by Fred G Baker
“Let’s try to look inside,” Wilson said, shifting in that direction in a crouch.
Madeline spoke quietly over her lip mic. “Not in the plan. Not a good idea, Robert.” Her voice was strained.
But he was already halfway to the rear of the warehouse, and she had no choice but to follow, staying low in the shadows. They cut uphill into the shrubs when they got closer to the lighted doorway. Then, they crept through the bushes slowly and quietly until they were lined up with the doorway and could see inside.
Inside the warehouse, they saw at least twenty two-ton trucks decorated in a camo green pattern, with Grenada Defense Force lettering on them. The problem was that Grenada did not have a defense force. The trucks were loaded with equipment and green boxes similar to those they had seen in the containers. Many men, wearing drab green uniforms, stood around tables—and they could see hammocks suspended along the walls of the huge room. Then, they saw what looked like a series of portable rocket launchers mounted on trailers, and four radar stations on trucks. Madeline set about recording everything they saw on low-light video. “This is weird shit, Robert,” she whispered.
The sounds of chaos at the front of the property stopped, and only limited noises reached their ears. They heard a fire truck rushing up the road from the Grand Anse Fire Station and then men shouting in English about the fires. That was when several men came back to the warehouse from the front of the property.
The men walked around the corner of the building, and most walked inside. Three men, including the one with the rifle, shouted back and forth in Mandarin and started walking toward the bushes where Wilson and Madeline were hiding. Their purpose became clear when each man reached for the zipper on his pants and they stepped up to the edge of the bushes. The two burglars froze in place. This is bad news, Wilson thought. We gotta get out of here.
There was a lot of discussion about something funny in Mandarin as they peed. When done, they zipped up and were backing away when one of them dropped something in the grass near the shrubs. The man bent down to pick it up and came eye to eye with Madeline. She was greased up with face camo paint and did not move a muscle, but the man stopped dead and screamed as he tripped back away from the bushes, landing on his back in the wet grass.
He shouted that he had seen something, but the other men just laughed at him. One patted him on the back and made a big joke out of it. But the frightened man argued that they do something—it just wasn’t clear what. Then, he suddenly grabbed the rifle away from the man who had it and fired several rounds into the bushes. That caused the other men to shout and then laugh at his antics. Finally, another man—apparently more senior—ran out of the building and asked what they were shooting at. He jerked the rifle away from the frightened man and began giving him a lecture as he swatted his face with an open hand. They all walked back into the warehouse.
When they were inside, Wilson began creeping through the bushes to their left and away from the warehouse. He realized that he had been holding his breath the whole time. Now he breathed out and said softly into his lip mic, “That was too damn close.”
Madeline whispered, “More than close. I was hit.”
“What?” He stopped in his tracks and spun around. “Where?”
“I got nicked in the side. Not too bad, I think, but it hurts like hell.”
“Let’s see. Show me,” he said.
“Not here. I can wait a couple of minutes until we get out of the fence.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Let’s move.” She took the lead, walking carefully.
They climbed through the hole in the fence and then used light steel wire to reclose it in a crude manner. They couldn’t leave an obvious trail that they had come that way.
As they started humping their packs through the forest, Madeline whispered, “OK, here.”
She pointed to her left arm, where blood was seeping through her shirtsleeve. “I got hit by that idiot with the AK. I got to wrap it up or I’ll leave a blood trail.”
“Shit, Maddie.” He reached for her arm. “Where is it? The blood’s on the inside of your arm.”
“It’s my chest under the arm. I think it nicked a rib too. It hurts like hell.”
He tore open the side of her shirt and saw the wound. “It’s not deep. I’ll put a gauze pad there, and it will stem the bleeding awhile. We have to get out of here.” He dropped his pack and searched for his first aid kit. He found the gauze pads and tore open the packaging on three of them, giving them to her so she could pack them against the wound. She winced. He picked up the paper wrappers so that there would be no trace of their passing. Then, as she held her breath, he secured tape over the gauze to keep it in place.
“How’s that?” he asked as she gripped his arm.
“It’s OK,” she said, through clenched teeth. “I can make it.”
He threw on his rucksack and grabbed hers. They staggered away into the night.
***
“I think the bleeding has stopped,” she said. “But it still hurts like hell.”
They had made it to Madeline’s apartment, where Wilson had hidden the car in back behind some bushes. He had helped her upstairs and dropped the packs on the floor. He came back from the bathroom with a hand towel soaked in warm water.
“Here, let’s get your shirt off and see what we got.” She sat up on the side of the bed and tried pulling the tight-fitting and rain-soaked shirt off her back. She struggled and cried out in pain. “Shit, I can’t get it.”
He pulled out his folding knife and cut the shirt so that she could shed it more easily. She winced with pain. “What’s it look like? I can’t see.”
“Not too bad. I’ll cut away your bra to get at it.”
“Like hell! This is a twenty-dollar black bra. They’re hard to get in Grenada.” She held her breath as she reached around and unclasped it so that it fell away. Then she turned sideways and looked under her armpit at the injury. She lay on her side at the edge of the bed so that he could work on the wound.
Wilson felt like hell, believing himself responsible for her injury. If he hadn’t rushed over to look in the warehouse, she wouldn’t have been shot. It was as simple as that. It was his fault.
He removed the blood-soaked gauze pads and gently washed the wound with the towel while she bit into a sheet for the pain. He examined it carefully. The bleeding was minimal now. He washed it twice, getting more water from the sink.
“It’s a flesh wound, but a little deep. It hit the bone here.” He pressed on one spot.
“Watch it! That hurts like hell,” she moaned.
“The bullet tore your skin coming in and laid back part of the muscle as it passed through. I have to fold the skin back down and tape it up. I’ll put on antibiotic and a painkiller too.” He opened a pack of blood astringent and poured it on the worst part of the wound. Then, he applied the disinfectant from the gunshot kit and carefully closed up the skin. He taped it over with butterfly bandages.
“That’s as good as I can do now, Maddie.” He got up and asked her if she could sit up. She struggled, but rose upright on the side of the bed.
“Oh fuck! That hurts,” she said. She tried to straighten up, then appeared self-conscious because her dark breasts were bare. She put one arm across her breasts to cover them.
“Give me some rum to drink, will you? It will help.” He looked away from her while he poured two stiff glasses of Westerhall light rum, neat, into two old-fashioned glasses. She took a glass in one hand while holding her other arm across her chest.
“Here’s to a successful mission,” she said and downed the rum. She smiled weakly. “Ow. Jesus, that stings.”
“We better call in and let Lightchurch know where we are.” He handed her cell phone to her.
“No, you call. See if we have a doctor available who can be discreet.” She tried lying down on the bed, but winced again. She sipped the rum, feeling miserable.
“Let me call first, then I’ll help you l
ie down.” He stepped into her small kitchen and dialed in. They talked for three minutes. “There’s a doctor we could use, but he’s not in Saint George’s tonight. We’ll get you in to see him first thing tomorrow.”
“In that case, help me get these wet pants off so I can sleep.” She had them unbuttoned, but only halfway down her legs. He carefully pulled them off, leaving her with only her panties on. She slipped into a light cotton kimono that she retrieved from the closet. She scooted back on the bed as he pulled the bedsheet out of her way. She moved to the far side of the bed, sitting up against the headboard.
“Don’t take this as an invitation, but I don’t have a couch for you to sleep on.”
“I can sleep on the floor,” he suggested, “or go back to the hotel.”
“Don’t be crazy. Sleep on the bed, but that’s all, OK?”
He poured them both more rum and turned off the overhead light, leaving only the lamp in the kitchen illuminated. He pulled off his wet clothes and hung them on the back of a chair. Then, he slid in under the sheet beside her.
“You want to talk about the mission or just sleep?” he asked.
“Sleep.” She finished her drink and set the glass on the nightstand on her side of the bed.
He got up and turned off the lamp in the kitchen, then slid under the sheet again. She turned toward him and put her head on the pillow beside his, her body positioned with her wounded side up.
“I can sleep on this side. Is this OK?” she whispered, her face inches from his. She closed her eyes.
She fell asleep almost immediately. He lay on his back listening to her breathe. He soon fell into a dream in which he and Madeline relived their stealthy exploit through the stormy forest in the dark. It seemed surreal. Then, men in green uniforms were chasing them. It went on and on.
Chapter 11
Sunday
Wilson, Madeline, and Lightchurch were gathered inside the operation warehouse, evaluating what they had learned during the previous night’s activities. Heavy rain poured down outside and drummed loudly on the metal roof of the structure. During the night, there had been some street flooding, and a storm was whipping up the sea into six-foot waves. The waves rushed up the beach as far at the vegetation line and some seawalls. It was not a severe storm yet—but there was concern that there could be mass flooding of low-lying areas along the coast.
“I have to tell you it was quite exciting last night, driving like mad while Nash threw out those Molotov bombs.” Lightchurch laughed as he recounted the tale, standing next to the worktable. “We caught them completely off guard on the first pass, but on the second they landed a few rounds on the truck. Lucky Nash wasn’t hit.”
“You were damn lucky, I’d say.” Madeline chastised the old man for his actions. “You said you had a team to carry out the diversion, not that you would be there yourself. That is damn reckless of you.”
“Good thing you had Nash there,” Wilson said. “At least he knew what he was doing.”
“Now, don’t you come down on me too, Robert. I haven’t had so much fun in I-don’t-know-how-long.” He smiled from ear to ear. “But you’re right. Nash stole the truck for us and ditched it afterward. Imagine what the police are going to think when they find it. I can see the headline in the newspaper now: ‘Island Radicals Attack Chinese Workforce.’ Just imagine the trouble it will cause. Maybe now they’ll crack down on these riots we’re having.”
“I heard on the radio this morning that it was a protest against foreigners in the country,” Wilson said. “Since the GPC is pro-China, the reporter assumed that the NSP was behind it somehow.” He walked to where Madeline was working on her computer. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “Has the anesthetic worn off yet?”
“It’s starting to hurt again.” She shifted around in her chair, uncomfortable in a loose-fitting pullover and shorts. “The doc said I can get back to normal work in four weeks. He sewed up the muscle and said that I can’t tear it again, so that’s my weak spot right now.” She grimaced whenever she twisted her body.
“Well, it could have been a lot worse.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone and checked out the warehouse like that without a plan. I got you hurt.”
She turned partway around, groaned, and smiled at him. “It’s a good thing we got a look inside that building. Here’s the video I shot from the bushes.” She pointed to the computer screen. “It turned out pretty well, considering the bad lighting and rain.”
“What you two found last night is very disturbing to me,” Lightchurch said calmly. “It looks like someone is planning military action in the near future, perhaps during the election.”
“I’m sorry the still photos came out so ambiguously, sir,” Madeline said softly. “You can still make out the boxes and some of the lettering. I guess the lens of that camera had a poor seal on it and moisture steamed it up.”
“Don’t worry, Maddie.” Lightchurch looked her in the eye. “Really, you two got enough to show our friends that something unusual is going on. That’s what matters.” He paused and put a hand on her shoulder. “But you were both lucky to not get caught—and I, of course, wish you had gotten away unscathed.”
“The Chinese are involved,” Wilson said as he paced the floor. “That much hardware and ammo can only mean a coup is being planned.” He stopped and pointed at the computer screen. “We saw enough arms for at least two companies of men—and I’d like to know why they have what look like surface-to-air missiles.”
“It is troubling,” Lightchurch agreed. “I need to think about what we do next with this information.” He paused, and then looked up expectantly. “But what do you make of the container numbering problem, Robert? Have you worked out more there?”
Wilson was surprised by the sudden change in topics. “Yes. I’ve accounted for all forty-foot containers that have come in on ships to the harbor.” He stopped speaking as he gathered his thoughts. “But there is still a discrepancy, even when I account for the fact that some have been renumbered.” He stepped to the table, where he pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase. “According to the harbor logs, one hundred and fifty-six containers were unloaded from ships for Wong Construction projects in the last twelve months. Twenty-two of those containers were later shipped out, leaving one hundred and thirty-four containers still on the island. On Wednesday, there were sixty-three containers in the main work area, some open, some closed. At the back of the property, there were an additional forty-eight containers that I refer to as the hidden containers. That makes twenty-three containers more than there should be. Those are the ones with uncertain numbers on them.” He began pacing again.
“Twenty-three extras? How’s that even possible?” Lightchurch exclaimed, sitting down on a chair at the table.
“I don’t know—but there must be twenty-three missing containers somewhere else. They didn’t just appear out of nowhere,” Madeline commented. “We’ll need more help from the harbor master on this. Can you arrange that, sir?”
“Yes. I’ll call over there now.”
Wilson’s phone pinged. “I have an email from Langley. Let me check it out.” He walked to the table where his laptop was located. Indeed, he had received a message he had been waiting for. It was a collection of articles he had written at one time or another for the Miami Observer, and two articles about Jamaican elections and their effect on the economy within two years of the event.
“Hey, I got the material I need for Tori Vargas. I can give it to her today when I see her.”
Madeline looked up from her computer and snickered. “You mean when you boff her, don’t you?” She emitted a hard laugh that made Lightchurch cringe.
Wilson gave her a disappointed look. “It’s not my idea. I’m her assignment—so, give me a break, will you?” He shook a finger at Madeline, who shook a finger back in a menacing way. “But I must find a way to talk to her without being heard. I’d take her to my room, but that may have been bugged by now t
oo. Which reminds me—I should move out of there.”
Madeline spun around and then winced from the motion. “You can’t move. If you do, they’ll know you’re on to them. It would compromise her, too—and this time, Romeo and Juliette will be on camera, with sound.” She laughed again and covered her mouth when Lightchurch gave her a dirty look. “I wonder if I can get a download of you two going at it?” She laughed harshly.
“That’s enough, Maddie. It’s embarrassing enough as it is.” Lightchurch was not smiling. “If Robert hadn’t boffed her, as you call it, we wouldn’t know about the men at the sports facility, would we? Maybe she’ll turn into a valuable asset.”
Madeline said, “Isn’t that what you said the other day? You were going to work your asset?” She laughed out loud and slapped the table with her hand. The two men looked away and said no more.
***
Wilson looked out the window of his hotel room at the black freighter, still at anchor, unmoving. He wished he had more information on its purpose. He could see men moving about on the deck, working by some containers with torches. There were two men working on one of the cranes again.
He turned on the television to watch the news and caught a breaking story about the volcano. It had been erupting violently, spewing so much lava onto the seafloor that it had built up a hundred feet of thickness near the active vent. So much gas was released that it had reached the sea’s surface, creating a yellow-brown cloud of toxic fumes above the water. The wind blew the gas cloud toward the northwest shore of the island. As a result, the government had expanded the shipping exclusion zone to fifteen miles and had sent two coastal patrol boats north to patrol the margin of the zone and to warn people to stay away. They were preparing to evacuate those who lived on the nearby coast.