stood back from the door frame where but could see all three of the screens. A red light flashed on the right-most laptop monitor.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  “No, just a police car patrolling the far edge of the mall. See here.” He pointed. “I’ll replay it.” Ross watched a red and orange blob move across the screen.

  “The software picks up the heat signature and alerts me,” Anas paused and reset the screen. “That patrol has been running by there once every hour or two.”

  Ross turned his attention to the left most screen. The one Anas had told him provided the webpage for the hostages inside the hotel.

  “Have any of the ransoms been paid, Anas?”

  “Two, in fact. We expect several more to clear this evening.” As he spoke, Anas moved to the center computer and lifted the screen. On a webpage, Ross could see what looked like a video. The play button was centered on the image but behind it there looked to be bodies on the floor of a hallway.

  “I’ll need you to excuse me—“

  “What’s that?” Ross asked cutting him off. He pointed to the stilled video image.

  “Fazul,” Anas replied. “More disturbing video that should not be. A group tried to escape and several were killed as a result.” Anas hesitated. “This is one of several examples where the strategy and the implementation have differed. Now, please excuse me, Ross.”

  Ross backed away from the door and watched it close.

  48

  San Nicholas, Aruba

  Maddie was always amazed at how quickly PTang worked. The email she sent included an attachment with a complete dossier on Ruben Koning. Born in Utrecht, the religious heart of the Netherlands, the twenty-seven-year young captain had gone to university close to home and joined the People’s Marine Corps thereafter.

  Koning was eight months into an eleven-month deployment to Aruba. Anna, his wife of almost two years, remained at home with their six-month-old baby, Julia. PTang had collected most of the information from a family webpage. It included their history, along with email addresses and other personal information they’d have been wise not to share with the world.

  If he was truly the only commissioned Marine on the island, than he was the acting commander of Marine Corps Base Savaneta. This meant he probably worked during the day shift and would be preparing for bed.

  Maddie’s phone rang.

  “I send email that looks to be from his wife.” PTang’s voice was somehow reassuring to Maddie. Working with her made you feel like you had a team somewhere behind the curtain.

  “You running the phishing expedition on him?” Maddie asked.

  “Exactly. Except most phishing attempts fail because they lack personal touch. My email includes an attachment titled babyjulia.jpeg.”

  She went on to explain what would happen when Ruben Koning clicked on the image he believed to be a picture of his daughter. Unbeknownst to Ruben, a key stroke logger would be loaded on his machine. The screen would flicker and then a blue screen of death would follow. It would advise him that a reboot was necessary. Ruben would restart his machine and log back into the computer. He’d have to connect to the network as well. The key stroke logger would capture the credentials and secretly email them to PTang. When Ruben tried the attachment a second time, he’d get an error saying the picture was corrupted.

  Even though Maddie worked in cyber security, it still never failed to amaze her how easily a network could be compromised. Humans are fallible and providing them with access to a secure network was the biggest risk any administrator could take.

  PTang went suddenly silent.

  “Everything okay?” Maddie asked.

  “I’ve got it. The information is transmitting. The first
packet just arrived. When do you plan to go?”

  “First thing in the morning. Maybe around five,” Maddie replied.

  “So… Eight hours.” PTang hummed for a moment. “Yes. It looks like two sets of usernames and passwords were entered. I may bring in some peers to help me compromise this network. I’ll need a team working on it to gain full control.”

  As PTang continued to talk, Geert swung into the room. His face was filled with alarm.

  “There’s a government car out front.”

  “PTang. Do your thing. I gotta go. Keep me posted. If you can’t get in, then we’ll have to go with Plan B.”

  “The girls took Charlotte to our bedroom,” Geert said. “Hurry!”

  Geert and Kavita’s bedroom was at the end of the hall in the back-left hand corner of the one-story house. Maddie slipped into the room and dropped to the floor. The daughters, Lotte and Esmie, sat opposite each other with Charlotte in the middle. A tub of building blocks was spilled on the floor among them.

  “Stay quiet,” Geert said, as he closed the door.

  Lotte and Esmie had a patience that was not common in American children. They built small boxes and tracks with right angles, pausing constantly to demonstrate to Charlotte how it was done. For her part, Charlotte banged them together, smiling when long plastic connecters along the edges linked enough to hold them together.

  “Good job!” One of the daughters would say, rubbing Charlotte’s back.

  Maddie heard voices in the background. She didn’t think they’d break down the door and come looking but hearing their voices increased her worry.

  She rose and went to the bedroom door, cupping an ear to listen. The voices were relatively clear through the hollow wood, but it still took a moment for Maddie to understand why their words made no sense.

  Islanders often greeted one another in Aruba’s official language, Papiamento. A blended language that evolved over time, it stole tidbits from about a dozen other languages. Portuguese, Spanish and Dutch formed the backbone with sprinklings of influence from Africa, France and the Americas.