Aruba Mad Günther

by T L Yeager

  Fazul’s radio cracked as he and Hassan herded the father and daughter down the stairs.

  “I’ve got something in the open.” It was Ismail calling from the top of building three.

  “How many?” Fazul asked.

  He wondered if his time spent killing the father and daughter might be better served managing the defense. But they’d waited too long to demonstrate that they meant what they’d said.

  “One. Just one. I have him in the scope.” Ismail’s nerves clung to his words.

  “Kill him, Ismail. Kill him,” called Fazul.

  Fazul continued down the steps. The crack of a bullet soared above the resort as they stepped from the door into the night. Automatic weapons started up.

  They’d chosen the spot beside the pool because ambient lights on the palms made it bright enough for the webcam and everyone watching it.

  Hassan had the girl in a chair in front of the camera. Behind her, a row of eight more Americans were blindfolded and gagged, their wrists and ankles bound.

  “Ismail. What’s happening? Did you get him?”

  There was no response.

  He pushed the father past Hassan toward his daughter.

  “We need to do this quickly,” he said, when his eyes met Hassan’s.

  His earpiece cracked again. “Perimeter, Building Three. We don’t see anything.”

  Fazul activated his microphone. “Send two men out to recon the open space.”

  “Cop—” The transmission was cut short as gunfire erupted from the far side of the building.

  Already in the view of the camera, Fazul took his mask from his pocket. He pulled it over his head before he turned to face the international audience. The skeleton’s forehead was marked with the crescent moon and star of Pakistan. Fazul had painted it on himself.

  “Shooting! Parking lot! Building Three!” A voice cried in his earpiece.

  He turned to the father and daughter. “On your knees,” he commanded. “Listen to my words and I’ll kill you first.” He was speaking to the father. “Or don’t, and you can watch.”

  Fazul kicked at the back of the father’s knees. “Down!”

  The daughter fell from the chair and embraced her father.

  Fazul moved to the side and took the razor-sharp machete from its scabbard.

  More gunfire erupted from building three as he lifted it over his head and stared into the camera. “Our demands were simple. The repercussions clear. The Americans have—"

  65

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  Ross closed his eyes. An image of his children as infants rose on the back of his lids. Side by side like twins, the detail of the visual was impeccable—delicate features, fragile fingers and toes, creamy skin and faces filled with hope, with recognition and love. In the fleeting seconds, his mind brought him to the beginning of the cycle, to avoid the end that was coming.

  Their deaths had been a foregone conclusion for some time. Terrorists didn’t film you and keep you isolated for no reason. Ross and Izzy were the bargaining chips, and it hadn’t been enough.

  Fazul’s words to the camera were distorted in his ears. Coping mechanisms had already taken his hand to the next reality.

  A bang thundered. Ross’s breath caught in his chest. A shivering cower ran up his neck. He opened his eyes.

  The man behind the camera rushed to pick up his rifle from the table in front of him. He pointed it to Ross’s right.

  Was he alive? Ross turned his head.

  There, standing with a gun at his shoulder, was Anas. A trail of white smoke spiraled up and away from the end.

  “Fazul killed Fahd!” Anas yelled. “Killed him in cold blood for no reason!” His eyes flitted back and forth between the two other terrorists both staring at him wide-eyed.

  “He shot me.” Anas turned and pointed to a hole in his pants. “Look!” The fabric running down the leg was stained. “I did not answer correctly…so he shot me. He’s been out of control since this started! He’s compromised our plan! You’ve seen it!”

  The man and young boy stared at Anas. There was quiet.

  Suddenly, all three of them reached up and touched their earpieces. Seconds later, the rapid fire of a machine gun echoed out from the building behind Ross.

  Izzy’s hug grew tighter. Ross could feel the heat of her sobs wetting his t-shirt.

  Anas reached up and touched his ear. “Defeat this man, and then we leave. We have accomplished our mission, Brothers! I have spoken with the leaders. They have agreed. Our work is done.”

  Anas stared at Ross for a confusing moment, and then moved closer.

  “Cut their legs free!” he ordered of the men watching. “Remove the gags and blindfolds. We must move quickly. Line them up against the wall. We’ll take them with us.”

  Anas reached for Izzy first. “It’s okay,” he said, calming his tone. “You’re going to be okay.” He slid his hands under Izzy’s armpits and helped her to her feet. “Follow me.”

  He turned toward the lobby door then stopped and looked back. “Assad. Bring your knife. Cut him free.”

  Anas turned Ross’s back to the boy. A moment later, Ross felt the blade slide between his wrists and then pressure on the opposite side before it popped free.

  “Quickly.” Anas waved them toward the door.

  Ross’s head swam with confusion. He hadn’t fully returned to the physical realm. The final ticks of the clock had come so close, and yet now, he was back inside being hurried toward the office.

  “What’s happened, Anas?” Ross asked.

  “What do you mean?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I did it. I took control. He’s dead.”

  “Who’s dead?”

  “Fazul. I shot him. Right in the head. The problem is gone. Now I must show the world our true intentions. Now that the root of our evil is gone.”

  With each passing word, the implications became more apparent to Ross. It was hard to digest, but one thing was certain, the madness that was these two brothers had bought him and Izzy a new lease on life.

  “Are you leaving?” Ross asked.

  “Yes. You’ll come with us.” He stopped and got behind them, pushing them forward. “Hurry through this area.”

  The rush across broken glass wasn’t fast enough for Ross to miss the bullet holes and blood on the windows.

  Anas hooked them around the main desk and back into the office.

  “What did you mean? Come with you?” Ross asked.

  Anas turned to face them. He rested a hand on Izzy’s shoulder. “Yes. You, Isabelle and many others are coming with us. But first, I must let the world know we’re leaving.”

  “We can’t come with you, Anas.”

  “You must.” His expression shifted, the brow furrowing. “Just a few more days. I need you and Isabelle. The world knows your faces. They saw everything that just happened out there.”

  “If you take us… If you take hostages… It’ll come off the wrong way. You can’t just post some words to the internet and expect it to undo what’s happened here. You need to cut yourself loose. Then claim that your brother, who’s dead, ordered all the killing.”

  Anas smiled and nodded. “Yes, Ross. I agree. But I still need you, Isabelle and the others to get me there. Once that happens… You and Isabelle can go back.”

  Ross wasn’t winning. Not now. He also wasn’t leaving.

  “Wait here,” Anas said. The door to his office was open.

  Ross led Izzy to the cube where her coloring supplies were still spread on the desk. He leaned down and kissed her head.

  “This is almost over. Hang in there, sweets.” Izzy picked up a stub of a crayon and stared at the paper.

  Ross turned to leave.

  “No, Papa. Don’t leave me.”

  Ross stopped and reached back with a hand. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

  He stood in the entry to the cube watching Anas work the keyboard. A maddening, intermittent tone was coming from the computer on t
he right. He stepped closer, still reaching his arm back as if to reassure Izzy he wasn’t leaving. The screen wasn’t fully up on the computer emitting the tone. It was folded down enough that Ross couldn’t see the source of the warning. Anas had told him that the sound indicated that the drones had picked something up. He was so caught up in thought and typing so frantically that it seemed he was deaf to the sound.

  The black rifle Anas had used to kill his brother was leaning against the desk. Ross hadn’t seen the body, but he knew only one shot had been fired.

  Could he do it? Should he do it? He stared at it, wide-eyed, wondering if the safety was on.

  “You need to go alone, Anas,” he said, continuing his argument. “Please. I’m begging you. Don’t take us. Isabelle has been through too much.”

  Anas didn’t respond. His pace unwavering, he clicked the keys so fast that it sounded like a horse carriage rolling down a gravel road.

  On the left computer, Ross noticed red text in mixed case letters. Another step closer and he was able to read it.

  JiHaDi bastards. I aM One WomaN. NO goVernMent. NO PoliCe. 40+ to 1. I See yOu. DO you sEE mE?

  ARUBA, MAD GUNT IS COMING.

  Mad Gunt. Mad Gunt. He repeated the words in his mind. When they were young, before Izzy, Maddie would send cheesy text messages using military radio words. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot are we doing tonight?

  Apparently her call sign on the radio was The Mad Gunt. One text he’d always remember was the one he received when she landed back home after her first deployment. The Mad Gunt is stateside! I’m di di mau for some home cooking. She’d used mixed case letters. Later, he asked her why she’d done it. “Just worked up and doing something different.”

  One WoMan. 40+ to 1. I See yOu. DO you sEE mE?

  It was taunting. The tone and the mixed case felt like Maddie’s oddball tendencies. If words on a page could have an aura, the ones he was reading felt like Maddie. It was her style. It was her call sign. But what did it mean?

  He had wondered what had happened to Maddie and Charlotte. The terrorists had taken over the night before they were due to arrive. He was supposed to pick them up from the airport. He’d imagined them stranded, waiting for him, calling on a phone that wouldn’t connect. But then he had no idea if they’d even made it. Maybe the world had known. Surely they would have stopped flights from coming into the island. If not, where would she have gone?

  He re-read the words over and over. MAD GUNT IS COMING. It was too much of a coincidence to not have meaning. There was no way he and Izzy were leaving.

  “Why’s the computer making that noise?” Ross asked.

  “I’m almost done!” Anas continued to click the keyboard at a feverish pace. Ross thought about stepping into the room and lifting the screen to see for himself.

  Anas raised his right hand and brought it down hard on the enter key.

  “There!” he said. “Update sent. The world knows we are leaving. I’ve told them to call off the dogs and we’ll leave the buildings intact. No way they can hit us now. It would be a PR nightmare.”

  He turned to the computer on the right, lifted the screen and used the trackpad on the laptop to call up a window. A couple of clicks later a video started to play.

  “Looks like it picked something up… Drone number one. That’s the one running back and forth across the front of the resort. Ismail saw someone out there.”

  As the video played, Ross saw a ripple of orange and red movement on the screen. The picture from the drone seemed to stop moving along its course. It came back and the wrinkle of color danced on the screen for an instant. It faded in and out.

  “Strange,” Anas said. He clicked a button and the video replayed. “There is something there… but it doesn’t look like a person.”

  More like a ghost, Ross thought.

  Anas had showed him images of people captured in the drone’s video camera. This was different. There was something in the camera, but it wasn’t shaped like a person. Anas toggled the view from the one that tracked heat to the actual image. He replayed the video a third time. The screen remained black except for an instant where an image took shape in the waning light.

  “There,” Anas said. He took the video back several frames and zoomed the view. He’d barely hit the enter key when the screens on all three computers turned blue.

  “What the hell just happened?” Anas sat tall in his chair. There was a message on the screen with a frowning emoticon at the top.

  ‘Your PC ran into a problem that it couldn’t handle, and now needs to restart. Bye-Bye!’

  “What the hell…” Anas said. “No matter. It’s time to go.”

  Starting on the left, he held down the power buttons one at a time, pressing them for several seconds before the laptops shut down and the blue screens disappeared.

  He reached up and touched his ear. “Everyone report to the yacht. Start the engines. We’ll take what’s been loaded and leave the rest. We’re pushing off in five minutes.”

  Ross reached for the black rifle without thinking.

  Anas turned to face him. He shook his head. “No, Ross. Don’t do that.”

  Izzy ran in from behind and grabbed Ross’s leg.

  “We can’t go with you, Anas. Isabelle can’t take any more. You’ve done so much for us. I can’t thank you enough, but…”

  Anas stood. “But I need you and Isabelle. To come out of this, I need your support. I need you to explain what’s happened here.”

  “We can help you more if you leave us. I promise, Anas. We’ll be your voice. The voice of reason. When the world is ready to come down on you, we’ll be there to tell them what happened. You can call your men, have them shoot me and Isabelle, or, you can leave us to speak for you. We can be your voice to the world. You are a good man, Anas. Isabelle and I will tell them all.”

  Anas hung his head. “Please, Ross. I’m begging. Please bring Isabelle and come with me. You can get me out of this.”

  “We’ll help you. But only if you leave us behind, Anas.”

  Anas’s shoulders slumped in surrender. “It won’t be the same. I’ve grown to care for Isabelle a great deal. We will meet again.” He looked up at Ross. “May I give her a hug?”

  The question baffled Ross. A hug?

  Anas dropped to a knee and opened his arms. Izzy looked up, the grip easing around his leg. She let go and took a step forward. Anas wrapped her shoulders.

  Ross stood watching, ready to bring the rifle to bear if Anas tried to make off with her.

  “Thank you, Isabelle. We will forever be united in history. You are a good girl.”

  Ross wanted to kick him away from his daughter but let it linger. Anas let go and Izzy jumped back to his leg.

  “Good luck, Anas.” Ross lifted the gun back up.

  Anas turned and went to his computers. He flipped each of the screens down and pulled cords from the back. With care and patience, he slid each of them into a backpack and then slung it over his shoulders. He turned to Ross, still standing with the gun.

  “Goodbye, friends,” he said. He turned for the door and disappeared.

  66

  Surfside Resort, Aruba

  Despite the adrenaline, Anas missed Isabelle and Ross before he left the room. The door was like a portal from connection back to isolation. He stepped out of the office and into a wave of fear. Fear of the challenges that lay ahead. It crackled across his skin like a pocket of hot summer air.

  Ross had seen his vision. He could tell them of the conversations the two men had. The fact that Anas protected them and saved so many others, was livestreamed for the world to see. Once he got to the boat he’d tell the story. It needed out sooner rather than later. Then, Ross could confirm what was posted as the truth. He would seal Anas’s fate, helping him to rise above the disaster Fazul had left behind.

  Brain matter on the lobby window took his mind away from all that.

  “I’m on my way out. Everyone to the boat,” he called over the rad
io.

  He almost slipped on the broken glass, clutching at the screaming wound, still open at the back of his leg. Despite the limp, he was out beneath the moon in no time.

  He turned right along the sidewalk. Across the promenade, on the other side of the pool, two soldiers hurried toward the beach. The pool water was still lit from within, but it had turned a nasty shade of brown.

  It was hard to believe the operation was over. Like a vacation you anticipate for months in advance, he’d imagined every minute. Events had unfolded differently, but in the end, he regained control. Fazul was gone for good. The image of the bullet catching his head would be with Anas forever, but there was no sense of loss.

  The two men on the far side of the pool were sprinting now. With the wind howling at his back, Anas hobbled along, taking his time. Things felt safer without Fazul. Besides that, they were leaving. Many of their objectives had been reached. The money was probably in the bank by now, laundered through hundreds of different bitcoin accounts on its way to the coffers. He was wounded but alive, and their great crusade had been a success.

  He would miss Aruba. The dry wind felt like a cleansing force, sweeping the filth and bacteria out to sea. He’d have to deal with Venezuela again for a time. Then he’d be off to Indonesia on a boat, and eventually home. Of course, he was questioning that part of the plan now. Once he broke from the group, he might consider a detour. Maybe cash in his portion of the proceeds and start a new life. International man of intrigue. The terrorist who never wanted to hurt anyone. Once people understood his motives, they’d feel differently. Once Ross and Isabelle explained the truth, his stock would rise.

  Anas made his way along the hedgerow that rimmed the adult pool. As he rounded it, the Contagious came into view. It was almost bright out. Between the moon and the resort lights, his path to the boat felt ordained.

  Out in front, his men streamed across the beach and down the winding path that led to the dock. One jogged passed him, slapping him on the back.