by John Hunt
It was soon to become dark, and Khamil planned on taking the last inflatable boat into shore when it did. He picked one of the few men who spoke some English to accompany him — a man named Salif — and sent him to prepare some supplies. Within twenty minutes, the man returned to Khamil’s cabin.
“We don’t have another raft,” Salif said. “Azid must have taken the last one.”
“No. We have one more. Check again.” The man shrugged and retreated. Only then did Khamil realize that the woman must have taken the other raft. She had not swum to shore, she had paddled. But how could she have known where to find that raft?
Khamil stood up suddenly — too suddenly for his one functional leg to maintain his balance, and he fell, crashing into the wall. Angry, he pushed himself off and moved into the passageway. In a moment he was beside the captain.
“How did Azid say the woman got off the submarine?” he asked. “Who was on watch above decks when she escaped?”
The captain gave him the names. Khamil shook his head; he had no good reason to suspect any of them of misdeeds. “But she did not go out a deck hatch, Khamil. She went out through a torpedo tube. Nobody on deck would have seen her.”
“A torpedo tube? How do you know?”
“We saw that the outer tube door was open. That’s when Azid got concerned. The sailor who first noticed it thought it was just a malfunctioning indicator light. Apparently it was not.”
Khamil nodded. He had taken no pains to learn about submarines, and did not understand how they worked. In his mind, he was more likely to die on this wreck of a boat than in any endeavor he undertook on land, especially given the crew’s nearly total lack of experience. Only the skipper had any real experience on a submarine, and Khamil did not think that he was particularly bright. He went to talk with the skipper.
“Explain to me how that would work.”
“Excuse me?” replied the skipper.
“How does a woman escape through a torpedo tube? Explain it to me.”
The skipper contemplated a moment. Then his face took on a look of comprehension and surprise. He whispered, “Allah, save us.”
Khamil’s suspicions were confirmed by the man’s look. “She could not have done it by herself, could she?”
The skipper shook his head. “She could climb in the tube, and perhaps even close the inner door behind herself, but the outer door has to be closed when the inner door is opened, or else the sub would flood. So when she got in the tube, the outer door was closed. You cannot open the outer door from within the tube. Someone had to have helped her.”
“Yes; someone, indeed.” Then he said, almost under his breath, “Baddori.”
“You think Baddori helped her? He is one of your men.” The skipper said this last spitefully.
Khamil did not reply. He stood silently.
The skipper added, “But Baddori wanted her to be killed. He was vociferous about it.”
“Yes, he was, wasn’t he.” Khamil needed to get to shore now. Yet it was still daylight, and there was no raft to cart his broken body out to the beach. Getting to shore would be a problem.
Khamil tried the radio. He knew Azid would not have it turned on, but he had to try anyway. There was no response to his multiple attempts.
Azid had no intention of contacting anyone until everything was aligned perfectly for his vengeance against this island, which had taken up too much of his time and energy over the past year. By means of the bungalow’s computer, he learned that the island’s intranet was alive with the news that there was going to be a major announcement of some sort that evening, and everyone who could come should gather at Science Hall, where Petur Bjarnasson would speak. People were making all sorts of speculations regarding what the announcement might be.
Azid did not care about the particulars of any announcement. He knew nothing about what was happening in Mexico. He was on his own mission. The fact that there was to be an announcement tonight, or more importantly, that there was to be a gathering of people at Science Hall, was of utmost interest to him, however. The majority of the island’s population would be present in one small place. He would take full advantage of that.
With the old man still bound and gagged in his bedroom, Baddori and Azid planned their assault for that night. They doubted they could get into the laboratory again. There would be guards, certainly. Baddori provided the answer. He was a good man, Azid thought. Khamil would just have to shake off his suspicions.
Nighttime was coming soon. Sunset was brief, as always. As the sun approached the water, it seemed to accelerate into a dive, while also doubling in size as the atmosphere refracted its rays. It was beginning to accelerate, and Azid was eager for the impending darkness.
He fumbled through his shoulder bag again, assuring himself that everything he needed was there. Everything was in place, except… “Baddori, I do not have a suppressor.”
Baddori answered. “Well, we’re even then, for neither do I.” He was lying.
Azid swore quietly to himself, irritated at his forgetfulness. In days past, he would not have forgotten such an important item. Without a suppressor to silence his weapon, stealth would be much more difficult. He fished around more thoroughly in his bag, looking for that one item that he knew he certainly had not forgotten. Despite his growing confidence in Baddori, there were still some things that he did not wish to tell him just yet. When the time was right, he would. Content that the remainder of what he needed was in place, he nodded to his partner.
“It is time to go. It will be dark in twenty minutes. By the time we get near town, it will be dark enough for us to do what we need to do.”
Baddori nodded. “It is fortunate that the moon is still new. That is certainly an advantage for us.” As he said this, he caught his reflection in the silver teapot on the table. He was scruffy and foul-looking. “Azid, allow me a moment, please.”
He stepped into the bathroom, and, borrowing the old man’s razor, quickly shaved off his beard and mustache. Just as quickly, he trimmed his sideburns shorter and combed his hair. Looking in the mirror, he looked like himself again: a man of unclear heritage who could have originated from any of dozens of countries.
Upon his return to the main room, Baddori presented himself to Azid.
“Well, then. You have taken on a whole different appearance, my friend.”
“I thought it might be helpful for one of us to blend in somewhat.”
Azid scowled. “I have never had a problem here. It seems to be a multicultural island.”
“Yes,” replied Baddori. “But now they are on the lookout for Arabs who tried to blow up one of their buildings.” He lifted his nose slightly, and, applying his best British accent, spoke in clear English, “I can now pass for a non-Arab, quite well, don’t you think?”
Azid pulled his head back in surprise and laughed. He nodded repeatedly, stood, and slapped Baddori on the back. “Good, good. You are very good!”
Baddori went to check on the old man again. Just before leaving, Jeff pulled the duct tape almost completely off his mouth, leaving only the appearance of an effective gag. Whispering, he said, “Say and do nothing until morning, and then scream your head off.” Jeff could not risk cutting off the duct tape around the man’s wrists. He could allow no warning to the people who would be gathering at Science Hall, nothing that would make Azid any more desperate. For now, Jeff was still in control. That could change at enormous cost at any moment. Anything unexpected would throw off his plans. He was playing a dangerous game, and he was risking much more than his own life. He had the lives of everyone on the island in his hands. The safest thing was to kill Azid now — take no more risks. But Jeff did not have all the information he needed. Azid needed to tell him more — much more.
The two men walked down the path that led from the beach bungalow, and reached a larger and more worn pathway just as darkness fully set upon the island. It would take over an hour to make it to the outskirts of town. Only one cart, heading t
oward town, passed them. Baddori and Azid ducked into the trees when they saw the lights approaching.
They came into the resort area now, and would need to keep cover. They slowed as they stayed off the pathway to keep away from anyone who might be curious. At one point they darted off the pathway and into the trees as a string of people emerged from the front entrance of the main resort building. They were restaurant workers. For the duration of the announcement tonight, all services were to be put on hold.
From then on they stayed off the pathway. Progress through the thick vegetation was terribly slow. It was too dark to see easily, and the men would frequently trip and step in shallow pools of mossy water. Each swore frequently. After a while, they stopped for a rest.
Azid told Baddori, “It is unfortunate that I can no longer walk around freely on this island. I have been on it twice as a guest. Now, I must skulk through the vegetation, afraid of the light, to keep away from the guests. I liked it better before.”
Baddori replied, “Yes, it’s a very nice island. Perfect climate, quiet. I imagine the women are attractive too.”
“They expose themselves too much and speak too freely.”
“Neither of those things bother me as much as they bother you.”
“Well, after tonight, they will expose themselves less.”
Baddori wrinkled his brow and asked, “You have not told me the whole plan, have you?”
He could not see it, but Azid nodded his head slightly. “It is true. You do not know everything that I plan to do tonight. You will have to trust me. I will tell you when the time is right.”
“How much farther do you think we have to go?” Jeff inquired, although he knew full well that they were getting close.
“Look,” Azid replied, and with his hand and finger barely visible as the jungle filtered the starlight, pointed upward in front of them.
Baddori followed the line from the finger to a faint glow through the trees. It was the glorious glass pinnacle of Science Hall. They pressed through the dampness and the dark, heading toward the building, which was a symbol of what one of them desperately wanted to destroy. And of what the other desperately wanted to save.
Six planes, approximately ten minutes apart, came toward Paradise 1 to ensure the end of one submarine, the one they had so obviously missed before. Commander Grover sat back in the pilot’s seat. “This time, Mike, it is not just a guess. We know there is a sub out there. And I intend to find it.”
Grover felt more confident since he returned to Marine Corps Air Station Kaneohe Bay, Hawaii, and briefed the Reconnaissance and Patrol Wing TWO commodore, Navy Captain R.L. “Jesse” James. James had gotten the green light from up the chain of command to ensure that any threats to the OTEC were taken out. This meant that Grover had two maintenance kits and sailors who could fix just about any malfunction short of an overhaul. He also had a team that would be on shore to help him, the detachment officer-in-charge, coordinate between the tasking requested by the OTEC team and the flight crews.
“I’m with you, Commander. The men, though, I’m not so sure. Just like seagulls, you may have to throw rocks at them to get them to fly.”
“What do ya mean?”
“Last time we went to this place, they had a grand time on liberty — every one of them. Remember how sore they were about having to leave?”
Grover remembered. He had been so dismayed about not finding a submarine that he had no fond memories of these islands. At this point in his career great liberty no longer compensated for operational failure like it might have when he was a young junior officer. The crews, though, had brushed off the failure of their mission, washing it away with plenty of alcohol, wild sea stories, and ‘native companionship.’ And there had been plenty of all. The crews had not quite mutinied when the orders came in to leave, but some of them had to make an effort to suppress the passing thought of doing so. Grover had seen both the original and remake of Mutiny on the Bounty and found himself sympathetic with the forlorn Captain Bligh.
“So you’re saying that they hope not to find it, so that we can stick around longer?”
“Not exactly. They take too much pride in what they do for the taxpayers back home. However…”
All of them were good and loyal officers and sailors. A few of the fellows in the back of the plane had joined since the last trip to Paradise. Several new team members were married, some of them with children, and would prefer to get back to Hawaii. New though they were, they all knew about this place. Word had spread so rapidly in the P-3 community that the officers had no trouble getting six planes from the Wing TWO “Rainbow Fleet” in the air on short notice to come on this jaunt.
“Pilot to crew: listen up.” Grover had their full attention. “This time there certainly is a submarine somewhere around Paradise. It is definitely not friendly. They kidnapped one of the island’s citizens and tried to blow up one of their laboratories. There are no American subs in the area, and CinCPAC has ordered other submariner nations to clear out any boats they may have around here. We are under orders to find and sink the sub.” He paused as he considered how many hours of liberty he would provide the crew if they succeeded. Four days seemed about right. “If we accomplish this mission, barring national emergency, every crewman will get a ninety-six. And for those who want to get back to family, we’ll use one of the six planes to go home early.” Grover doubted that even the married types would opt for that, especially if they destroyed the submarine. There would be too much celebration to pass up.
A cheer went up from the plane crew, readily audible over the loud drone of the four engines. Grover smiled. “There, Mike. You think that’ll work?”
“Sure do,” replied Lieutenant Epps. “I hope they earn their liberty!”
Grover had GunGun Thompson relay to the other five planes the new ‘rules of engagement.’
The planes cruised onward, getting ever closer to the Paradise Islands. No one in the detachment had any idea that Petur Bjarnasson was about to make an announcement that would drastically curtail any chance of a 96-hour liberty.
44. Canisters of Death
THEY COULD HEAR the voices of dozens and then hundreds of people gathering in front and on the steps of Science Hall. Much of the population of the island worked its way through the front doors and into the auditorium. Azid and Baddori were not far away, concealed in the undergrowth behind the building. As the noise lessened, the two men dashed across the thirty meters of open land and into the shadows of the rear of the building.
The ground at the back of the building was lower than the front. The doors here led to rooms beneath the auditorium. It took less than thirty seconds for Baddori to cut the glass on a door and pull the release. They walked quickly into a dimly lit hallway with several unmarked doors on either side.
Baddori and Azid surreptitiously opened one door after another, peering through the slight cracks to ensure that no one was within. Two of the doors opened directly onto stairways leading upwards to the auditorium. People were mulling about at the top of the stairs, looking for their friends, and attempting to find seats. They closed these doors especially quickly.
Having adequately reconnoitered, the two men found a stairway leading to the lower levels of the building. Two flights down was Sophia’s laboratory. Both of the men knew that, although Azid had no notion that Baddori had ever been there before.
Not only had Jeff been there, he had been running through the layout of the laboratory over and over in his mind. The lab should be fairly empty now, although they were expecting at least two guards. The fact that they had yet to run across any guards attested to the Island’s limited experience with security. Jeff made a mental note that if he lived through the night, he would markedly augment such security measures.
After slipping down the staircase stealthily, Azid opened the door on the level of Sophia’s laboratory. In front of him was a short corridor, which soon narrowed into a hallway with a bright green carpet. The hallway was well lit
, but the corridor was dim. No guards were yet in sight.
Jeff silently walked down the short corridor. Reaching into his satchel, he removed a small hand mirror. Then, squatting low to the ground, he inched the mirror along the floor around the corner, adjusting its angle to gain full view of the area.
Two guards, as expected, were sitting in chairs at the end of the corridor. A cardboard box between them served as a table, on which they were playing cards. One of the men had a handgun holstered to his waist. The other’s gun was lying on the makeshift table.
Baddori stood up slowly and motioned to Azid to stay back. Baddori slipped back to the door they had entered, opened it, slammed it loudly, and quickly moved back toward the hallway. As he stepped into the hallway, he intentionally stumbled and fell against the far wall.
The two guards sprang to their feet when they heard the door slam. Both had their guns in their hands, with adrenaline coursing through their veins. When they saw Jeff, one raised his pistol, but the other man, his brow wrinkled in thought, slackened his grip. Jeff, stumbling as if drunk, worked his way down the hallway toward the guards.
The first guard, with the gun held firm and aimed at Jeff’s chest, demanded, “Who are you and why are you here?”
“Calm down, boys,” Jeff replied. “I’m just looking for a bathroom. Can’t a man take a leak without getting shot?” He kept moving down the long hallway, and was now only a few meters from the laboratory door, so inadequately protected.